Wicked Hearts

It took Ennaly just a few moments into the first fight to realise that a formal gown was not the right attire for combat. Besides the long-range dangers of arrows and spells, she now had to be careful of the additional danger of tripping on a hem. There was just so much skirt, sashes, curls and bangles to get in the way. And unfortunately, they had to fight more than once to find their way through the servants' quarters in pursuit of a masked rogue, and of course there were Venatori here.

Bull and Cassandra brought simple ornamental-but-decent rapiers as part of their outfit, but after the first fight, they replaced those with the weapons looted from their enemies. Solas, Dorian, and Ennaly hadn't been able to carry staves with them, so had to rely on their own mana and spellpower. Varric of course, was carrying Bianca as always.

"How'd you manage to sneak her in?" Bull asked the Dwarf. Bianca, after all, was a lot less subtle than an ornamental sword.

Varric grinned. "It seems like my name is rather famous around the court. They liked my books so much it blinded them to whatever I was carrying as long as they could get my autograph. Good to know, next time, I'll smuggle in all the goods."

Ennaly hoped there wouldn't be a next time. During the fight, she remained at the back and used barriers to keep herself, and her outfit, safe. The others were fortunate with black as the main colour of their outfit, meaning blood splatters wouldn't show as much.

Their spells echoed through the marble corridors, the floors so smooth it resulted in a new level of disorientation due to reflections. Luckily, the Grande Apartments were so far away from the main Palace buildings that the sound of fighting wouldn't reach it.

Blood ran onto the marble floors as the masked rogue fell back, her body still twitching from the lightning Ennaly surged at it from afar. One of the Venatori turned around to flee and Varric aimed Bianca, but it was too late as the man disappeared around the corner. Intend on pursuing, they sped forward, when a yell echoed the halls. The body of the man fell backwards, a dagger piercing his face.

An Elf stepped over the body and around the corner with a certain confidence. She wore a simple silver mask and a dress like most Elven servants wore. "Inquisitor Lavellan. Slumming in the servants' quarters with the rest of your people for once?" the woman said.

Dorian couldn't suppress a small curse and Cassandra shifted around uncomfortably, but Ennaly had it in good faith she was finally facing the woman she had wanted to meet all evening. "I take it you are Ambassador Briala," she said in response, making effort to keep her voice steady.

The woman smiled. It was hard to read her expression, even though it was easy to see her smile was deliberate, yet artificial. The woman eyed her up and down and if there was an emotion, Ennaly would call it curiosity. "Imagine, Inquisitor. A whisper in the slums about the Dalish that rode through the slums with a tear on her face. Were you already playing the Game yesterday, milady?" While she directed her conversation towards Ennaly, her eyes observed the others.

Ennaly suppressed a frown. "You give me too much credit if you think I could feign those tears," she replied in vexation. "Do you think the fate of the Elves doesn't touch me?"

"The Dalish I have met did not care for the fate of the city Elves," she replied, narrowing her eyes. "I did know an Elf once that cared, who had purple eyes like yours, and similar lines on his face."

"Mythal's Vallaslin? Then you met another Dalish who cared. I wouldn't mind an introduction."

Crossing her arms, Briala observed her keenly. "I have not seen him in quite some time. Wherever he is, if he is alive, he is outside of my contact."

"I am sorry to hear that."

She could hear Solas shift his weight from one foot to another, behind her.

"We are not here to mourn the loss of one Elf," Briala said, steeling herself. "If we were, it would take us a long time. Too much blood has been spilled."

"We can agree on that, Ambassador."

Briala's eyes fell on Solas. "There is another Elf in your party. A circle mage? I cannot say I have met many of those."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ambassador Briala," Solas said with a nod of his head. "I never belonged to a circle."

Briala cocked her head a little. "And you're not Dalish either? Curious. You are a strange Elf."

"That's what we've been saying all this time," Dorian interrupted with a nervous laugh.

Ennaly looked at Solas and couldn't suppress a fond smile. Solas was a bit of a strange Elf, but a strange Elf that pulled her closer in dark corners and called her vhenan. Solas kept most of his focus on Briala, but saw her looking and returned a faint smile.

Briala scoffed and shook her head in disappointment. "Of course. Lovers."

Ennaly returned her gaze to the woman, and this time she couldn't suppress her frown. What? How did she know?

The Ambassador laughed. "You might be able to dance prettily, Inquisitor, but I have played the Game since I was a girl. You haven't trained enough to hide your facial expressions, while I have trained to analyse them. Your smile towards him told me all I had to know about your feelings. And he seems to have a sense of when to hide his facial expressions, yet responded to your smile. That told me all about his feelings. You've got much to learn, Inquisitor."

Ennaly could feel the blood draining from her face. Damn, she had messed up, and it was no Human noble that managed it, but an Elven servant. "Do you have a problem?" she asked sharply.

"So that finally happened," she heard Varric say under his breath, behind her.

Briala laughed derisively. "And the ones around you don't know. Not all of them, at least. It's like looking in a mirror." She observed them both in turn, then scoffed. "The one in power, and the one next to them. I heard how you were introduced. Does he ever tell you what to do, push his own agenda in your mind?"

"He's never demanded anything from me," Ennaly replied, her voice sharp, very glad for the make-up to hide her full flush.

Annoyed, Briala scoffed again. "Not demands, dear, we both know you're smarter than that. Whispers. Suggestions. Small ideas to manipulate your mind. I should know. I was good at it, once."

"He's never done anything like that."

"Really?" Briala looked at her with disbelief, before switching to Solas. "And you, how do you know she won't misuse her power, or do something for the greater good that goes against everything you've cared for?"

Solas observed her almost impassively, though a sharp shone through in his tone. "You have my sympathies for what happened to you. But do not compare us to yourself and the Empress."

Casually, Briala leaned back. "Well, you are both Elves. And mages. Your love must be a fairytale. Cherish it, while it lasts." Her voice was cold, dripping with sarcasm.

"We're not here to discuss my love life," Ennaly said resolutely. "We were talking business. We know the Empress might be assassinated tonight. Your name has been mentioned."

Briala's voice gained a touch of sadness. "You might think my methods unconventional, Inquisitor, but I would never kill Celene."

Ennaly believed her, but wasn't going to say that out loud just in case she would be proven wrong. "Then who would?"

"Has your first dance partner been fully honest with you? I imagine he persuaded you to investigate me, did he not?"

"We found a note," Ennaly replied. "He seems to think you have a weapon that can turn the tide of a war."

"Does he, now?" Briala answered with an amused smile. "If that turns out true, and he gets his hands on it, what would he do, do you think? Bring peace to Orlais? Or more war?"

Gaspard did not seem like a paragon of peace, and Ennaly sighed. It started to wear her down that nothing was said straight, but had to be flipped around twice, or even thrice, to find the actual meaning. "What do you want out of this evening?" she asked, her voice a little sharper than before.

Briala's smile disappeared as well, in favour of a lingering inquisitive look. "This ball is a lie," she replied. "Celene and Gaspard will never just declare peace. What is it that I want? For our people to be seen as people, as proper citizens. You have seen yesterday what Celene's pride is capable of. And Gaspard will start at Ferelden, and after that, the Free Marches, maybe?"

"There is so much conniving and backstabbing here, it makes me homesick," Dorian said.

The interjection made Briala turn to him. It was obvious what Dorian's homeland was from his looks alone. "It does place our own strife in perspective when the Elves here can claim some freedom. How many Elven slaves have been forced to pour you a glass of wine, mage?"

"We… treated them well, better than the Elves in the alienages," Dorian tried, the amusement in his voice partly replaced by desperation. He looked at Ennaly and Solas, perhaps in a plea, but their looks of hurt and anger made him hold his tongue.

"You're part of the problem, and you don't even see it," Briala shot at Dorian before she faced Ennaly again with a heavy sigh. "Do you know the story of Fen'Harel and the tree?"

That forced the topic of slavery from Ennaly's mind. Whatever she had expected Briala to say, that was not it. Fen'Harel and the tree? Of course she was familiar with the story, told to her by her mother, Keeper, and Elder, but she had never expected it to be mentioned outside of a Dalish camp. "I know the tale," she said carefully.

Briala flashed a knowing smile. Solas released a short, low chuckle, a mix between derision and amusement. There was a reason Briala mentioned this, a message from one Elf to another. It was likely that among her companions, only she and Solas knew what she meant.

"And I see what you mean by it," Ennaly added after a moment of contemplation.

The story was about two opposing forces, and a third one, Fen'Harel himself, plotting and scheming his own escape while he was not the focus of attention. While Celene and Gaspard had been waging war, Briala, in the background, had been operating on a different level. The civil war had to end for the benefit of all, but if some attention was turned away from Briala, she could continue to scheme.

Satisfied, Briala smiled. "Well then, I might have misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of Elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it." Smiling once more, she turned to leave. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. We will undoubtedly meet at a later time. It is good to see an Elf dancing again in Halamshiral."

She turned and left, leaving a ringing silence behind. Ennaly turned around and spotted a lot of different expressions, half-covered by the masks, but she knew her friends well enough by now to understand their emotions even with half their faces covered.

"So… Seems like there was something to Ennalath and Solith after all," Varric said to break the tension.

"Oh, come on," Ennaly said, stuck between annoyed and embarrassed. "You might not have known, but you knew."

The slight smirk on Bull's face suggested he knew this all along, but then again, he was a trained spy. Cassandra seemed stoic, with just the hint of a smile, but Varric's grin was wide. "It keeps getting better, he continued. "Since I know now how well my books actually are doing, this new one is going to be a great success here, with the way you're gaining favour."

She looked at Solas, who seemed calm but for a faint smile and a glimmer in the eyes behind the mask. He never really seemed to care what others thought, but that was a lot easier if you weren't the bloody Inquisitor.

"Yeah yeah," Ennaly said with a sigh. "It's all amazing. Now, let's get back, before we keep the nobles waiting."

But before she took a step, Bull spoke up. "So Boss, what was that with the story of the tree?"

Ennaly glanced back. "We don't have the time for that now, remind me later." Bull's expression told her that he knew very well some sort of code was discussed, and she sighed. "She's been benefitting from the civil war, helping the Elves while the focus is not on her."

"If that's true, we still don't know who the assassin is," Cassandra said as she dropped the sword she'd been holding behind a garden wall.

Bull barked a small laugh and did the same. "Gaspard points to Briala, and Briala points back to him. Classic."

"Someone must be benefitting in the midst of this, plotting and scheming as Fen'Harel did," Ennaly mused.

Varric grinned. "Now, if only assassins wore a sign around their neck, or laugh maniacally when they enter a room..."

"You know, that stuff never happens the way you describe it in your stories," Bull replied, before they went discussing realities and fantasies.

Halfway on the stairs out of the gardens, Solas placed a hand on Ennaly's arm. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Ennaly replied with a sigh. "I guess I'd rather told them myself, but that's my own fault, I suppose. Briala was interesting though, comparing herself to Fen'Harel. Who would willingly compare themselves to the God of deception, or rebellion…? I just didn't expect to hear it."

Solas chuckled. "Did you not say you belonged to him?"

She scoffed. "Oh, don't remind me. And I would think you might not want to share me."

"I do not." He smiled widely and gave her hand a squeeze.

A few steps later, Dorian caught up to the pair. "I'm sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, I just wanted to say... I am sorry. I never meant..."

"If you are apologising, it means you must feel something is not quite right," Solas responded pointedly. "There is much you can do for your homeland if you are really sorry."

"I... Yes. I suppose I have a lot to think about."

They arrived at the doors that led back to the crowded areas when the first bell to announce the next round of dancing had already rung. They had to hurry back, but couldn't do that looking like they did. Ennaly took a small mirror from a hidden pocket and rearranged her curls. She took the pink lipstick to reapply, but before she could open the cap, Solas wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, and leaned over her. There, in view of the other four, he kissed her.

His hands lingered on her face as he pulled back. "For good luck," he said with a mischievous smile that was amplified by his mask, before he turned around, and returned to the crowded corridor with full casual confidence, his outfit straightened and having no hair that required attention. They all watched him go.

"Oof," Dorian said. "That's a side of him I hadn't seen before."

Ennaly grinned as she reapplied the lipstick. "Well, you must not have been looking. And he's taken."

"Perhaps it's just that he is finally wearing nice clothing. That's what a suit does to a man."

Bull leaned in closer towards him and flashed him a roguish smile of his own. "You have an eye for men in suits, then? Well... here's another," he said with a smirk, before turning to follow Varric and Cassandra.

Ennaly saw Dorian following him with his gaze, his mouth a little open. She leaned close to him and smirked. "Well, that's an interesting image, isn't it, dear Dorian?"

She could hear him blustering behind her as she followed the others back to the crowded corridor, the second bell ringing.

Duchess Forianne wanted to dance with her. It was an interesting development, and certainly something that the court closely observed. Ennaly could make a show out of this, since that was clearly what the Duchess wanted, but where the Duchess might have hoped she'd make a fool of herself, she phrased her answers carefully. Proud of herself, Ennaly ended the dance with a flourish, her skirts and sashes floating like air around her body, in stark contrast to Florianne's rigid gown.

The court seemed to love that too, and Ennaly had to endure several more dances before an influential Marquis took her hand. It was one of those that, like Comtesse Helene, had a great love for collecting Elven trinkets, and during the dance, Ennaly felt like he considered her a collectable, too. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had less to drink. She didn't even know they served ale, but her patience for double-faced nobility wore thin.

"I am willing to extend my substantial influence to the Inquisition," the Marquis said, somewhat slurring his words.

"That is very generous of you, your Grace," Ennaly replied, knowing that he wanted some favour in return. "And what can we do for you to show our appreciation?"

"The Inquisition would owe me nothing," he said. "My wishes are simple." With the next flouring step, he spun Ennaly closer to him, much too close. "I want one night with you."

Perhaps because it was said so casually and unexpectedly, it took Ennaly a moment to realise what he asked of her. With the following musical notes, the man dipped her backwards and leaned over her, his face rather close to hers. His eyes were shadowed over by the mask, and only a grin was visible on his lower face.

Ennaly's entire body tensed up, and she almost missed the next step. Only sheer mastery of dance enabled her to continue, but her feet moved without active thought. Perhaps it was the pose with her backwards and him looming over her, or even the ale on his breath, for with his whispered words, her mind was thrown back several years, to a memory Ennaly kept suppressed.

She was on her back. A cloak was thrown over the haystack, but pieces of hay stuck through, piercing her skin uncomfortably. Rough, callused hands ran over her body, pinching her skin. The man's breath stank like ale. He grunted as he moved, rough, painful. She had to keep her teeth clenched, or she'd cry out. It was raining outside, and she tried very hard to focus on the sound of drops falling through a hole in the roof not too far to her right.

The last tunes of music faded away.

"I enjoyed our dance," the noble said, kissing her hand. "I look forward to hearing from you again, Inquisitor."

Ennaly couldn't see sharply. Cold sweat started to form on her skin, and the only thing she knew was that she needed to get out. Behind masks, she could see wicked eyes staring at her, reflecting the wicked hearts of their owners. She could almost hear their thoughts.

Elf. Savage. Heretic. Rabbit. Knife-ear. Imposter. Collectable.

The black and purple made Leliana and Cullen stand out in the crowd. Like they were the northern star and she was a lost traveller, she locked her eyes on them and somehow managed to find her way towards them without tripping.

"I can't do it," she spoke, her voice sounding otherworldly, as if someone else said them. Her throat was closed, so how could she produce sound?

Cullen stepped closer. "Are you alright, Ennaly?" he asked, reaching out to place a consoling hand on her arm.

She flinched away with a panicked gasp. Right this moment, he was just another Human man, and she couldn't bear the touch of one. Concerned, he pulled his hand back.

"I have one more dance," she managed to say, facing Leliana with begging eyes. "I cannot do it. I need air. Please."

"I can step in," the spymaster noted. "Cullen, the balcony is free. Take your time. We are here with you."

With a swish of her skirt, Leliana moved to the dancefloor to take Ennaly's place, leaving her to follow Cullen to the nearby empty balcony.

She took a gasp of fresh, cool air. It made it obvious how obscured the air was inside, laced with heavy perfumes and candle smoke. Needing to feel the soothing air on her full face or she'd get ill, she untied the ribbons on her mask. Unseen, she gazed at the skies above, willing any tears to flow back.

Focus on your surroundings, her Keeper always said. Breathe in, breathe out. The trees in the garden below rustled softly in the wind, a calm, soothing sound. The floral fragrance of jasmine entered her nose. Slowly, her breath calmed down as the memory of rough hands faded. When she realised that she was no longer in danger of either crying or retching, she turned around.

Cullen stood there, looking at her awkwardly, uncertain of what he needed to do. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked softly.

"No, thank you," she said in an exhale. "I am sorry. I lost myself. I shouldn't have."

"What happened?" he asked, frowning.

She considered him. She didn't really want to tell him, but perhaps it was smart if her advisors knew, and besides, he had heard the words from those around them when they danced. Ennaly didn't even know if the noble's request was normal politics in Orlais. The Orlesians seemed to regard extramarital intimacies as a quirk, something natural in one's character, rather than too much of a scandalous affair. Perhaps she just overreacted because of the memory it triggered.

"That noble I just danced with," she started. "He has a lot of influence. He was willing to extend it to the Inquisition... in exchange for a night with me."

The blood left Cullen's face. "Who was it?" he asked angrily, his expression making it clear he wanted to go back inside and punch him.

"It doesn't matter," she said quickly, averting her eyes. "I don't care about that noble. It just… It brought back memories I thought no longer haunted me."

"I'm sorry," Cullen said and a few seconds passed in which he slowly gained realisation. "I'm so sorry," he said again in a horrified tone.

Ennaly glanced back at him and saw his horrified expression even underneath the mask. She wanted to grant him a smile, but it couldn't form on her lips as the memory of rough hands resurfaced again. Why did it suddenly affect her so much? It had happened years ago, and hadn't been in her mind that often. And furthermore, she had agreed to it. It was her fault. If she wished it hadn't happened, she should have just rejected the offer.

There was only one person she ever fully told about it. Solas, all the way back in Haven, before they were even truly friendly with each other. She knew her Keeper suspected, but they had never discussed it. And certainly not with the woman she bargained the medicine for.

"I know something about memories that haunt you," Cullen said quietly. "It is not exactly the same, but... I can relate. It does get better, but sometimes…"

Ennaly knew a little about what he spoke about, an event from years ago at his time in the Circle during the fourth Blight, and an involuntary but deprecatory smile appeared. "Look at us. You have tortured memories of a mage, and I have tortured memories of a Human man. I hope you know that I wouldn't do anything to you, and I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me either. I'm sorry for flinching, earlier."

"It's alright," Cullen said compassionately. "Of course, I won't hurt you. And, I know you wouldn't, either," Cullen added.

Ennaly smiled, genuinely this time. "Friends don't hurt each other, and I consider you a friend."

He sighed softly. "Yes. I consider you a friend too. But... Will you be alright, going back? We understand. We can improvise."

She sighed as well, and took a deep breath after. Her training as a mage taught her how to calm herself down, and the sensation of wind against her skin was everything she needed. "Nah, there is too much at stake. Besides, I think some fresh air did me well, and dancing should be over is done. It's time to snoop around the palace again. I honestly don't mind fighting an assassin now."

"Yeah. It's preferable to these Orlesians, isn't it?"

Resigned, she picked up her mask again and considered the ribbon ties. "Can you help me? Gods forbid, if I don't look presentable, I might kill the court by shock."

As she watched Florianne running away and saw the Fade rift opening, Ennaly wished she hadn't said she longed for a fight with an assassin. It was one thing to not have a staff when you were fighting Humans, but to not have a staff when fighting Humans and demons...

There was not a lot she could do to defend herself in close quarters, and demons were awfully good at getting close. Barriers only helped so much, and she was exhausted, emotionally as well as physically.

It was an ugly fight. She saw Cassandra being whacked in the face, her mask blocking the damage but breaking on impact. Bull had gotten a large slam in the guts, but had grabbed a greatsword from one of the Humans and was using it to slice in on the demons. Solas danced around, providing barriers were needed and chilling enemies with cold magic. Dorian managed to get one of the dead Humans fighting for him, and Varric just jumped backwards out of melee reach, firing his arrows from the distance.

Ennaly was doing fine with her lightning magic. A shade was approaching her, she stepped back to increase the distance, her foot caught on her skirt, and she fell to the side, hard. She landed on her hip, where a small hidden pocket held a mirror... whose shards now pierced her leg.

"Damn!"

She released a lightning bolt, but the shade approached rapidly. As she awaited impact, a barrier sprouted between them and the shade couldn't touch her. Ennaly recognised the touch of Solas' magic, when Dorian's puppet slashed at the shade. It vanished in a shriek.

Scrambling to her knees, Ennaly held out her hand to close the rift, and finally, silence returned to the garden.

"Fenedhis," she cursed as she looked to her side. Her skirts were stained red and brown from her own blood and the soil of the garden. Pieces of mirror stuck out of her upper thigh, ripping through the silk. The red stain on the skirt slowly spread, and as she looked up, she noticed they all had minor scratches.

Cassandra had a bloody nose and a cut on her face from where the mask had shattered, and without the potion she was taking, would probably have ended up with black eyes. Bull also took a potion as Solas leaned down next to Ennaly. He gently pulled her skirt up to her hip and began to remove the shards of the mirror by pulling on them with force magic.

"Wounded by vanity I didn't even care for," she said through gritted teeth. With the shards removed, the wounds were minor enough for Solas to heal, but her gown was ruined.

"I am glad nothing worse happened," Solas replied, helping her to her feet.

There was nothing to be done but going back, accepting that they all looked like they had been in a fight, Cassandra without a mask.

Cullen was waiting for them in the corridor that led to the ballroom. "Thank the Maker you're back!" he said. "Ennaly, you are..." He gazed at the bloodied, destroyed skirt, her leg visible through the rips.

"It's fine, we've healed it. What matters is that we've figured out what is going on. I'm just going to have to address the court like this."

As she wanted to continue, Cullen halted her and untied his cloak. "Use this," he said, offering it to her. Gratefully, Ennaly accepted it and tied it under her chin as she entered the ballroom. Celene, Gaspard and Briala stood gathered on the dais, but her eyes fell on Florianne, approaching them from the other side.

For the smallest moment, Ennaly hesitated. She could simply not do anything, and let Florianne kill Celene. She deserved it, didn't she, after what she had done? Ennaly had all the evidence that would crown Gaspard as Emperor. But would he be a better ruler?

At the back of her mind, her conscience spoke to her. It might be hidden, but she carried Mythal's Vallaslin, and not Elgar'nans.

Would she be able to sleep, knowing she could have saved Celene? The image of the little girl and her mother in the Dales swam in her mind, killed by Anarel's clan. That was how revenge looked like, and that was not who she was. Despite herself, she smiled. They were surrounded by poisonous nobles, plotting and scheming to further their own goals. But she had won their Game.

"We owe the court one more show, your Grace," Ennaly spoke loud and clear, her gaze on the Duchess. "The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us. Remember to smile."