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Bridget was the first to arrive in the War Room the next day, for a change. Josephine had been busy at her desk, her quill moving so quickly Bridget couldn't imagine what she was writing would be legible. She had waved Bridget past, indicating she would catch up soon. Where Cullen and Leliana could be was another question—Cullen, at least, seemed to run his life on the premise that on time equaled late, something Bridget was certain the Templars had drummed into him. Those in her Circle had prided themselves on always staying one step ahead of the clock—and of the mages.

She used her time alone to study the placings on the War Table, particularly those near the Winter Palace. So many intrigues represented by those markers! So much politics, so many people's ruffled feathers to smooth. How would she ever manage to stay on top of it all at the ball? And not trip on her own feet in the dancing and not ruin the Inquisition's reputation by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and allay the widespread concerns about a mage in a position of such power … and, oh, yes, save the Empress from Corypheus in this never-ending attempt to keep the world safe from his plans for it?

The door opened behind her, and she heard Leliana's voice. "It seems overwhelming when taken all at once, doesn't it? Not to worry, Inquisitor—that is what we are here for: each of us to look at the big picture of our own particular portion of the Inquisition's tasks and split them up amongst those we command."

"And my job?"

"To take what we tell you and put it to use."

Bridget nodded. "I think I can do that. Or, at least, I think I have to do that, which is functionally the same."

"It will become so," Leliana assured her. "I have seen you succeed on such principles over and over again in your time with us, and I believe you will do so again."

The door opened again, and Cullen hurried in, Josephine at his heels. "My apologies, Inquisitor. I was held up by that confounded Nevarran general who seems to want to know so much about our movements and troops."

"Nevarran?" Leliana raised an eyebrow. "By way of Tevinter, I believe. I hope you told him nothing?"

"What do you think took so long? Saying nothing is remarkably time-consuming."

Josephine chuckled. "Truer words were never spoken, Commander."

"So, shall we get to the business at hand, then?" Bridget asked.

"You're nervous about Halamshiral."

Bridget raised her eyebrows at her Ambassador's questioning tone. "I would call 'nervous' a significant understatement. There are few things I do that are so far out of my comfort zone."

Leliana smiled at her. "Yet, when we first met you, your 'comfort zone' consisted entirely of studying what was written in books. Now look at you. I am reliably informed you are becoming a force to contend with on the battleground."

Blushing at the praise, Bridget waved a hand dismissively. "But I had to learn that—there were things trying to kill me."

"Well, if that is all you need for motivation, trust me when I tell you that so are the Orlesian nobility." Josephine smiled, but her eyes were serious.

"Indeed." Cullen shuddered. "I prefer a battlefield, myself."

"All lightness aside, we must go, and we must succeed. Corypheus must not be allowed to decide the fate of Orlais."

"Do we know yet how Corypheus plans to reach Celene?" Josephine asked.

Leliana shook her head. "The ball is being held at the same time as peace talks with the usurper Gaspard and the elven ambassador Briala. Half of Orlais will be in attendance, I think. The field of potential assassins is very broad, and their opportunities will be many."

"Whose brilliant idea was that? Usually Celene is more cautious," Cullen snapped.

"Her cousin, Grand Duchess Florianne, urged her to do so, and Celene wished to indulge the girl. Who is Gaspard's sister, may I add. She has never seemed to be particularly concerned with the civil war, and is closer to Celene than to her brother—but this is Orlais and it could well be all an act."

"And Duke Gaspard? Do we think he's likely to be an agent of Corypheus?"

Leliana sighed. "I wouldn't think so, no. Gaspard lacks subtlety."

"He plays the Game absolutely disastrously," Josephine agreed.

"But we cannot afford to discount anyone."

Bridget remembered the Orlesian history the Iron Bull and Blackwall had shared with her, and what she had learned from Vivienne. "Does he really think he can win back the throne through this civil war?"

"It's difficult to say," Cullen answered. "Celene has won over the Council of Heralds, who hold authority over title disputes … but Gaspard is well loved by the troops, including Celene's, and as a Chevalier himself, he retained the loyalty of most of their number when he turned on the Empress. He has the might to take the country by force, but not necessarily the support from the nobility to rule once he does so, which is no doubt why he agreed to the peace talks."

"The Chevaliers believe Gaspard can lead the Empire back to the glory of Drakon's expansion years," Leliana said. "If he can convince the nobility that he can truly do so, then he could secure their support. But he hasn't the requisite fluidity of tongue that would be required."

"And you said the other person was ambassador Briala? The elf?"

"She has formed the elves of Orlais, or many of them, at least, into a fairly strong coalition. Underground, naturally, as no one would countenance a real elven army."

"The very idea would throw Orlesians into a panic," Josephine agreed.

"Or members of any nation, for that matter." Cullen shook his head. "This fear of an elven uprising is something to be aware of—especially with the mages already having done so." He looked up at Bridget. "Forgive me."

"No, you're very right. The mages rose up from the Circles, and no doubt that's given the elves something to think about. Their position in Thedas is not a happy one." Bridget sighed. Just what she needed, one more worry.

"I don't believe the elves at Halamshiral will be planning an uprising, not with Briala trying to negotiate for them," Leliana said. "It's possible, but it would be foolish and short-sighted, and Briala is neither of those things."

"You knew her?"

"In a former life. She and Celene …" Leliana paused delicately.

Josephine was unsurprised, but both Cullen and Bridget turned to stare at the Spymaster. "The Empress and an elf?" Bridget asked.

"Indeed. And the Empress has invited her to the negotiations in order to secure the elves' cooperation in her war with Gaspard, which is certain to make the nobles anxious and uncomfortable, tipping any so inclined closer to allying with Corypheus. Meanwhile, Briala has a network of saboteurs at her command and may be considered to be nursing a personal grudge against Celene for … dropping her, shall we say. Also a promising lead."

Josephine said, "It is worth considering that Celene has yet to name an heir, which leaves Gaspard as the next in line. He may well be considering taking by succession what he has yet to succeed in taking by force."

"In all this, we are wise to remember that Celene has been the subject of a number of assassination plots during the years she's been on the throne. She is skilled at protecting herself, even has some ability with a blade—"

Cullen interrupted Leliana to say, "Moderate ability."

"Yes, but better than nothing. On the other hand, the Empress is surrounded at all times by countless guards, courtiers, servants, and vassals, any one of whom might be vulnerable to pressure of one kind or another."

Bridget groaned, rubbing her forehead. "How am I going to keep all this straight?"

"Do not worry, Inquisitor," Josephine assured her. "We have discussed it, and we all intend to accompany you."

"Oh, thank the Maker. And thank you!"

Cullen nodded. "It seems the wisest course. But I am not wearing a mask. Or those ridiculous clothes!"

"But Commander, you would look so pretty in them!" Leliana's eyes twinkled, and Cullen flushed all the way up to his hairline. She chuckled. "In all seriousness, Josephine and I feel that it would be best if we all wear the Inquisition uniform. It would be difficult to procure clothing that would be appropriate to the occasion in time, and the uniforms are more practical should the Inquisitor find herself having to resort to physical activity beyond the dance floor in her search for Corypheus's agent."

"Thank the Maker," Cullen said fervently in his turn, and all the women laughed.

"Have you considered who will accompany you, Inquisitor?" Josephine asked.

"Vivienne," Bridget said unhesitatingly. "With her contacts, I think she can help smooth the waters."

"As long as she does not have her own agenda," Josephine cautioned.

"Even if she does, she has enough invested in the Inquisition that I do not think she will harm our purpose—and she does not want Corypheus to succeed in Orlais. No, I think she will be an excellent addition to the party," Leliana said. "Who else?"

"I thought Varric would be useful."

"He will certainly charm the company," Cullen said, "and I understand his books are very popular in Orlais, but how can he conceal his weapon?"

Josephine shook her head. "He doesn't need to. Bianca is part of the package—everyone will expect him to bring the crossbow. Even Celene may want to see it."

"And Blackwall," Bridget finished.

Josephine and Leliana exchanged concerned looks.

"What?"

"It … after you pardoned the Wardens for their actions, bringing a Warden with you, and one with whom you are in an open relationship … I worry that it makes you seem biased in the direction of the Wardens."

"Who are hardly at their most popular at the moment," Josephine added.

"Not to mention that Blackwall hardly seems the type to be comfortable in a ballroom," Cullen pointed out.

Leliana glanced at him and seemed to be about to speak, then looked at Bridget and appeared to think better of it.

"I trust him," Bridget said simply. "He won't let anything happen to me."

"He is the finest fighter we have," Leliana agreed, but her eyes rested on Bridget with worry nevertheless.

Cullen smiled. "Don't let Cassandra hear you say that."

"She's very good, but not quite as good. And she would rather be hung upside down by her heels than be dragged to Halamshiral. The Iron Bull would go—" She looked at Bridget questioningly.

"I … like the Iron Bull, but I'm not sure I trust him."

"Very well, Blackwall it is," Josephine said briskly, marking it down on her writing board.

They adjourned shortly after that, Bridget with a closely written schedule in her hand from Josephine detailing all the time they intended to spend with her teaching her everything she needed to know for the ball. The next ten days looked to be exhausting ones. She was glad she had Blackwall and dancing lessons to look forward to every night.

Blackwall could have kicked himself for allowing Bridget to talk him into accompanying her to the ball. What had he been thinking? How could he present himself in front of the nobility of Orlais and not expect at least one to remember Thom Rainier? He was still a wanted man. If he were recognized, he would be jailed, and that would ruin the reputation of the Inquisition … to say nothing of the way it would break Bridget's heart.

He had to tell her. He had to. He couldn't wait any longer.

But how could he? He remembered the way her blue eyes had looked when she asked him to come with her. She needed him there—she had said so. She was doing a very hard thing, for her especially, and she needed to do it well if she were to keep Thedas safe from Corypheus yet again. Did he have the right to destroy her trust in him and put her on edge just before she went off to the ball?

He looked at the carved fennec taking shape beneath his knife. If only he had stayed in the wilderness, safely removed from all of this, never joined the Inquisition, never met her—

Then he remembered her last night, the feel of her, the way she had looked in the throes of her pleasure atop him … the trusting way she had slept in his arms. He had never dreamed of such happiness in all his life. Thom Rainier had been out for what he could get from every moment, never thinking ahead or looking for anything that could last. But Blackwall—Blackwall knew what he had, and he treasured it, and he wanted to keep it for the rest of his life. That would be too much to ask, he knew, but he wanted to keep it—keep her—for as long as he could. And if that meant bearding the lions of Orlais in their dens, trusting to his own beard to keep him hidden from curious eyes, then that was what he would do.

Maker help him.