One

He was bound.

Even with fires crackling in the braziers and the collective breath of the hundred-or-so onlookers gathered, the great hall of Skyhold felt cold. The fortress sat perched high in the snow-capped mountains, true. Summer in the south wasn't nearly as wet or humid as the weather along the bay of the Nocen, either.

But he couldn't rightly blame location for the cold that hung in the hall. It was the why, not the where, that attributed to the chill.

Justice was always served cold, he knew.

The guard tugged at the rope cord that wrapped his wrists, pulling him between the soldiers and nobles that lined either side of the hall, most of their eyes glaring at him.

They looked at his white robes and the thin armor that lay beneath it. They looked at the short-cropped beard along his jaw, shadowing over olive flesh. They looked at the heraldry on his clothes, the two twisted serpents that marked him as their enemy. If they could see the blazing sun medallion that dangled at the end of the thin chain around his neck, no doubt they would scoff and call him heretic.

He had pulled back his hood to expose his head. He did not intend to hide, from who he was, where he was from or what he had done.

The soldier gave a slight shove when they reached the front of the hall before the dais. He looked at the man seated before him, brown-haired, stubbled. The Herald wore no crown or circlet, no jewels, no heraldry. The man in a basic grey uniform leaned forward in the rather spartan chair.. His left hand, over-turned on his knee, glowed slightly.

"Your Worship, I present before you now the Venatori mage Cassius Terro," declared the Antivan woman dressed in gold and jewels at the bottom of the dais as she referred to the listing on her handheld tablet. "He was leading a small contingent of Venatori in the Fereldan Bannorn. With aid from the local landholders, our soldiers were able to encircle and ambush his company. They surrendered after minimal bloodshed."

Cassius slowly bent, resting his right knee onto the floor as he tried to balance with his hands tied.

"Herald," he said as he lowered his head respectfully. "I thank you for personally sitting in judgment over me, sir."

"You may rise," the Herald said waving up with his hand. "But tell me, what were you and your Venatori doing in the Bannorn?"

Cassius pushed himself to his feet, straightening. He glanced for a moment at the dark tapestries hanging from the walls with their sword-and-eye and markings staring down on him. The stained glass windows behind and above the Herald glowed lightly in the overcast dim of the mid-morning. Hushed whispers indistinctly rolled through the hall as the spectators waited.

"We received intelligence that you were heading toward Crestwood, sir," Cassius said. "My orders were to intercept your party."

"Your orders were to ambush me?"

"Yes, sir."

"To what end?"

Cassius did not hesitate to answer. "To eliminate you, sir."

They had crossed the Fereldan plains until the rolling farmland began to give rise to hills. He had decided the rocky outcropping overlooking the highway would be the best vantage to land an ambush. The Herald was still two days out from their position when the local levies, bolstered by a few of the Inquisition's scouts, fell upon them at night.

His men would have fought to the death, if ordered. But the Fereldans were many and the young lord was inexperienced. He had chosen to surrender his forces, to save them.

The young lord cursed him for cowardice as they were hauled in chains to Skyhold.

His admission caused a stir through the hall, a rise of surprised chatter that was quickly quieted by the guard in the corner pounding the butt of his greataxe against the floor.

"You don't deny that you were sent to kill me?" the Herald asked.

"No, sir. My father raised me to believe that honesty is the best course in all things," Cassius said. "I take full responsibility for my actions. I am willing to bear the punishment. I only ask that the young mage who was captured with me, Marinus Arrentius, be shown leniency, sir."

The young lord was just a boy. He was only following orders. They were all only following orders. But someone would have to pay the price and he would rather it be him than the boy. Protecting Marinus, that had alway been the highest priority in the mission. Regardless of any other outcome, the young lord needed to be protected.

The Herald sat back into his seat, resting his right elbow upon the armrest of the chair as he brought his hand to his mouth to consider. The fingers of his left hand drummed along the knob at the end of the armrest on the opposite side of the chair.

In that moment of deliberation, another man stepped forward.

"Inquisitor, if I may?" he said.

Cassius' head perked up as he heard the unmistakable tone of a Tevinter accent.

Dark-haired like Cassius, olive-skinned like him too except with a meticulously groomed mustache. He was almost certainly a mage. Although his clothes did not betray it, the way he stepped screamed it. The width of his stance and the way he presented his body spoke of the rigorous training in one of Tevinter's Circles.

Before the Enchanters taught a single ounce of magic, the early years involved several unsparing months of etiquette. To be a mage was one thing, but to look and act like a mage of the Imperium was something more, something greater. Cassius himself had gone through those lessons several years ago. He could still recall the rap of the instructor's switch across his body to correct the small imperfections in the way his legs and arms moved, until they moved in a perfectly Tevinter way.

"Honesty, you say?" the mage said as he stepped in front of Cassius and looked him up and down. He began to circle him as he continued his inspection. "You're clearly not old blood of the Imperium if you still have any scrap of honesty within you.

"Therefore you must be a Laetan," he said as he reached out, squeezing Cassius' shoulder as if he were inspecting livestock at market. "A fresh Laetan, I'd wager. Mother or father a mage?"

"Neither, sir."

"Neither?" the mage said with a slight tone of surprise. "First generation then?"

He tapped the toe of his boot against the back of Cassius' left heel, correcting the angle of the foot. Cassius had moved it, discreetly, and the man had spotted it. There was no doubt, now, that he was Circle-trained.

"Yes, sir. My parents are humble farmers-"

"From the northeast," the mage interrupted. "Yes, I can hear it in your voice. I hope not from near Qarinus?"

"East of Carastes, sir."

"Good for them. The Magister from Qarinus is quite an ass," he commented with some small glee before continuing along. "So a first-generation Laetan is willing to throw himself on the sword of justice to protect an Arrentius. It makes me wonder, then. Who are you to old Flavius Five-Daughters?"

How did he know of Flavius?

His patron was a Magister and an Altus, but he was barely known inside Minrathous and almost completely unknown outside of it, aside from around his villa in Asariel on the water.

This mage wasn't a Magister himself. There were only a handful of young men in the Magisterium these days. And even among those, Cassius was sure he knew all of them. Even if there was a name he had overlooked, what Magister would travel south to serve a false prophet of the Orlesian Chantry?

The mage came around his right side, one hand pressing into his lower back with the other hand testing the thickness of his chest. The man raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly. As Cassius considered, the mage began to lean, crooking his head slightly to the side.

"Come on now. What happened to that young Laetan honesty?"

His voice. The muted green color and the geometric pattern of the fustian velvet inside the collar of his shirt. His words. He had mentioned Qarinus, almost as if he knew it himself. Cassius looked at him once more and he could see the subtle resemblance there as he recalled the aged Magister's face.

"You're Dorian Pavus, aren't you, sir?"

The mage stepped back at that and crossed his arms. He scowled, then looked back at the Herald, who had been sitting quietly observing the entire exchange. The mage tapped his foot, crooked his head to the side again as he turned his gaze back to Cassius.

Then he smiled.

"Let me have this one, Inquisitor," he said. "Your spymaster owes me a favor after her birds shit on my copy of the Tempus Infinitus. I think I would like to collect that favor."

"Are you sure? He did admit to attempting to have me killed," the Herald asked.

"Only him and all the other Venatori and the Red Templars and countless others," the mage said as he began to untie the cords that bound Cassius' hands. "This Laetan isn't a killer, not really. And, if he does behave, well, you can just butcher the Arrentius boy."

Cassius hoped that was just dramatic speech. No one would summarily execute a prisoner as punishment for another's misdeeds. Well, they would in Tevinter. But outside of Tevinter? He hoped the southerners had a bit more naivety than that.

He could not necessarily judge the Herald's intent. Perhaps the man had been moments away from ordering Cassius' own execution, had the mage not intervened. But perhaps the Herald did not carry such a heavy hand. He had, after all, spared Magister Alexius after breaking the Venatori's garrison at Redcliffe Castle. Why was not clear, only that he had.

The mage finished unwrapping the rope that bound Cassius' hands and tossed it over his shoulder. Cassius respectfully placed his hands behind his back without rubbing the chafed places on his wrists. The mage smiled at that as he reached up and adjusted the collar of Cassius' robe, carefully folding down the crease.

"You and I are going to get along wonderfully, I think," the mage said as he patted the fabric down and stepped back.

The Herald lifted his hand. "Cassius Terro, I return you to your cell here in Skyhold but place you under the supervision of my trusted companion Dorian Pavus. If you're willing to abide by what he asks of you, I will fulfill your request and extend a merciful hand to your companion. If not, you'll remain in your cell until such a time I deem it reasonable to release you. Is that acceptable?"

So he was the errant Pavus heir! Magister Halward would no doubt be grateful to know the whereabouts of his lost son, if he didn't already know.

And yet, now Cassius' fate, and Marinus' as well, lay within his palms.

"Yes," Cassius said, bowing his head again. "Thank you, sir."

He bowed his head to the mage as well. "And to you, Domine Pavus."

Even outside the bounds of the Imperium, showing respect and deference to social betters was good policy. House Pavus was in the sky, miles above where Cassius' lowly name sat in the grand machinations of Tevinter.

The guard turned to escort him out and Cassius dipped his head slightly down to avoid most of the stares being cast at him on his exit. On the way in they had been confrontational, disdainful. Now the eyes Orlesians and Fereldans were filled with suspicion. Had he been thrown into a cell or had his head removed, they would have smiled and nodded to one another and commented on a job well done.

Now he was a Tevinter in the entrustment of another Tevinter. No doubt there would be whispers circling the court by the end of the day. Or at least, there would be if the Herald's court operated at all like Minrathous.

The air of the hall did not feel any warmer now without the looming prospect of a blade at his neck. The chill was just different now, knowing that the uncertainty of his fate had been replaced with being cast into whatever manipulation the Pavus heir intended for him.

Dorian was at his side, shooing away the guard as he clapped Cassius on the shoulder as if they were old friends reuniting by chance at a roadside inn.

"Let's not ever call me 'Domine' again. I'm no master to you," he began.

"As you wish," Cassius said as they passed between the large open doors of the hall and out into the midday gloom of Skyhold's yard.

"You reek of the Imperium's propriety," Dorian said. "It turns my stomach, and not from some figurative concept of homesickness but from actual, literal nausea. But I suppose you were taught to 'know your place' and 'respect your betters' and so on."

Cassius didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing instead as he began to descend the steps from the main hall on the return trip to the dungeon.

"You're Venatori, but you're the first one of the Venatori not to walk into that hall with his nose in the air and some sense of undeserved superiority. I find that curious," Dorian said.

"I have nothing to gain through arrogance."

That caused Dorian to throw his head back in laughter, nearly missing a step in the process and tumbling to the bottom of the steps. He quickly corrected his gait, catching the next stair more solidly as he placed a hand across his stomach to try to stanch his mirth.

"Spoken like no Tevinter man ever," Dorian said as he wiped the corner of his left eye at the amusement. "If you sucked all of the arrogance out, Tevinter would collapse into a gelatinous pile like a man suddenly bereft of all his bones."

As they reached the bottom of the stairwell, Pavus stopped and cupped his hand beneath his right elbow, adjusting the curled tip of moustache with his right hand.

"No, Terro, I think you and I are alike, despite our vastly different lineage," Dorian said. "I suppose the coming weeks will tell me whether my assessment of you is correct."

"Pardon my asking, but what is it you intend of me?" Cassius asked. That still wasn't clear. And yet already Pavus was making sweeping evaluations of him. What could he possibly know in the few brief minutes of interaction?

It was clear that Pavus held no love for the Imperium or his father, that much was clear. But why, exactly, had he fallen in with the heresiarch of the Orlesian Chantry?

And what could he truly know of Cassius? He was a Pavus, one of the Magisterium's most elite houses. He was the product of the union of not only Halward Pavus but of Aquinea Thalrassian and her family's deep-seated and influential imperial roots. Someday when his father passed, he was poised to inherit great wealth and power Magister Halward had been cautiously accumulating for years.

Cassius had grown out of a one-room shack on a small tract of land outside Carastes. His parents had little beyond their humble farming implements, the thatched roof above their heads, a few fatty pieces of livestock and their right to till the land. Had he not been blessed with the gift, he too would be spending his springs swinging a hoe, summers spent watering and weeding, autumns in harvests and winters waiting in hope that there would be enough food to last until thaw.

He hoped his parents had been able to put the small sums of money he sent back to them to good use. It had been years since he had last been home. And how grateful he had been when Valerie chose to take his younger sister on as a handmaiden in Asariel. Now Caela enjoyed the comforts of the villa instead of the hardships of the land, too.

Pavus smiled. "We can leave that until tomorrow. I believe you know your way back to the cells?"

He turned to return to the great hall, leaving Cassius alone at the bottom of the steps. A prisoner, unfettered, but still held. Even if he chose not to return to the dungeon, there was nowhere he could reasonably go inside the fortress. Soldiers patrolled the walls and even if he made it out the gate, the winding path down the mountain would only spill him into the Inquisition camp in the valley below.

For now, he would remain. He had little other choice.

"Pavus," he asked up the stairs to the retreating Magister's son. The mage stopped and turned. "If I might make a request?"

"Dealing in favors is a dangerous business," Dorian answered. "I sure hope you learned that during your time in the Circle."

He did, once or twice. And he further confirmed that Pavus was a perceptive man, knowing that Cassius had been Circle-trained.

"Would it be possible to get ink and paper, that I might write a letter home, to inform them of my whereabouts?"

"I'll see that some is sent down," Dorian said without even a moment's consideration, which seemed altogether suspicious. "And I'll even see if I can get it sent without the Spymaster pawing through its contents. Just this once."

That made the entire request seem even more suspicious and Cassius suddenly wished he hadn't asked at all.

Dorian turned again and continued back up the stairs to the hall. Cassius turned the other way, heading down the door in the fortress walls that would return him to the steep downward stairwell to the cells beneath Skyhold.

There was little else he could do.

It was evening when the guard arrived at the bars of his cell with the small inkpot, a pen and a few pieces of paper.

He glanced over his shoulder before he passed the items between the bars. Cassius took each, but observed the nervous way the soldier glanced behind him. Was Pavus breaking some sort of rule by sending the items down?

Without a word, the man turned around and left, back out of the door and up the long stairwell.

"What was that about?" Marinus asked from the cell adjacent to the right. The young man had been tossing pebbles out of his cell into the walkway, but it sounded like he was now standing at the bars judging by the shake of metal.

"Just some paper," Cassius said as he crouched down to the floor, carefully setting down the bottle of ink before setting down the papers next to them. He wished he had a table, or at least, something more solid to write upon than the roughshod floor of his cell. But he would have to make do.

"Are you writing home to my uncle? Are these heretics asking ransom for my release?" Marinus questioned.

"Not yet," Cassius said. Perhaps tomorrow they would. What did Pavus want with him? Whatever it might be, if it could secure the young lord's release, he would be duty-bound to consider it.

"Then what?" Marinus pressed with little patience.

Cassius dipped the pointed tip of the quill into the ink, sliding it across the stone floor to test its point. The ink was good, the pen good too, as he swept the letters of his name in tight script. It was not nearly as nice as the good stationary the Magister's wife Junia had gifted him for his name-day last year, but it was better than nothing.

"Just enough to send a quick correspondence home, to let your uncle know that we are safe," he answered. "We will find out more tomorrow, when Pavus returns. Until then, you must be patient, Domine."

He could hear Marinus snort derisively at the thought as he scuffed his boots on the floor and returned to the back of his cell. The straw crunched as the young lord no doubt plopped back upon it. A moment later, a small stone skipped across the floor, followed by a long, annoyed sigh.

"Try to get some sleep, Marinus," Cassius advised as he dipped the pen to get a fresh bit of ink. "We will know more tomorrow."

He held the pen just above the page, taking a moment to consider. He would only get one letter and, therefore, could not waste it. If Pavus was true to his word, the letter might be sent without another set of eyes crossing it. But Cassius knew he could not trust in that word, as inviting as it had been.

Although sending it directly to Magister Arrentius might be most expedient, doing so could potentially compromise him. If the Inquisition was to send spies to shadow the letter once it crossed into Tevinter, they might follow it directly to him. Although Cassius expected him to still be at his estate in Asariel and not heading south to personally support the Venatori positions in Orlais, he could not be sure.

No, he would have to send it to someone else. Someone he could trust, someone who would know how to handle the situation and handle it with intelligence. There was only one person who could fill that role, as he touched the quill to the paper and began to write.

Dearest Valerie,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits. I assume the heat during this stretch of the summer in Asariel must be nearly suffocating. Even here in the south, the days become so uncomfortably warm that I long for the afternoons of our younger years when we used to sit under the pear trees in your father's garden and talk for hours. If I close my eyes, I can vividly remember the contrast of the white blossoms against the subtle wine-red in your hair.

Pardon the digression, but I find myself lately dwelling on such pleasant memory considering my current circumstances. While I hope this letter reaches you in comfort, I fear my accommodations are less than desirable. I write this letter from the floor of a cell, having been captured by the Inquisition while on assignment in Ferelden.

The Inquisition caught us unawares in an ambush and I surrendered our position. Without going into much detail, the Venatori hold in Ferelden has been compromised.

Let me first ensure you that I am being kept in fair conditions and am in good health. Although I am currently held under lock, they have treated me and the other soldiers who have been captured with dignity.

Marinus is with me and he, too, is safe. Although his mood is rather sour with our current situation, please ensure your father that I am doing everything in my power to see he is safely released and returned to Tevinter. Although the Southerners are aware of his lineage, I believe I may be able to negotiate his release without ransom.

With luck, Marinus and I shall be returned to you and your family before the harvest thanksgiving in Asariel. The prospect of seeing you again before autumn will be motivation enough for me to do whatever is needed to expedite our reunion.

I know that I have already burdened you with the unpleasantness of my misfortune, but I must beseech you for one final favor:

Please relay this information to your sister, my precious wife, Andria.

I fear that news of my capture will put her in distress, and if there is anyone in this wide world capable of comforting her in her hour of need, I know there is no one more suited to the task than you.

In highest hope that we meet again soon;

Your loving brother by marriage, but forever bonded to you by our enduring friendship,

Caz