Through A Cloudy Looking Glass

by OldDDGuy

What if a group of people found themselves on Thedas, but they knew little or nothing about it. How would they adapt? Would they? What if they were able to defend themselves with modern weapons, but nothing else? Would they be able to make things better or worse? Rough language, some adult situations.

21. Those Also Serve

June 3, 2023 Updated and corrected some formating that was lost in upload.

To my readers, thank you for your patience.

Unfortunately, real life keeps getting in the way.

Thanks go out to:

Cherry Jam on Toast, Shadeslayer113, and Efion63,

Who encouraged and supported my meager efforts.

Special thanks to those who have read and reviewed this story, especially

Kora, Judy, and Kanta.

If you discover typos, please let me know. Thanks.

WARNING: There is coarse language.

One final note, I was asked to place some sort of mark to identify transitions in the text. I tried several things, which automatic formatting always seemed to remove. I will try the embedded lines and see how that goes. Please give me feedback. FanFiction, white space is not a bad thing!

---

Those Also Serve

… who only sit and wait. John Milton

Outside the Inquisitor's quarters, a tiny scarlet songbird came flitting to rest on the balcony. It bore its enormous prize, a crust of stale bread, tightly clutched in its beak.

It could not know that its perch had placed it near the most essential room of the fortress it called home. Nevertheless, he did understand that this perch made it possible for him to enjoy the delicious morsel in peace. Far below, his flock was even now fighting for nibbles of bread on the battlements.

As he enjoyed his treasure, he glanced through the open door and observed the newest editions to his home. The tiny bird had seen many odd things in its brief life, but the most confounding were these unique creatures.

Its territory, which had happily hosted its kind for time out of mind, had suddenly become infested with the foulest smelling and slow-witted creatures imaginable. The only saving grace he could find for these creatures was they possessed a seemingly endless supply of the most delectable treats, far better than the berries which grew near the nasty spider webs down in the valleys.

As he ate, he was washed in the sound of the creatures' song; if one could call it a song, he certainly didn't. The noise flowed out of the opening directly in front of the bird; he tilted his head after munching a beak full of yummy. Then, removing a new piece, he consumed the fragment while allowing himself to observe the mating dance of the creatures. Others might have said he was fascinated by it, but in truth, it was rather tiresome to watch; he wondered if it was as uninspiring to perform.

Of course, the creatures were, in many ways, consistent with nature's laws, as all living creatures must be.

The male was smaller than the female, as was proper; it was more brightly colored, as was also usual. Although not remarkably bright in tone, the bird thought his own gold adornment much more vivid than this male's, but the placement of the color made no sense to him. Like his, the shoulders were gold. Gold to catch the sun as one flew, but these had such tiny wings, he was sure they were useless for flight, at least in any way he understood.

He did note that at least the male did possess patches of gold, drab though they were. There were gold feathers haphazardly placed among broad patches of ugly blue plumage. Worse, he noted the apparent lack of much of the far superior red; it was no wonder this male had such an unattractive mate.

He shook himself hard as if to remove the thoughts from his mind.

He listened to the mating song; it was equally drab, different than his own; what confused him most was how it made the song. When he sang, his whole body shook with effort; his beak was always open wide to project the most beautiful of notes. But for these creatures, it was different again. The beak of this strange creature did not open. No, these odd things only showed their beaks and made crisp, quick chirps, but oddly the song continued; it was all very confusing. How would such a song attract a mate? It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, which was very odd.

Hopping back to his dinner, the bird took the last piece and returned to watch the mating dance.

It was all a great mystery to him how such plain creatures could survive; they were not colorful in any meaningful way, and he had decided they were dull and dreary. He thought that might explain the poor pairing; after all, the female was overly large and seemed clumsy. Almost as if it had no idea of its role in the mating ritual. Odd, he thought, in his experience, all females knew their role in the ballet. Perhaps this female had been injured? He had seen one female of his flock fly head-first into the transparent walls; she had never been right again.

That was a sad event, given that he had passed through that opening into the great cave only a few hours before. He had noted that these new creatures had been building a nest there, so perhaps it was their doing. None of his flock had been able to enter the great cave since. Rather regrettable as the cave provided some shelter from the rain and had few spiders. Unfortunately, now the transparent walls made entry to the cave impossible. Luckily none of his flock had been trapped inside. That would have indeed been tragic.

The mating song recaptured his attention; he thought its music was muted. The oddest thing was it seemed disconnected, almost separate from the male itself. In the end, dull plumage, an ungainly clumsy mate, and a meaningless drivel song.

The bird shook itself, trying to clear its confusion, ruffling then adjusting its magnificent plumage, the yellow of its shoulders catching the light. He checked and rechecked, searching for any forgotten crumbs, all while wondering how these creatures survived. Finally, his efforts were rewarded when the little bird found a few crumbs a couple of hops off, and he pecked the last tidbits.

He took one last look at the mating pair and felt a pang of sadness for them.

Their kind would not survive. That was certain.

He knew nature was cruel. These misfits would die off; it was the way of things.

That thought made him more determined to see to his other duties in the flock.

He stretched, flapped his wings, then flew off to find his mate. He intended to see to the business of producing the next generation of the proper masters of Skyhold.

---

John noticed the little bird take wing; he recognized it from one of the hundred colorful prints Josie had made him study. It was an Orlesian Yellow Shouldered Scarlet Wren, a favorite of Emperor Florian, who kept hundreds in a palace aviary. But, unfortunately, the birds were not so much the favorites of the present Empress Celene, who unceremoniously freed the birds and removed the aviary.

'Maybe these lessons are sinking in,' John laughed to himself, just as the bird flew off and he was jerked to the right, which he initially thought would be a left turn. 'Then again, maybe not.'

"One, two, three, one, two, three," Josephine tried to protect her toes as she counted the steps. "One, two, three — excellent, Commander."

John held Josephine in his arms as they danced over the worn carpet of the loft. The Inquisitor's Loft occupied the entire penthouse of the Inquisitor's Tower, the name given to the tallest spire of Skyhold. It was chosen for Serrada's quarters in one of the few unanimous decisions of the Quartet.

It was now night; many hours of lessons had already taken place: etiquette, table manners, social norms, and customs focusing on Orlais, fencing drills, and dueling rules. However, now with all books put away, the space hosted the most dangerous activities — a second round of dancing lessons.

The expansive room was dimly lit, and what light there was came mainly from the large hearth happily burning a pile of logs. The fire gave light but little warmth as most heat escaped up through the chimney. Besides the light from the blaze, a dozen candelabras shone like stars in the voluminous chambers; their iridescent tongues swayed like hula dancers casting weak shadows far more graceful than the humans trying desperately not to step on or be stepped on. The candlelight danced because of the gentle breeze flowing through the open balcony windows that bracketed the desk in the Inquisitor's makeshift office.

Though romantic if chosen by its occupants, candlelight can also be dangerous; besides the obvious danger of setting the drapery ablaze, its feeble ability to illuminate a room meant it left many shadows and thus hid and obscured potential threats, especially to one's toes.

"One, two, three, one, two, three," Josie counted the steps as they moved, her voice revealing her satisfaction with his progress.

"One, two, three," John could feel Josie tense, telling him she expected something; his mind raced; what had he forgotten about the dance? What was it? His thoughts turned to the purpose of the lessons.

'I am supposed to be Serrada's consort," John's stomach still flipped when he thought of it. 'How can I do that when I can't even remember the steps of the simplest fucking dance!'

'John knew he was supposed to do something. 'Was it a hop or a dip?' His mind raced, but he could not recall what it was. 'Damn it; I am a soldier, not a dancer.'

The truth was, what specific dance move he was expected to make was as far from his thoughts as the Anderfels, wherever they were.

'What does it mean to be a consort anyway,' John moved right, and Josie moved with him. She was smiling up at him; she had a lovely smile. 'I mean, we have only kissed a couple of times and only once each, hardly lovers.'

Leliana changed tempo a little, and John matched it instinctively.

"Outstanding commander, you did that well,' The Left Hand commented as she played; the fact that she commented on his dancing, given she was turned away from John was unnerving.

'Why did she leave me here?' John rolled the question around in his head for the hundredth time since watching her ride across the sky bridge.

'Didn't she think I could help?' John's mind was a dozen leagues away. 'Am I a liability? Did she think I would be in the way? I could be of more use than as a bad dance partner.'

"One, two, … ow, ow, ow! Maker, stop, stop, stop!" Hands flailing, Josie pulled away from John as quickly as she could. Hopping while clutching her right foot, desperately wiggling her silk-clad toes. "Goodness, Andraste's knickers, that hurt!"

"I am sorry, Josephine," John stepped forward, trying to steady the woman whose foot he had just squarely mashed. "I thought I was supposed to hop, or was it a pivot?"

"No, no, no, this is the Allemande! Not the Courante, you oaf!" Josephine dropped to the floor with a thump, clutching her injured foot. Several Antivan curses were hurled mostly at John; her voice was not that of the gentle and patient Josie but a firebrand that only a few had experienced.

"Oh, Maker, I am sorry… Commander Gray, I …" Josephine sputtered, frozen in mid-foot massage, her voice now falsely calm. "I did not mean to…."

"Enough dancing for you today, Josie," Leliana put down her lute; John always admired the instrument. The lute reminded him of one he had seen in Turkey, very far away. Then, seemingly from thin air, Leliana handed Josie a potion phial and a small pot of some sweet-smelling goo. "Take the potion first; it will help with the pain, then the poultice for the swelling."

Turning to John, "Now the Courante comes after the Allemande and before the Sarabande, then the Gigue, Commander, as you know perfectly well."

Josephine was John's latest victim. Ostensibly, they were dancing lessons. However, most of John's partners considered it abuse, while others called it torture. Josephine, Leliana, Mother Giselle, Cassandra, and even Madam de Fer had taken turns.

"Give me a proper fistfight with a dragon," Cassandra's parting words as she limped from the room. Later while soaking her black and purple foot, she had threatened to cut off John's head if he trod on her foot again. As a result, she happily joined the Inquisitor on her mission to Crestwood and was happily excused from further dance lessons, for which she was eternally grateful. Undead and demons were better than trod toes, any day.

Vivienne's reaction was more direct and, if no less threatening. She had left him to thaw alone. John had asked that she be excused from further lessons, and she was, for which he was eternally grateful.

The truth was, John did know better; he knew the dances and the steps but was not paying attention.

His thoughts were on Serrada and their parting words before leaving for Crestwood.

"Yes, all right, I am just distracted," John gathered his things and left them to talk behind his back. "We can carry on later."

The dust from her horses' hooves had not settled yet, and they all expected him to move on?

Well, fuck them; he allowed his anger to boil. Fuck them all; he had work to do. But, work or dancing, Serrada's words still ran through his head like a bad song he couldn't shake.

---

"John, it will be a short mission. I'll meet Hawke's contact outside Crestwood, which works out well," The Inquisitor stuffed some small clothes into a bag, figuring she would sort them later. Right now, she needed to get moving, if nothing else, to let John cool down. "The mayor has been begging for help for weeks…."

She continued, but John stopped listening; he had heard all the reasons before.

John kept his eyes on her, not saying a thing. He felt cold, and it was not the frigid air leaking through the missing windowpanes that chilled him; the blazing fire did nothing to heat a room large enough to be a Zeppelin hanger.

"You are taking Eric and Rodeo with you then?" John's voice was low and steady. He knew he was on shaky ground; he knew full well that they all had sworn to the Inquisition, more importantly, in service to the Inquisitor herself.

"Damn it; they are still my men," He whispered, unable to get past the feeling he deserved a heads-up.

Serrada continued, seemingly obliviously.

"Yes, Eric thought his senior scout needed a mission, and he thought this would be a … what did he call it? Oh yes, a milk jug." Serrada smiled, pleased with herself that she had remembered.

"Milk … run," John corrected; he noticed her right hand was shaking again. It has been doing that a lot more lately. He waved off her confused look. "Before you ask, no, I don't know where the saying comes from, before my time."

Serrada just shrugged and went back to packing; she was focused on what she needed to do, not really on what she was saying until it was said. She would have several lonely camp nights to regret it.

"John, I can't consult you on the deployment of all my troops," Serrada smiled at him, hoping he would drop it.

Seeing his face, he looked as if he had been slapped and suddenly wondered what she had said. She walked the path of her words in her mind, realizing their impact.

'Andraste's knickers!' Her face showed she wanted so badly to unsay them. 'Shite, shite, shite!'

'My troops?' Anyone who knew John Gray would have said he recoiled at the impact of her words. Those who did not know him well would have seen only the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.

Indeed, they were her troops now. John knew that very well.

Hadn't he stood at attention as his people swore allegiance to the Inquisition, then as each swore loyalty to the Inquisitor?

He had been so proud, concerned, but still proud. He was proud of their professionalism; they were his people, and Serrada valued them so much that she acknowledged them as respected veterans.

However, at this moment, he didn't feel proud; he just felt cold and foolish, like a young boy being caught relieving himself in the gardens. Mariah had a way of making him feel this way as well; he hated it when she did it, and he liked it even less now that Serrada was doing it too.

"My apologies, Inquisitor," His tone made the Frostbacks seem like a tropical island.

"May I inquire where Master Chief Bates and Petty Officer Davis have been deployed? I noticed they did not attend our traditional weekly breakfast this morning; I was informed they had been deployed on your orders, as well, Inquisitor."

He deliberately used their Earth ranks rather than their Inquisition ones.

If he were honest, he would admit he was not cross with Serrada, just disappointed. He was disappointed in Serrada but more in LJ and Mamiko, both of whom he had known for years, trained and mentored but also shedding blood. They could, no, they should have told him. They should know better; they knew better.

Serrada could feel the chill in his voice; worse, how he used her title seemed to reflect his present opinion of her. Well, perhaps not her, so much as her new role.

'Maker, I should have informed him, at least.' She could feel her shoulders slump. 'Shite, how could I have been so stupid?'

"John, I am sorry; I should have consulted you; that was thoughtless." She stepped toward him. Putting her hand on his chest, looking up into his eyes, those beautiful eyes. "Bull and the Chargers are going to scout Emprise du Lion."

"Something is going on there, and I hope they can find out without kicking a hornet's nest." Serrada moved back to her packing. "When Cassandra discussed Emprise du Lion with Eric, he and LJ thought it was an excellent training opportunity for the junior scouts. So, I sent LJ, Mamiko, and their trainees to reinforce the Chargers. We have stopped getting messages from the village; they had been begging…."

"I know, Serrada," John forced his voice to lighten, to be more friendly. 'Cassandra had discussed it with Eric, but he did not tell me?' He cleared his throat. "Everyone is begging, begging for aid, Serrada. Yet I am still here."

His words floated in the air like winter's breath.

Serrada held John's gaze, her hands still wrapped in clothing. He stood there trying to seem relaxed; both knew neither was comfortable and felt they should say … something. The difference was John could not think of anything to say to bridge the icy gaping maw that had suddenly opened between them.

The cold air blew through the missing glass panes, and John made a mental note to replace them.

Serrada felt the cold as well and remembered she had to authorize another shipment of firewood. But first, she had to fight the frost in this room.

So she started softly as her father had with her when he wanted her to remember he cared for her, even when he delivered bad news.

"The work you are doing here is important. I don't understand it, but I trust … no … I know it is important," Serrada forced her voice to reinforce the last of those words; she then finished shoving clothing she knew she would not need into her bag, then closed it, threw it over her shoulder, and started for the stairs.

John reached out for her; she paused, looking into his eyes, willing him. 'Please, John, you need to let them go!' She then moved past him to the stairs.

"John, finish your work here; there will be many missions, and besides," She turned before going down the stairs; she flashed him her mischievous smile that he loved, and in a heartbeat, she crossed the distance, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him gently.

"You must work on your dancing. I don't want to go to Halamshiral alone. I need you by my side; this is very important, John. The Great Game is deadly; people die in it every day, and our playing it could make or break the Inquisition. The Halamshiral ballroom is as dangerous as any battlefield." Then she turned and fled to the stairs.

'I can't leave it like this,' John regretted his earlier churlish tone; the kiss had undoubtedly improved his mood.

"Serrada, wait!" John moved to the stairs as fast as he could, but she was always quicker in so many ways, and he knew it.

Serrada was already down the stairs to the door; he could hear Josephine and Leliana on their way up for his lesson.

"He is all yours, ladies," Serrada was only feet away, looking up at him, her smile dimmed slightly, her face suddenly thoughtful.

John caught her eye, and for a moment, everything stopped; it was as if she was trying to etch what she saw into her memory. Then, finally, her smile brightened again; her voice seemed miles away.

"Remember, watch your toes, girls," She turned and continued down the stairs.

"Serrada, please," He stepped down when Josephine and Leliana intercepted him.

"She will soon return, Commander," Leliana whispered into his ear; her grip on his arm was firm.

It did not matter; the door was closed, and she was gone.

"You have dancing lessons, Commander," Josephine added softly, donning her dancing slippers — something she would soon regret.

---

Days came and went as his dance instructors recovered. Besides, he had other tasks ahead of him.

John finished the last connections and walked through the open terrace door to shout down the railing to the gardens below.

"Ready … up … here!" John called, and it echoed the five stories of stonework to the basement, where Sparks was doing a last check of the junction.

Under any other circumstances, nicknaming your comms guy Sparks might be a bit cliche. However, in the case of US Army Master Sargent, now Inquisition Lieutenant Glenn Knox, the nickname fit perfectly — especially today.

It was Glenn's idea even to try this experiment and his initial design they had developed and ordered built by Varric's guild friends. Individually, any entertaining complications associated with the work might have earned him the nickname Sparks, but together, they made it inevitable.

"Ready, Boss," Sparks shouted up to John, whom he could not see for the new construction between them but could hear through the still gaping hole in the cell back wall; it did not carry as well as John's baritone, which was perceptible even over the roar of the waterfall.

When they first took possession of Skyhold, the newly named Inquisitor's Tower was empty, with only a questionable stairway leading up from the main hall to a bird-infested penthouse at the top. Those rooms were quickly made usable for the Inquisitor's quarters. The vast size of the room was impressive enough, three stories of space to heat.

Some distance below was, for lack of a better term, the War Room, or more accurately, the big table room; below the War Room were the cells, and below the cells were the waterworks where they located the main junction box that tied into the Skyhold distribution grid.

The tower was unique in that it was an empty void from those apartments down to the door at its base.

The tower had not always been a hollow shell; the window placement and the empty beam sockets belied opportunities. In addition, a pile of decaying debris at the bottom of the tower hinted several rooms had once been between the penthouse and the ground floor.

Cleaning the debris was laborious but relatively straightforward. The first task was replacing the rotten beams that had once supported flooring. Once that was done, it was simple to frame rooms to provide some comfort for the Inquisitor, and her staff, to meet dignitaries in privacy.

A water wheel in the waterfall beneath the cells drove the stone and lumber mills in the upper courtyard. The mills kept novice smiths busy sharpening multiple saw blades — Silverite is an adaptable metal.

But the new office, library, and lounge space for the Inquisitor and her staff was just the beginning of the improvements to the ancient fortress.

Now with the rough carpentry of the additional floors completed, the wiring of Skyhold moved forward apace.

Before her trip to Crestwood, Serrada had insisted that the tower be low in priority in favor of better soldiers' barracks and the outer ring of forts. That noble sentiment had lasted until she was out of the valley. However, the members of the Quartet understood the impact of John's plans for the Inquisitor's fortress and ordered those improvements to be made a top priority.

With the rooms roughed in but not yet finished, installing the first true innovation … electrical wiring … was much more straightforward. The wires ran through open mounting brackets made of porcelain insulating posts.

To everyone but John, the work he was doing was to improve and empower the Inquisitor with many marvelous projects. To John, these projects had one purpose.

All of this was part of John's drive to keep himself busy. Serrada's expedition was now in its fourth week.

"Two weeks, maybe a day more, John. A week out, a week back," John mimicked Serrada; his deep voice made to sound snide and snippy. John screwed the wire crimp deeper into the timber.

"Get the information and get back, she says," John grumbled to himself, screwing down the last contact. His lip curled in a mocking smile; his tone was sarcastic, so much so that he heard a snicker.

"Get out of those rafters, now!" John threw a hammer, more in frustration than to hit someone. His mood was such that he did not even consider that the hammer had to fall from the shadows as certainly as it had disappeared into them. However, it didn't, but the scurrying told him that the 'mice' had decided that they should be somewhere else.

He was driving himself, working twelve-hour days, not including hours more in dancing and other lessons from Leliana, Josephine, or Charter. Until ten days ago, when Charter and a chunk of scouts all wordlessly packed and disappeared for parts unknown.

"Now it is almost a month, and no word, at least not for me," John grumbled to himself; the delay had given him time to expand the network; he was not happy about the delay, but he had kept busy until exhaustion and worry claimed him. The next day, John would wake in his bed, usually with a stern note from one woman or another who had put him to bed; usually, it was Gliril, but not recently.

In Serrada's absence, the Quartet had sent Gliril in command of a contingent of soldiers to Emprise du Lion, to reinforce the forces there. At least, that is what he had gleaned; no one had told him anything, and unlike Serrada, Gliril vanished without a word.

'At least Serrada had said goodbye' John tightened the post down as best he could without his hammer.

Now this day was a big milestone in his improvements to Skyhold, and he had no one to share it with.

John went to the window and shouted down to the relay man below.

"Fire when ready, Gridley!" His bass voice boomed, bouncing off the rock walls. One scout signaled another, who signaled another in a long relay to the cells several stories below — an ironic signal, given that only an ice-cold waterfall was involved.

Far below, in the bowels of the prison cells, Jack and Edward checked that the hydro generators were turning and the final circuit breaker wiring was ready. Both satisfied, the signal was given through a remaining hole in the floor, and Glenn closed the leaver switch as the current immediately flowed.

"Tell him to light'er up!" So came the disembodied response that John could barely hear.

"It is like a damned game of telephone!" John thought, waiting for the response. "Telephones, damn, I must put that on the list." As a dozen places leapt to mind where telephones would be a great help in Skyhold. A line from the gatehouse to Josephine's office to alert her when visitors arrived. Or lines to relay orders from Skyhold to the camps below and the new outer fort ring, already under construction. That would have to wait for another day.

The scout waved the affirmative up to Gray. The scout's shouting and flailing arms displaced John's thoughts on telecommunication in favor of his current project, but the notion was not lost, only postponed.

First, this effort would prove that Earth tech could be reproduced on Thedas.

John could remember the conversation with Josephine when he tried to explain his plans.

---

"Why do such a thing?" Josephine asked, "I have contacted Ozammar for lighting runes…."

"First of all, electricity is more versatile than a single rune, but more importantly. Why waste lyrium on night lights?" John looked at her incredulously. "Lyrium is a finite resource; save it for weapons or something more important."

"Why do you say it is finite? It is a gift from the Maker," Josephine's incredulous look almost made John laugh.

"So is life, Josephine, but that is finite too," John turned back to his desk, leaving Josephine's mouth agape, searching for a response.

---

John worked and smiled to himself; she never had responded. He wondered if she realized his point was good or if she did not want to argue faith matters. Either way, she remained silent for the day.

For the most part, the single remaining Quartet member who remained at Skyhold was willing to let John do pretty much as he pleased.

He had been somewhat brooding since Serrada had left. Gliril and Mother Gisselle had tried to speak with him, but he had rebuffed their attempts to the point that he told Mother Gisselle he was not one of her flock and that she should mind her own business, which she essentially did.

It took him a few days to cool down; speaking with Rachelle in Flissa's bar helped; Flissa was slowly bowing out of running the establishment to work more in the Chantry with her close friend.

---

"What would you have her do?" Rachelle asked as she caused his ale to freeze solid in the mug.

Playfully smiling, he lifted the frozen mass and turned it over. He had known Rachelle was having control problems. Sometimes simple spells went horribly wrong; Rachelle's efforts to 'help' start a simple campfire would send people running. His heart went out to the girl, she was struggling, and he felt for her.

"That happens sometimes; I am still having a little trouble with control" Flissa put a fresh mug down in front of him, and he nodded. But before he could object, Rachelle managed to chill the amber fluid, this time successfully. Then did the same with her wine.

"That's better," she blushed and returned to her wine. John took that as a suggestion he should answer her question.

"I have no idea, Rach," John tried not to shrug his shoulders; he was tired from working most of the day, but he had done it to keep from thinking. "All I know is I was a team commander; I don't have any team, so I guess I am a soldier, but no one will let me fight, and I used to be a husband and father, so now I don't know what I am."

"So what is there then?" Rachelle was leaning over her chilled wine, looking closely at the snacks cooking for herself and John. Unnerving most of the bar patrons as three fire lines burned inches above a metal tray, with several pieces of meat slowly dancing over the flames. "I know we have all been having trouble adjusting …."

"Well, you certainly seem to have adapted," John chuckled until he saw the look on her face, but mostly the turmoil in her eyes.

"You don't understand, do you?" Rachelle took a plate, the flames extinguished, as the freshly cooked strips of meat floated down to lay perfectly parallel on the dish.

"I was supposed to get married next month; my best friend was to be my matron of honor, my younger sisters, my maidens, and my nephew and niece were to be my ring bearer and flower girl." Rachelle looked away, trying not to cry. "My mum and dad…. Oh, Daddy! He was taking dancing lessons; he wanted to do his best for me."

She quietly wept for a minute to two; John gave her the silk handkerchief that Serrada had given him; she took it and wiped her tears, then cleared her throat before she continued.

"No matter what happens for the rest of you, I can never go home; I must make the best of Thedas that I can," Rachelle allowed some tears to flow down her cheeks as she kept John's eyes on hers.

"Why can't you? I don't understand," John knew she was a powerful mage, or so everyone said, but could that keep her from returning if some way could be found?

"I am a mage; I have no idea if the veil exists at home or whether the Fade does, maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't, but what if it does? I am always in danger of demon possession. Do they have the same demons? Are they different? Do the things I have learned here even work there, and more importantly, would I be a danger to everyone," Rachelle controlled her tears, sniffling, then continued. "And what about Sera? I love her more than I ever loved Alex. Sure, Sera and I don't have much in common, not like I did with Alex, but now I am pretty sure he and I would have been bust in four or five years anyway. But even if I didn't feel that way, I am not the Rachelle I was before we stepped through that gateway."

She took a sip of wine and thought momentarily, then put down the glass.

"Coming here has changed me in ways I can't describe; I think that is true for the rest of us," She looked squarely at John. "We all must find a way to make peace with that or go mad or die. I don't think there is any going back, certainly not for me."

She slid off the stool, straightened her dress, and prepared to return to the rooms she shared with Sera.

"I was a sister, a scientist, a bride-to-be, and now I am a mage, a lesbian in love with an elf thief," She shrugged. "If it has escaped your notice, you are not the same John Gray either."

"You used to be the commander of a group of keepers for a gaggle of scientific tourists; before that, you were a soldier for the US; and you used to be a husband and father." She took a couple of strips of roasted meat and then took a step before she stopped.

"You have to decide what you will be now," She took a bite, then grabbed her wine glass. "Or go jump off a cliff. Either way, you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself; it is not an attractive look."

With that, she left him with a plate full of roasted … something … an ice cold ale, and no appetite for either.

---

Idle hands were not suitable for his mood, so John threw himself back into the work on Skyhold.

He knew Serrada had lost so much that he wanted to give her something. Besides, it kept him from sulking; Rachelle had indeed hit a nerve.

Serrada had mourned the lovely little cabin that Gliril had made so special. That cabin was ashes now, and he could not replace it, but he could improve her quarters and Skyhold.

He and Gliril had sat up on the night the Inquisitor departed on her expedition to Crestwood. After hours of talking, Gliril had made John promise to make the drafty, cold, uncomfortable rooms into a place that Serrada would love as much as her cabin.

John agreed while hugging the little elf as tightly as he could.

Now, days later, John returned to the Inquisitor's bedroom.

He stood just inside the door, taking a deep breath and ticking off the list of final things before he took the next step.

Significant challenges stood between him and his goal of making the penthouse a refuge for Serrada. The greatest was Inquisitor's loft — as a bedroom, it was a great barn.

It was massive; two or three Haven cabins could fit inside, and it was as tall as it was wide. The space swallowed all its furnishings. The area seemed like an island archipelago, all surrounded by a vast stone sea. One island was Serrada's modest double bed with a tiny chest of drawers, away west was the office isle with desk and bookshelves, and to the east, a lonely leather couch sat against the railing, seemingly perched on the abyss at the edge of the world. There was still sufficient space for a ball, and the view out of the balconies was spectacular. In this large space, John was studying Thedas and its customs, learning to dance, fence, duel, and keep himself in shape, all away from prying eyes.

Undoubtedly, it was a magnificent space, but as beautiful as it was it had severe problems.

The room was always drafty; the glass doors always stood open to cross ventilation so the chimney would at least draw the smoke out. Otherwise, the poor draw on the fire would fill the room with smoke faster than it did heat. Fixing that fault had been a challenge; the fireplace seemed to have been added later, making John wonder how the room had been heated previously, if at all.

It was no mean feat to find assistance in working on the roof of the tallest tower of a fortress sitting at the top of a mountain. The view was stunning, but so was the vertigo. However, John persevered and was up on the roof checking the safety harnesses of every worker, then worked beside them till the task was complete. First, they removed rubble of collapsed flue lining along with dead birds, which had clogged the chimney so it would not draw decently, but he then added another few feet of stonework, which improved it significantly. That was the first week after she left. In the meantime, stone masons tuckpointed the stonework in the walls, and glazers replaced most of the missing glass.

The following two weeks were inside work. The walls had been rough, exposed stone, except in places where the plaster tenaciously held. Thick coatings of new white plaster now covered both the old stone and some of the repair work John had completed with the help of a few of the washing staff - those women loved the new clothing wringers and tumble driers. His stonework was relatively poor compared to the original, but at least the patches held better than tumbled-down holes.

John had made other changes to the room, replacing the ubiquitous ladder with a proper staircase hidden in the nook on one side of Serrada's bed. The stairs led to the mezzanine above her bedroom; there, he had framed in a long walk-in closet, although provisions were made for a little hideaway sleeping area for a servant to sleep with some privacy. It was not completely enclosed but obscured by latticework.

The space was lined with sweet-smelling wood whose scent reminded John of roses and lavender. Josephine had told him that it was used in the finest armoires, smelling wonderful while giving the added benefit of controlling insects. Serrada's closet would be the envy of several thrones, as it had an entire wall made of this special wood. Serrada's clothing would be safe from insects while smelling fresh and lovely, and the secondary effect was that her room smelled of springtime in the Free Marches as well, as Leliana had remarked.

His final addition was in a small room that was housing barrels when they discovered Skyhold, although no one could figure out why. Some had suggested throwing the barrels off the balcony and seeing how big a crash they made, but John thought better of it. So instead, he repurposed two of them, both located at the far end of the mezzanine, one filled with water pumped from far below, the other holding water as well, but its water was pumped through a copper pipe, hidden within a channel in the newly plastered walls. That pipe ran through the fireplace and back to the barrel wrapped in a thick wool blanket. For the first time in living memory, a home had hot and cold running water—no more open fires under the bathtub and the danger of making people soup.

Another addition was using a single small barrel perched high above the larger barrels. From the reservoir, a spring-loaded valve controlled water to a pipe running down to the first of many much-loved white porcelain receptacles, which, given that the Inquisitor was the first to have one, rapidly became known as the Inquisitor's private throne.

Its products ran out into the same sewer stack. John planned to combine this drain with future wash basins and bathtubs down through an inner wall to the public restrooms on each of the floors below till it ran into a septic tank that collected the wastes and then out into a large leach field in the valley below. Not ideal, but it would work better than dumping waste into the waterfall that found its way to the lake in the valley. One day soon, all Skyhold's liquid waste would find its way into the septic system and leach field.

For John, improving waste handling is at the top of his to-do list before a cholera outbreak or Thedas' equivalent. A side benefit was that the field would never have been so fertile; years later, wildflowers would be abundant, and lovers often walked there, utterly oblivious to what fed the beauty of their surroundings.

That would be months and years in the future, but for now, John stood alone in the incomplete Inquisitor's chambers, trying to calm his nerves.

Initially, steampunk-style blade switches were considered and used in the distribution center, but it was decided they might be too dangerous for the common rooms. Besides, the British porcelain turn switch was easy to make.

John took three breaths, then turned the switch. Instantly the room was bathed in light; no more dark corners, inky candle shadows, or guttered wax to clean up. Now a dozen bulbs provided light. The white plaster gleamed brilliantly as snow on a clear spring day, while the stained ceiling showed the soot marks of many years of candles and lamps.

"Hmmmm going to have to wash that down, then see if we can mix some sort of stain, have to talk to Solas when I can," Serrada would have been able to count all of John's teeth with his smile, but she would have to be in the room with him. He could only savor this moment alone.

He looked carefully at the barely hidden wiring around the room. No signs of overheating, no small fires that marked a short circuit. Nothing but brilliant warm light, a little slightly yellowish for his liking.

"Baby steps, John, baby steps," He tried not to be too proud of all their work; the glass blowers were constantly laboring to make the bulbs, producing a dozen bulbs daily. Then, finally, the girls were proficient at pulling and soldering the fine wires. Using electricity runes had made soldering a snap; now, with hydropower electricity, they could save the runes for weapons.

The distribution wiring grid was knob-and-tube with simple tar-soaked carbonized wool fabric around the solid copper wire; not ideal, of course, but it was easy to create and install. It would have to do until they found a decent insulator since latex rubber was not readily available. Given that the wool would burn under the right conditions, a better insulator could not come too soon.

John couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the confused looks when small kegs of various tree sap samples started arriving at Skyhold. Josephine had nearly passed out when she saw the bill. It was just one of many conversations he either participated in or overheard that made Thedas feel so natural and human, such as when he had overheard Serrada whispering with Varric to get Cassandra an advanced novel of a romance series she was addicted to. John snickered at the thought - women never changed, armor or silk, romance was still romance. Then there was the bizarre conversation he had with Fiona.

---

John was doing final tower measurements when the mage nervously approached him. John could not imagine what such a powerful mage might be anxious about, which made him nervous, although his back didn't itch.

"Excuse me, commander, might I have a word?" Fiona was the leader of the surviving rebel mages, a powerful mage in her own right, still maintaining her pride even in her defeat.

She had been a Gray Warden, which brought respect. John did not understand all of Gray Warden's history but had been told a fantastic story about fighting a demon-possessed dragon. It was almost too much to believe, even with all he had seen in Thedas. But those he knew certainly treated wardens with respect bordering on reverence. Serrada had told him that the warden Leliana was married to was particularly important. That should have been enough to garner respect for Fiona, but she was also once the leader of all the mages in Thedas and, thus, part of the reason for the disastrous civil war between Templars and Mages. All this gave John plenty of reason to be cautious.

"Yes, Fiona, what can I do for you?" John asked, recalling the strict instructions from Josie to never use a title with Fiona; she had willingly relinquished all titles as part of the deal with the mages.

"It is nothing of great importance, I had hoped to speak with the Inquisitor, but she has been away," Fiona was moving from one foot to the other; her hands were working over each other.

"I don't have any authority to help," John started; he had heard that the mages and templars always had long lists of asks, which never seemed to get shorter.

"No, commander, you misunderstand; I simply wished to know if the Inquisitor mentioned anything about what King Alister might have said," Fiona took a deep breath; she looked nervous. "I know we did not part on the best of terms, and I wish to thank him for his aid."

"No, she didn't, but I will ask her in private when she returns," John responded quietly to avoid nearby ears. "I feel this is more than just mere politeness?"

Fiona lightly blushed, then mastered herself, "No, no, he was very kind to us, and we did not return his kindness as we should have; I wished to apologize to him, that is all. If you will excuse me, Commander."

She moved to go, but he acted instinctively for reasons only the Maker knew.

"Wait, Fiona, I see something on your shoulder," he quickly brushed away the imaginary lint but did manage to gather a few hairs in the effort. "There, I think that has got it; we want to look our best, don't we."

Fiona eyed him for several moments till John felt awkward.

"Yes, of course, commander, thank you," Fiona responded, backing away two steps before turning.

"Listen, write a letter or something, and I will make sure it is delivered to … King Alister," John genuinely thought to have this done, but also to get something in return.

John wondered if he was only an instant away from feeling something akin to the freezing spell Vivienne had used. However, that didn't happen; Fiona relaxed, her shoulders less tense.

"Thank you, Commander, I shall do so," She turned, took only a step, then turned. "Thank you."

She left, leaving John with his prize and guilt, wondering why he had done what he did.

"That was well done, Commander," Dorian added from his comfortable nook. "But you do not have a mage who can use those properly, and I disapprove of blood magic myself. Is there someone you have in mind?"

John looked shocked, and Dorian saw it and chuckled, "So you were just removing lint, how quaint. I am sure Fiona will be on her best behavior for the next several days, as she should be."

John took the strands of hair and found at least two had intact follicles; he rushed to find José.

---

The wiring was holding, no shorts, no flash fires, no screams or explosions from below.

As dangerous as tar-soaked wool might be, it was much less flammable than all the candles and open fires used to heat and illuminate the chambers of Skyhold now. He knew Josephine had considered using lighting runes, and Varric had made inquiries but had been rebuffed.

John thought that it was a waste of lyrium and had offered to light Skyhold using electricity and incandescent bulbs, Serrada had jumped at the offer, but John could not help but think it was more to keep him busy and out of the way than to light Skyhold.

Until the last conversation he had with her in this room, he had convinced himself that he was being paranoid; now he was confident he was paranoid, but she was trying to keep him out of the way. Two things can be true at the same time.

John strolled around the room. The two desk lamps burned bright; he was excited to test them later that night. He designed them as bright as midday so Serrada could work without eye strain.

"One more thing to try," John moved to the impressively large fireplace; again, he held his breath and turned the switch there. To his right on the other side of the wall, he heard a motor start, a little noisier than he would have liked, especially in the dark of the night, but almost instantly, warm air blew through the pipes up in the fireplace flue. In moments the air was noticeably warmer. A ceiling fan slowly rolled above him, driving the warm air above down; in summer, it could be reversed easily by just swapping a simple plug. Given the expansive ice fields surrounding Skyhold, he doubted that air conditioning would be a high priority soon.

Satisfied, John went down the stairs and through the door out of Serrada's rooms to the new study just a floor below. The study was a significant new addition, filling the empty void that had once been one flight below the penthouse.

Turning that room's light switch, the natural light from the windows was suddenly augmented, and the room was bright as noon. Then, as in the penthouse, John moved to the new fireplace and turned another switch, and its fans softly whirred, quickly cutting through the chill.

When finished, this room would be a quiet, dignified, and secluded place where the Inquisitor could meet guests privately without bringing them to her loft and bedchamber and all the talk that might engender.

Leaving the study, he went down another flight of stairs to enter the reception area, where Gliril would be stationed as Serrada's assistant and her first line of defense.

The story was the same. First, lights, then heat, except this room did not have an open fireplace but one of the potbelly stoves they had been making in Haven. It did not help the room's ambiance but was functional and allowed for more wall space for file cabinets and the other furniture of an office.

As before, they all worked well, with only a few dead bulbs. One more task, and the most visible and complex of all the projects, would be complete. As if stepping out onto a stage, John took a deep breath and opened the door, thus entering the Grand Hall of the Inquisition. In short, the main stage of the Inquisition.

He entered the hall through the new heavy two-door entrance. It replaced the single door, so no one could pick a single lock and enter the Inquisitors' private rooms. The outer door had to be closed before the inner door could be opened. If one wished, an intruder could be locked between them, unable to escape.

The main hall switch was not visible but hidden behind a discrete panel; he engaged each of the four controllers. First, chandeliers burst into warm glowing yellow-white light, then surrounding strings of lights along the balconies and the surrounding walls, which light the flags and heraldry of all those who supported the Inquisition publicly.

Next, the foot lighting at the base of the dais so that the Inquisitor would have softer lighting as she spoke or passed judgment. Then, finally, a series of spotlights high above, directing focused beams of light onto the Inquisition throne.

Overall, the effect was spectacular, and something unseen anywhere on Thedas save this room.

John counted six dead bulbs in the chandeliers, and one of the spotlights also looked iffy; he made a mental note.

The heat here was different in the tower as well. On the dais were two large open braziers, an homage to the traditions of Skyhold and the impact that fire had on ambiance. What was unique about these braziers was that within each were copper pipes, which carried water from below and circulated through the newly repaired floor out and along the outer walls to radiators. Electric pumps forced water through the braziers into insulated tanks, then mixed and out through the floor pipes to the radiators. It was less quick to heat the hall but was virtually silent compared to the blowers in the fireplaces, and there would be no cold floors or overly hot radiators. Still, in an hour or two, the cavernous hall was shirt sleeve temperature and light as if the sun was at midday within its walls.

"Magnificent, Commander Gray," Leliana appeared out of one of the side doors that lead up to her loft. "We shall save a great deal of gold on candles alone. Josephine may wish to marry you if the Inquisitor does not."

John laughed, but Leliana didn't. Immediately John thought he had misunderstood her until he caught her look he realized she was teasing him.

After the loss of Haven, saving gold had been a top priority.

Gold had been a constant nuisance in Haven, but Haven did bring in gold; after it was lost, those resources dried up. However, several lucky coincidences made things work out amazingly well.

"Seriously, Commander, the impact of this room and the lighting will resonate throughout Thedas. Never underestimate the impact of presentation and presence. It is beyond precious to those in power," Leliana gracefully looked around, almost as if she were a ballerina on point; John could not help but admire the woman. "You have given the Inquisitor a stage that will rival even ancient Tevintor at its peak."

Leliana was not a woman to lavish unearned praise; she seemed the type to be sparing in her recognition, so John took her words to heart. Besides, it was genuinely impressive, even if he did say so himself.

"Oh, I had almost forgotten; I believe this little bird is yours?" Leliana handed him his hammer before turning and walking to her door; John could not help but notice how inviting she was leaving. "One more thing? After you finish with Josie's office, please can you do your magic in the rookery? Don't forget; you must also check in on the greenhouses and laboratories. Thank you."

'Shit, she is right; I have to go over there,' John shivered. Honestly, that whole tower gave him the creeps. But he was a soldier, so he took his hammer and tools and headed to the strangest place on Thedas, at least in his experience.

John took one more look around and headed for the research tower. He left the lights on.

---

Just how the research tower had become so … odd … was entangled with gold. But, of course, gold was always a concern for the Inquisition, as it seemed everywhere in the universe.

As far as Josie was concerned, John had no doubt she would be happy with the savings, although the initial investment was rather significant. Unfortunately, gold had become in very short supply after Haven.

Haven itself was a pilgrimage, which generated gold, and Haven's destruction also destroyed that income. Worse, some had blamed the Inquisition for the destruction of the village. Its loss meant funds were required to resettle the survivors elsewhere.

The financial crisis was so severe that it endangered the Inquisition itself. That is, until a seeming miracle occurred.

Pepper and, to a lesser extent, coffee were the keys to the kingdom. More accurately, keys to the Orlesian Empire and the kingdoms Ferelden and Orzammar.

Peppercorns came from the little grinder packed away in the scientist's gear. Coffee had come from Rodeo; he only liked his coffee freshly roasted, a habit he had picked up in Afghanistan.

Before the attack on Haven, they had planted peppercorns and coffee beans. Surprisingly, they had sprouted. Initially thought lost with everything else, the Chargers found the plants and somehow managed to keep them alive on the journey to Skyhold.

Those individual peppercorns and raw coffee beans would become the golden geese of the Inquisition if they had enough time. But unfortunately, pepper plants take two to three years to produce valuable seeds, and coffee takes longer.

It seemed that the solution was just out of reach and that the Inquisition would be out of capital long before these new cash crops could fill the empty coffers.

Then came a sequence of lucky breaks, enough for John to reconsider his theology stance, followed by another fantastic coincidence, courtesy of Rachelle.

Desperate to keep Felix alive, Dorian had been brainstorming with Vivienne and Solas as Rachelle served tea.

"Felix is dying; he will not survive the trip to Minrathous" Dorian looked as dejected as a brilliantly talented, devastatingly handsome human being could as he sat at the table, picking at a scone.

Rachelle had sat for hours, listening to Dorian reminisce about Felix and stolen cookies; at first, she thought they might have been a couple, but Dorian hotly denied it.

"He is more of an adopted younger brother. And I, his extremely charming and gifted older sibling," Dorian modestly replied. "It was for the love of Felix that Gereon went so wrong and all that drama with the mages at Redcliff. He could never forgive himself for not being there for Felix and his wife Livia, her death, and Felix becoming Blighted. It was all too much for him, you see."

Rachelle longed to find something that might help Felix, for Dorian's sake, if not for Felix's.

"We can do only so much, darling," Vivienne thought it an achievement to keep Felix alive for so long, but she did her best to hide her respect, possibly because of the losing battle she was fighting for the one she loved; her voice was suddenly hushed. "After all, we are only delaying the inevitable."

Dorian knew she was undoubtedly correct, but he would burn before he admitted it. Desperate, he was about to try to refute the erstwhile First Enchanter when Rachelle spoke up.

"We could create a suspended animation chamber," Rachelle had suggested as if she were suggesting raspberry vs. strawberry jam for the scones she was serving at tea.

Solas almost choked on the spiced wine he sipped, "If I understand you correctly, that would be a solution, but how would one achieve such a feat?"

"The amulet, of course," Rachelle handed Solas a cookie, which he took and dipped into his wine, causing all but him to wrinkle their noses.

"I am sorry dear, but I don't follow," Dorian recognized Rochelle's emerging magical abilities, but he truly respected her mind; it was only second to his, and in the darkness of the night and with a few ales, he would admit it might be his equal.

"It seems to me the problem we face all around us is time itself," she looked from mage to mage; the expressions ranged from quizzical, to noncommittal, to condescending.

"Well, there is Corypheus, of course," Rachelle rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "Look, Felix has little time, so we need time to slow for him until we can find a cure. We need suspended animation."

She spoke to no one in particular as she worked out all the details in her mind's eye; she was talking to herself now.

"But we need time to find or develop a cure. That means isolating the Blight, culturing it, and identifying whatever Blight is. We can take blood and tissue samples from Felix, then stabilize him again; we would briefly break containment and isolation." She spoke quietly, her fingers working through the air like she was painting with her thoughts. "However, to identify test cures, we need time - we need time faster in some ways, slower in others. Cell cultures take hours and hours, sometimes days. We don't even know what culture media to use; maybe we have some records …."

"Rachelle darling, you are wandering," Vivienne was also impressed with the girl's mind, but she was much less patient than either Dorian or Solas. "If you have a point to make, please make it; I wish to change for dinner."

"Oh yes, of course," Rachelle sat back up, her eyes engaging with the other mages. "Well, the point is, we could overlap slow time regions, almost stopping time if we overlapped enough of them, and perhaps if we overlapped enough faster ones, we could speed time up so that time passes in the accelerated areas, while minutes pass outside."

"But we had seen the disaster that would cause, my dear, disaster that would befall the world," Vivienne was preparing to leave when Dorian pipped up.

"Not necessarily. It is a brilliant idea! Instead of creating large regions of altered time, we carefully control where and how it is applied until …" Dorian became so excited he stood and kissed Rachelle on the forehead. "You are brilliant!"

The following day, Dorian, Solas, Vivienne, and Rachelle, stood outside the cell for Gereon Alexius.

"You are a traitor to all you once valued, Gereon, but if you aid us, you might still help Felix," That was all Dorian required to gain Gereon's full support, giving the magister a reason to live again.

Two adjoining cells were used the next day, hourglasses in each, and Dorian cast the spell. Success was immediate, with sand flowing freely in the accelerated cell and seemingly stopping in the slower cell. The effect was so contained that it did not spill out.

Surprisingly, Vivienne suggested buffering the room and dispelling magic within the stone.

"Well, as I see, no amount of common sense will dissuade you, at least shield the surroundings," She had been reading a book when the suggestion was made; almost shocking, it was a romance by Tethras.

The next effort was even more effective, three rooms, two fast at double the speed, one now moved at a snail's pace. Then three rooms double but the fourth room an eighth the speed. And so on, it seemed success was at hand … well, until dinner.

"It is not enough!" Dorian slammed his wine glass down hard enough it shattered, but Rachelle spoke some words in elvish, and it reassembled. However, Dorian's bleeding hand did not.

"It is not enough, we need time to stop, and worse, if we only double time in the rooms, we gain little advantage in finding a cure." His temper cooled as he wrapped his bleeding hand in a cloth. Finally, Vivienne pitied him and cured the injury.

"We could increase the disparity between the rooms, perhaps four to one or even eight to one," Solas suggested while sipping his spiced wine.

"That causes problems," Rachelle added while drawing on a large piece of paper. "Remember, people must move into and out of these rooms. We want Felix to stay in the slowed room for as long as possible, so his space needs little attention, but to make the faster rooms useful, we must be able to move between them, if not easily, at least not without dying."

"Please don't be dramatic, my dear," Vivienne sipped her wine.

"It is not drama. Haven't you noticed the vertigo when you go in and out of the rifts?" Rachelle looked shocked that they had not noticed.

"At Redcliff, I found I was generally distracted by demons," Dorian responded, sipping from his mug.

"Oh, I suppose," Rachelle seemed more flustered than usual; she was missing Sera, who was in Crestwood with the Her… no … Inquisitor and would not be back for days.

"Well, when you pass through the edge of these time rifts, part of you is on either side. Your blood and lungs, your heart and brain, all caught between, some faster, some slower." Rachelle used the sugar bowl to demonstrate. "That is alright if you are healthy and quick about it and don't linger halfway in and out."

"Oh, Maker, I see what you mean!" Dorian thumped his mug hard enough to make it slosh; the fact that he sinned by splashing was lost on him. "Double would be one thing, but treble or quadruple? You tear yourself apart…."

"Exactly," Rachelle seemed proud of herself. "I propose a series of rooms, each twice as fast as the one before, all with the slower rifts space collocated. So Felix might safely stay within, piling up the slower time until time essentially stops."

She sat back, arms crossed over her breasts, with a look of triumphant pleasure that they all saw her conundrum. The more experienced mages sat in stunned silence.

"Cleaver girl," Vivienne whispered in genuine admiration.

"But how might such be built?" Solas asked; his tone revealed he, too, was impressed.

"The third tower on the outer wall is empty; Commander Gray said it must be gutted. I suggest a series of chambers from bottom to top, built in an ascending spiral, with the top being Felix's room. It has the best view." Rachelle had made her point, so she unrolled her sketches. "Below him would be laboratory space to work on the cure. Decreasing in speed as you descended."

"But how would one …" Vivienne looked carefully at the plans. "If each ascending chamber …."

"Supplies and accommodation will have to be allocated for each level and chamber," Rachelle added, showing her figures.

John saw the value instantly and immediately put carpenters and masons to work on 24-hour shifts. Since the tower needed shoring up, the woodwork required for the project would serve double duty.

Work progressed at a remarkable pace. At least the structure was completed when it was needed; Felix was deteriorating rapidly.

Within a week, he occupied his apartment aided by his doting father as the first spell was cast, and as each additional layer was added, time slowed for him until, at last, after the sixth, it appeared to stop completely.

"Well, that seems to have worked," Dorian, Solas, Vivienne, and Rachelle observed it all exceptionally carefully.

"It is all good for your friend, but of what practical use is it?" Vivienne could always be counted on to kill a good mood.

"Well, the lab gear is already installed, but John had an idea," Rachelle smiled and shook a glass phile of peppercorns while holding a potted coffee plant.

---

Other things were happening in Skyhold; John could not spin straw into gold, and others had their turn at the wheel. Then, days before the first light burned, another meeting took place.

Little went on in Skyhold that Ambassador Montilyet did not have a hand in, even if others did not always appreciate her assistance.

Josephine sat at tea; she had not been as taken with coffee as many others had.

As usual, Leliana leaned against the wall. Orchid Willhammer, a gifted young dwarf smith, was delivering her report on her observations of Commander John Gray and his work.

Call it a habit, Josephine glanced through the newly glazed window down onto the courtyard below. She reassured herself that the individual in question was busy directing the assembly of one of the new … cranes? The wooden structures towered over the walls, reaching well above the height of the tower roofs. It swung huge blocks of freshly cut stone into place on the almost complete outer wall; it effortlessly lifted and swung the load as light as a bag of feathers. It was only one of many at Skyhold and the quarry across the valley.

"It is remarkable, just remarkable," Josephine whispered to herself; everyone was shocked at how quickly the Newcomers designed and built these machines.

"Yes, we took up occupancy less than a moon ago, and most of the major repairs are nearly complete." Leliana's voice showed respect that Josie had not expected, given Lel's notorious reticence.

"Yes, it is remarkable," the young smith added, wanting to remind them she was in the room. "I am told that the Shaperate is convinced these Newcomers have somehow gained access to the secret vaults. I was told that an investigation has been called for …."

"That is ridiculous," Josephine was preparing to nip these rumors in the bud without exposing the truth. Then reconsidered, realizing it might be useful to allow such speculations to grow.

"Oh, of course, it is. It is not like they could sneak in unnoted, could they?" Smith Willhammer responded with a wave.

'Besides, from what I understand, such machines must be common where they come from; it is difficult to build the first trebuchet but quite a bit easier to build the next,' thought young Orchid.

She was young but gifted and no fool; she could see that these humans knew stone craft as well or better than any who now lived among the people of the stone, at least those above ground.

"However, I would let the Shaperate think so; better for the Inquisition and me. I am willing to learn what Commander Gray and his companions are willing to teach." The fine porcelain cup and saucer looked almost comical in the stained, stubby solid fingers of the dwarf maiden smith.

Leliana did not shift an inch, but Josephine could not help but fidget a little; the situation made her uncomfortable. Besides, her bottom still hurt from the previous night's… attention.

Josephine wondered if the young dwarf noted anything between the spymaster and herself, everyone knew that they were close friends, but no one except for Leliana's wife, the Hero of Ferelden, knew just how close they were.

Josie blushed, remembering when Leliana had introduced her lady love. The three had barely even eaten for the next two days. The stamina of the gray wardens was certainly demonstrated on that visit.

"Josie, are you all right? You seem, how shall I put this, distracted," The spymaster asked, herself appearing disengaged from the conversation; the smirk was visible even through her signature cowl.

Ambassador Montilyet knew she had to change the subject quickly, lest her blush gave her away.

"I am sorry, Mistress Willhammer, but I must admit I am confused," Josephine was good at covering when her thoughts wandered. "You say that they have spent 5000 gold for some sort of tubes, and for what purpose?"

Josephine knew, in principle, what these devices were intended to do, but ignorance was always an excellent disguise.

"Yes, and that is just it, ambassador. We were contracted to create it, and we have no idea what its purpose is," The frustration of the dwarf smith was palpable, but so was her curiosity. "Engineer Glenn will not share with me what it is, and Commander Gray is even less helpful. However, I do know that it is dangerous."

"Dangerous, you say?" Leliana rolled away from the bookshelf like ice sliding over water. "Exactly how is it … dangerous?"

Leliana moved closer; she needed to be close enough to the young dwarf in case … action … had to be taken. But, for the girl's sake, Leliana hoped blade work would not be necessary. She was adorable, especially for a dwarf maiden.

"Well, as part of the contract, we were to immerse the devices in a pool of water and proof them for leaks, so apparently it will be immersed," Willhammer tried to sound neutral, but she failed; both Lel and Josie could hear the excitement in the young dwarf's voice. "We don't have such pools large enough, but a wide pond was nearby. It is used for the flour mill, so we thought it fulfilled the contract. Essentially the same as a still pool, right?"

"But it wasn't, was it?" Leliana asked, moving closer to the smith, who seemed to shrink backward, almost like she was threatened.

"Well, not still, but pretty much the same, right? What was the difference?" The smith shrugged, seemingly uncertain if she was being interrogated for breach of contract; "Okay, maybe it was a shortcut but a small one, wasn't it?"

"Well, their device has all manner of loops and hooks to hang it from," the smith was fidgeting as she spoke, seemingly trying to decide what to do with her hands. "It is intended to be suspended while it is in operation."

"Go on," Leliana slowly moved beside the smith, sliding down to sit by the girl.

"Well, we put it in the water; there must have been a current for the internals started to turn, ever so slowly, then a little faster." The smith shifted uncomfortably beside the spymaster; the dwarf woman blushed deeply.

"I understand what you are saying, Mistress Willhammer, but I still am at a loss; how do you know it is dangerous," Josephine made a point not to look up and disturb Leliana while she worked. "Can you elaborate?"

"Well, you see, there are these two porcelain mounds, each with a copper bolt and nut-like nipple in each, and, well, you know how males are, they were lewdly attracted to them, and it became a sort of good luck ritual to … well, to touch them." Mistress Willhammer was now beet red. "I was in the pool trying to steady the devices, and one of the others dared me to touch them while in the water with the device; when I did … I don't remember much after that; they had to haul me out of the pond."

"Hauled out? Were you unable to swim?" Leliana had stopped her advances on the girl as the content of her speech distracted the Left Hand. "What happened?"

"Well, you might not know this, but dwarves are not known for our swimming skills. One of the others who had been with mages and templars said I looked like I was hit by magic. He said I shook like a fish hauled up on the dock." Smith Willhammer was so immersed in her story that she did not recognize Leliana sitting close to her. She jumped at first when Leliana let her arm settle down around the young dwarf.

"When I woke, the healers told me it was as if lightning struck me," Orchid was almost talking to herself. "But that was impossible, the weather was clear, not a cloud in the sky, and there was no mage, nor power rune, simply water and that … thing."

"Very interesting. Now that you have delivered your cargo, where are these devices?" Josephine asked, trying to appear disinterested.

"Well, that is the oddest thing yet," young Willhammer leaned toward the ambassador and whispered for all in the room to hear. "They disassembled them and carried the parts down into the cells. I didn't think the Inquisition used ummm persuasion?"

"If you use persuasion to mean torture," Leliana now sat up, slightly away from the dwarf girl she had been caressing. "The Inquisitor has strictly forbidden it, so we do not. Besides, one can torture someone into admitting any sin if only one makes the torture stop. Not an effective method regardless."

"Thank you for your report, Mistress Willhammer; you have already received your initial payment; the rest will be made once the final approval has been made by Commander Gray, as per your arrangement," Josephine was looking back at the accounts. The Inquisition was perilously close to financial ruin with all the purchases the Newcomers were making.

"Well, ummmm that's just it, you see, ummm, Orzammar has already paid my guild. The king owns the debt but isn't interested in the gold; he wants some of that … pepper. So he said he would cancel the debt for … four Orzammar ducats weight of whole seed," responded the sweating dwarf; she smiled uncomfortably as Leliana's nails stroked the back of her neck. The young dwarf was shaking visibly now; still, she leaned into Leliana's touch sending the spymaster several approving glances while biting her lower lip.

"One single ducat's weight, one more when the original fee is returned, and one additional for future work paid in advance, and all cracked corns," Josephine responded; she had not forgotten the refusal of the King of Orzammar to provide lighting runes that she had been willing to purchase, which likely sweetened the taste of her reply. "It is a finite resource; we must husband it carefully."

'Thank the Maker for pepper!' She would have kissed each of the Newcomers for the value it brought, there was more than enough pepper now to meet the demands of the king of the Children of the Stone, but she did not want that to be widely known. At least not yet; the rarity was worth much more than gold. Dozens of plants were rapidly growing in the greenhouses on the tower roofs, more than enough to meet the needs of the Inquisition and the tables of the powerful, but keeping pepper scarce made it a powerful tool. Coffee was the second target crop of the accelerated growth chambers, but that delicacy had not been hinted at for the crowned heads … all in good time.

"Done," Willhammer responded, her voice deep, her head tilted to one side, giving Leliana access to her sensitive neck.

"Please, excuse us, Lady Montilyet," Leliana leaned in and kissed the dwarf woman's neck, causing a slight but deep moan to escape the lips of the kiss's recipient. "I will join you in your office once our … negotiations … are concluded."

Josie gathered her things and quickly left; she was flushed and did not wish to interfere with Leliana's 'negotiations' more than she had to. Although having been the center of the Left Hands' attentions only the night before, she knew that poor Orchid had no chance of escaping and would never want to; she would make a valuable asset to Leliana's network of informants.

Josie quietly closed the second-floor guest quarters room door, which overlooked the newly renovated gardens. Just as the door closed, a clear sound of the dwarf maiden's laughter escaped the room. Mother Giselle glanced up toward the noise source to see Josephine, and their eyes met just as a sharp swat landed. A soft scream which carried more of a note of lust than pain escaped around the door; Josie closed it as quickly as she could, hoping the thick wood would muffle the sounds that were trying to escape. Unfortunately, it didn't help much at all, and Josie took to her heels down the narrow path to the closest exit into the main hall.

Josie knew she was turning scarlet even through her darker Ativan complexion.

Josie hurried down from the guest quarters to her office, desperate for a few moments of peace and solitude. She expected it to be empty, even though she shared it with Commander Gray; he had a table at the far end of the room. However he spent little time there, but when he did, he was always respectful, kind, and very charming.

Josephine understood why Lady Trevelyan had fallen for him.

She was confident that the room would be empty, and opening her door, she walked quickly to her desk, dropping her papers and tablet down, trying desperately not to think of what was inevitably transpiring a floor above her head.

"Good morning, Madam Montilyet" Commander Gray's deep, resonant voice caused her to jump almost out of her skin.

Josie jumped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth and avoid further embarrassment.

"Commander Gray! How, when you were in the courtyard," Josephine realized she had just admitted that she was watching him and blushed. She decided to go on offense rather than blushing. "I have asked you to call me Josephine or even Josie."

The man leaned against the table, staring directly at the ambassador. He noticed the curve of her face, the thickness of her long hair, and the dusky skin, which reminded him of the Eastern Mediterranean women he had met as a young man.

'She is lovely,' John shook himself. His progress in Skyhold was feeling proud, and a mischievous grin showed his pearl-white teeth. He was trying hard not to laugh at her comment about his location.

"So, Serrada has you watching me, does she?" His eyes flashed a little, not anger, but something else. "I guess I should not be surprised."

He returned to the pile of large drawings scattered randomly across the table.

"You did not answer my question, Ambassador … Josie, did the negotiations go well?" He was leafing through the drawings, rolling some up, opening others, then closing again till he found the one he wanted. "And if I am going to call you Josie, you must call me John."

"Very well, Commander, I believe we have reached an excellent accommodation," as if to accentuate the comment, sounds filter down from the floor above, the sounds of deep desire; Josie glanced at John, who looked equally uncomfortable.

"Commander, I am feeling a bit peckish. Shall we carry this conversation on in the garden over tea?" A loud thump sounded overhead, followed by the two women's laughter as if to underline the question.

"Yes, please," John threw the cover over the worktable and walked to the door opening it for his companion. Then, as if to hurry them out of the room, a scream and laughter followed them as they closed the door.

"That is through timber and stone. Can you imagine the racket on the second floor?" Josie giggled quietly, then smiled to diffuse the situation and their mutual embarrassment.

"I am just not used to the casual intimacy here," John was not a prude, but nothing in his life prepared him for this level of … openness. "People could be pretty open, but there was nothing like this…."

Josephine drew a deep breath, stopping to look at the man the Inquisitor had explicitly tasked her to teach.

"Josephine, John needs looking after. Josie, I need him by my side; he needs …. I don't know, something," Serrada had come to her office just before setting out for Crestwood, "I know he is struggling; I need him ready for the ball, and … he just isn't."

"I understand, Commander, believe me," Her smile waned some, "Most are not as … boisterous about their relationships as our Left Hand, she is original of Ferelden stock, but she was brought up in Val Royeaux, being talented and beautiful she was very … popular in certain circles, but she is also a very passionate being."

They walked quietly toward the pavilion, finding it empty; they sat for only a moment when the kitchen girl came running up to see if she could be of service.

"Oh, good morning Josrel," John responded to the young girl, who blushed and curtseyed. "We would love some tea and maybe a snack; anything will do."

Josie watched the Inquisitor Consort send the girl scampering away to find the tea.

"You did that well, Commander," Josephine leaned back, enjoying the spring breeze. She always marveled at the transformation of the garden area; in just a few weeks, it was no longer a dense mass of wild jungle but an orderly, clean, and comfortable space to rest and recuperate from the tasks of the Inquisition, here and there were brand new raised beds with growing plants that would save lives and calm the soul.

"Oh, that? Wow, I just treated her like a person, that's all," John was so cute when he blushed. "It isn't so special, is it? Why not be polite? Does it cost you anything?"

Over John's shoulder, Josie watched as the girl scurried across the courtyard and pushed past several people milling around the door to the main hall.

"I suspect she thinks it is special since you know her name and don't call her rabbit or knife ear," Josie whispered those last words and saw John's eyes widen, his nostrils flair.

Josie watched him wrestle with his emotions; she wondered what battle played inside his mind; she suspected he fought with demons of his memory as he seemed to be thinking of something but saying nothing.

Enough time had passed that the elf girl pushed through the door, hurrying back from the kitchens with a tray ladened with all manner of goodies, more than requested, and another elf kitchen girl following close behind with a tea service.

John was quiet now, having mastered his anger, at least on the surface.

"I would never," John started, just the servant reached the table when he realized she was there at all. "Josrel, please …"

John quickly snatched the platter in his right hand; just as the girl tripped on the stairs, his left hand deftly caught Josrel by the arm, keeping her from falling.

"Whhooo, their Jesrel, no reason to run," John laughed and set the platter down. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" Kneeling to check the girl's feet and knees.

"I am fine, sir; I am sorry for being clumsy, sir," Josrel gasped; she barely got the words out when the tea arrived.

"Oh, thank you, Secon; just put the tray on the table." Still holding the food platter, John waited for the girl to set the tea service in place before he did the same with the treats. Both elven serving girls are standing just steps off.

John handed Jesrel the empty platter and smiled at both girls. "Thank you both for your help; now you best get back to your chores, or you might get in trouble."

Both curtsied and giggling, went running while glancing back whenever they could.

Josephine played mother, pouring tea for them both, then sat, considering the man from so far away in more ways than geography.

She handed him a cup and saucer, offering milk and honey. John sat and watched her; he was learning his manners very well.

Finally, as distasteful as it was, she had to teach.

"You are very gracious to those girls, even learning their names," Josephine had to be careful with her following words. "Just be conscious, Commander; others may think more is intended than I know you plan."

She watched John pause a mid-sip, then slowly and deliberately put down his cup and saucer.

"Are you saying that others might take my being polite to those girls as something other than being polite?" John's voice was cold enough to freeze the heart of an ancient high dragon.

"It would not be unusual; many a young elf girl will provide favors for a noble to improve her and her family's situation, which is uniquely true in Orlais," Josephine sipped and kept her voice steady while carefully watching her companion. She saw the flush of his face, his nostrils flared and pupils; she was not as talented as Leliana in reading subtle changes, but she was not without skills.

Josephine was astounded by his honesty but also touched by his naivete, and both would have to be managed in a way that did not damage him but also did not compromise the Inquisitor.

"As disgusting as that is, from their perspective, I suppose it makes sense" John's voice was ice cold. "So, are you proposing I treat the elves like dirt like everyone else? Is that it? If you are, I won't. I look forward to some asshole saying something like that to my face because I will punch theirs."

"I wish you to be no one but yourself; I simply am attempting to make you aware of what might be whispered, indeed, is likely to be whispered already," Josie took a slip, averting her eyes, allowing the coin to drop.

"Are you saying what people might be saying," John's look told her all she needed to know.

"Oh, we have reports already; there are those who believe that Gliril is the bed partner of our Inquisitor, and others say she is yours," Josie took one of the cookies that were so popular now. "Others say you share her…."

Josie watched the emotions play across the man's face. Brief as they were, the rage, disgust, and above all, sadness all played their part in the ballet she observed; finally, a forced calm returned. A calm more terrifying than his anger, it was a serenity that she had noticed more often in Leliana these days. To Josie, that quietness signaled that her dearest friend was likely considering someone's murder.

Seeing that look in John's eyes was somehow even more disquieting.

"What do we do?" John asked, surrendering to experience; he had to live in society, changing what he could. "I won't treat them like dirt, and I won't disrespect them."

"Don't change a thing, Commander; once everyone knows you treat everyone the same, word will spread. Therefore, you must keep your temper. There will be those who will try to bait you, do not suffer others to disrespect them either." Josie put her cup down, making sure he heard him. "That will reflect well on you, the Inquisition, and above all, the Inquisitor. However, we must be prepared at some time; our enemies will use your chivalry against the Inquisition. This will require you to defend not only your honor but also that of the Inquisitors."

"So, by not being an asshole, I might cause myself problems?" John seemed amused by the prospect. "And if I understand you right, I might end up in a duel for not being an asshole?"

"We shall add more to your education, Commander; you must learn more about the high and low societies of Thedas." Josie chose not to answer his question directly but to do so through his education. "Especially in dueling etiquette and tactics, for you will require it at some point."

Thus began John Gray's foray into the twists and turns of The Great Game and the delicate dance of its most deadly aspects.

John learned to live with little sleep; besides, he had copper wire to pull, keeping him busy and his mind off being left behind.

---

It was a morning on the fifth week when the raven came.

Serrada and her company were returning as quickly as they could; the Inquisitor had been injured.

John raced down the Spiral Stair and across the frozen lake, nearly falling twice. He raced through the camp and ran to meet the Inquisitor's party as soon as possible. He met them near the palisade.

His eyes searched the band of returning soldiers and scouts; they looked exhausted but essentially healthy. He scanned face after face; finally, he saw her, she led the party as usual, but her cloak was pulled down tightly over her face, blocking the wind. Somehow this change bothered John since she never had her hood up when returning to Haven.

He raced to her, heedless of the icy path; he approached without a word. He was smiling as broadly as a man could, his mind racing from item to item he wanted to show her. He had not been idle and wanted her to know it, to see that he had done as she desired, worked hard on all the things that she had thought were important.

His mind was so occupied that he did not shout; those with her hung back. Sera, Cassandra, Blackwall, Eric, Rodeo, and Varric all seemed to move behind and beside her. It was too late when he caught the signals that Sera and Eric were frantically trying to send him.

He did not comprehend the situation till it was too late.

Serrada had leapt to the rear, putting distance between them, daggers out, crouched in her fighting stance, her hood thrown down her shoulders, exposing the blood-soaked bandage hiding the left side of her face.

He could see the bandage drawn down her chin and over the left side of her face, covering most of it to her ear; he could also see the left side of her head was shaved, the hair that was not burned into short, scorched roots. He thought a hint of exposed jawbone might be visible near the edge of where her mouth should have ended. Unhidden by the bandage, what looked like burn scars ran to the back of her head and down the left side of her neck to disappear under her tunic.

John had seen enough in his life to know that Serrada had been seriously wounded, and from what he could see, she had been marred and would likely be worse under the bandage. Even with the most extensive plastic surgery, he had seen casualties burned beyond recognition. All those things broke his heart, but nothing hurt as profoundly as the wild-eyed mix of fear and rage in the still beautiful eye he could see.

'Oh, Serrada, what has happened to you?' The pain John saw in her eye nearly drove him to his knees.

He knew what he had to do. He had done it with friends whose sanity hung by a thread.

He simply stood, feet apart, a smile on his face, chin down so as not to show challenge, tears in his eyes, his arms open wide, and he waited.

Waiting was critical; he could not challenge her; she might lash out at him at anyone. She had to decide to come to him on her terms.

He simply waited.

The wind blew cold across the ice-covered lake. Whisps of snow blew between them; sometimes, the breeze would blow her cloak to the side, exposing the claw marks on the armor beneath. Still, she did not move, and neither did those behind her.

He simply waited.

Moments became minutes; minutes seemed hours; his burning arms held open. His swimming eyes threatened to freeze, his earlobes so numb they hurt deep into his skull.

He simply waited.

He feared his arms would fall off from exhaustion before she was ready. He will them to hold, they were shaking, but he kept them wide.

Finally, the tension broke; Serrada dropped her blades and rushed to his arms.

She collapsed to his breast as he wrapped his arms around her holding her tight within them. He lifted her in his once exhausted arms, miraculously regaining their lost strength. And as he had once before, he carried her back up to her rooms in Skyhold.

Nothing mattered now, angry words so long ago, dark thoughts in the night, nothing mattered but getting her back to safety, back to those who might heal her. All that mattered was keeping her safe.

His arms held her as his legs carried them both. Across the frozen lake, up the thousand steps, and across the bridge, heedless of the cheers, the good wishes, and the gasps that the Inquisitor was injured. Through the main hall, as servants ran for healers, up the steps, through the door to her refuge, John slammed the door shut behind the lovers.

Had John's world not shrunk to one person, and had he glanced over his shoulder on the long walk, he would have laughed as Blackwall, Sera, and Varric settled bets. But, instead, Eric tried to hide until Sera demanded her due and sheepishly tossed her a small bag of gold, Cassandra giving him a disapproving look.

"Come on, Cassandra, pay up" Sera had that naughty grin. "No body likes a welcher."

"But that was in jest," Cassandra tried to protest. "It was not a proper wager."

"Hand it over, Seeker; you know it is bad manners for a noble to skip out on a bet," Varric was enjoying her discomfort immeasurably. "Or should Sera speak to your man to settle your debts."

If Varric understood his danger, he did not show it; Cassandra's look would have frozen his blood.

"Fine," She dug into her belt purse and found the coins. "Here."

"Two coppers? You bet Sera two coppers?" Eric was aghast and started laughing so hard he nearly tripped.

"Yeah, and bloody well difficult to get them out of her too," Sera's smiling face belied the stern look she was trying to give. "Some noble you are, not wanting to pay your debts. But wait! That does make you a noble, doesn't it?"

John noticed and heard none of this; all that mattered was that Serrada was home and safe.