The woman deftly plucked her dagger from the assassin's mask, and face beneath. "Slumming in the servants' quarters with the rest of your people for once? Ah, I forget myself. I am a flat-ear, not a true sister of the People."
"Ambassador Briala, I take it?" Ellethir looked convincingly unimpressed. "Impressive shot."
Briala spun the dagger between her fingers before sliding it back into a concealed hilt in her skirt.
"Welcome to the Imperial Court, lethallan," Briala said with a flourish, putting extra emphasis on the last word, with a sneer in her voice if not her mask. "This is our diplomacy at work."
"I can't speak for all of us, but Dalish or not, you are an elf."
"I am, and like me, you do not speak only for yourself." Briala sighed, looking back and forth between at the bloody or blackened bodies scattered across the hall, and the Inquisition representatives with all eyes fixed on her. "You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you've beaten me to it."
"You're very welcome, my dear," Vivienne inclined her head shortly.
Briala recognised her, and scoffed. "Madame de Fer, of course you would be here. That Council emissary, was he mixed up with these assassins as well, or was he one of your victims?"
"Neither," Dorian answered. "We believe Gaspard killed him, or more likely, had him killed. The knife we found lodged in his back had the Chalons crest on the hilt. Here, consider it a show of goodwill."
Briala accepted the dagger and looked carefully at the insignia. "I knew it," she said, handing it back to him. "…Unless it is more personal, and he has happened to die at a moment where his death could be misinterpreted. Florianne has no taste for power but she is a Chalons nonetheless, a harlequin would not deny her request if she wanted the life of a man who slighted her in some way, I suppose."
Sera scrunched up her nose. "Is that what that chessboard-looking bastard was, a harly-thing?"
"The harlequins are an order of assassins in the service of the royal family, their sole purpose is to smooth the path ahead for any member of the Blood, which right now are the scions of House Valmont and House Chalons."
Sera scoffed. "So the person who had all these people killed could be the empress, Grand Duke Gas-bag, or Grand Duchess whatever?"
"Apparently."
"Or you, ambassador," Fae added.
Briala grinned. "Ha! And why would I kill my own people?"
"For the same reason you've been doing anything lately, it seems," Ellethir crossed her arms. "To keep both sides hurling accusations at each other, and thereby prolonging the war, hoping that they'll destroy each other eventually and the elves of Halamshiral will be free to claim the ruins of whatever's left of Orlais by then."
Briala laughed. "I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having after all. But you are wrong; it will not be enough to liberate only the elves of Halamshiral."
She nudged the dead harlequin beneath her with the tip of her quillback leather boot. "Celene is not above the slaughter of innocents, to be sure, but this was Gaspard's work. Killing a council emissary is one thing, but to do so at a Grand Ball, leaving his body behind with no room for interpretation as to how he died, on top of smuggling in chevaliers, harlequins and Tevinter assassins? Any one of those acts he could have wormed his way out of, but all three together? This is the work of a desperate man. As is openly killing my people. He must be planning to strike tonight."
Vivienne tutted. "We might have guessed that ourselves, dear, but we need to know when he is planning to strike."
Briala's mask stared impassively at Vivienne before turning back to Ellethir. "We may yet be of use to each other. I have an army of elven spies to put at your disposal, and you already have more political, religious and monetary power to do with what you will than most of the royal families in Thedas. Your presence here will affect the peace talks one way or another."
"You'd protect the innocent by delivering them into the hands of strangers?" Ellethir asked suspiciously.
Briala shrugged. "Our fates are already in the hands of strangers. Ensure that the peace talks lean in our people's favour, and you could consider what you might do with a second army. I even have a gift, consider it my own show of goodwill; Gaspard's men have been seen going in and out of the Trophy Room in the Hall of Heroes tonight. If you are in need of more leverage- besides a dagger which could have been stolen and planted by anyone, that is, I would look there first."
"Thank you, ambassador. We will…consider your offer."
Briala nodded once, then strode out to the balcony and hopped up onto the balustrade, sitting on it as if it were a throne. She waved, let herself fall back over the edge and vanished.
Sera let out an impressed whistle. "I've gotta figure out how to do that myself."
After assessing their clothes for signs of battle and doing what they could to hide or clean off offending marks, the Inquisitor's party quickly began retracing their steps back to the Hall of Heroes. Passing that odd room again, Fae stopped. "Wait. I felt something from behind this door before. Can we have a look first?"
Sera felt her way across the door for a hidden handle. "No frigging way to get in."
Fae traced her hands along the lines of an engraved sigil on the door. It lit up to reveal the small stream of lyrium which coursed through it as she did, but the door itself remained closed.
"It must be magically sealed. Can we spare a halla, Inquisitor?"
"That's what we have them for. Help me with the skirt, Fae." Fae lifted the hoop of the skirt up for Ellethir to hold, and quickly unfastened a halla statuette.
"What the fuck?" Sera's jaw had dropped wide open. "What the fuck…?"
"I know, I know, not even doors are safe from magic," Fae sympathised, running her hands along the design to find the space for the statuette. Once she found it, she held the halla statuette and something in the door clicked, slowly swinging it open.
It was a bedchamber. In a large marble fireplace, flames licked identical wooden logs, and a cream-coloured chaise longue matched the linens on a gilded four-poster bed. Tiny side tables and curved chests of drawers and wardrobes were decorated with candlesticks, or fine porcelain vases filled with winter blooms.
"What's that smell?" Sera went about sniffing, searching for it.
"Roses and honeysuckle," Vivienne answered from the doorway. "The Empress favours a soap made with them."
"Do you know which object it is?" Ellethir asked Fae, who had already noticed their next hurdle.
"Well, I know where it is, it's just that there's another door." She pointed. The door was a slightly smaller replica of the first one. "Can we use another halla?"
"We only have a finite number of them," Vivienne reminded her, collecting another from Ellethir's skirt hoop nonetheless. "We can only hope we are using them on the most valuable doors."
The door unlatched just as the first had. The room behind it looked like it was used as a dressing-room at one point, judging by the dressing-table still in it, and the embroidered partitions leaning against one wall, but now it was just a storeroom, with mismatching furniture, trunks, and framed landscape paintings.
Fae set to work immediately, opening drawers and sifting through papers, jewels, and trinkets.
"Well, there goes all hope of leaving everything as we found it," Vivienne hummed.
Ellethir tried to sit down, but the best she could do was sprawl uncomfortably on the bed. "A messy drawer is the least of anyone's problems tonight. How goes the search?"
"I…" Fae straightened up to answer, locket in hand, trying to push the vision away long enough to answer.
"I…? Oh. It's working."
Fae's expression was blank, staring aimlessly at a corner of the bureau she had been digging through. The group waited quietly, while Fae remained unmoving.
"…She doesn't usually take this long, does she?" Sera asked, hanging over the back of the chaise longue by her knees and watching the lack of movement from the dressing-room upside-down.
Ellethir frowned, wary of the approaching bell to call them back to the ballroom. "I don't think so. Cole?"
"Fingers gripping, grasping, teasing in my hair. So beautiful. Is this for me? I have waited fourteen years to give this to you. Head pounding, hot tea, too hot, but she cools me down. It isn't usually like this, one feeling is always the strongest but they are both here together. You killed them, you killed me and now I must be someone else who is me without you…"
The bell rang, interrupting him momentarily. "…Stored sorrow, hidden hurts. She couldn't throw it away. We have to go back now."
"Right. All of you go, I'll stay here with Fae," Ellethir decided. "Make our excuses while we go to the trophy room."
Fae came to a few minutes later. "Well, that was…something," she said, looking a little wan. "We can definitely use it. Briala and Celene have a longer history than we knew. I saw them together, very young, and then Briala had to hide for some reason, and run away. And then they were fighting a varterral—"
"A varterral?!"
"I know, it makes as much sense to you as it does to me. Gaspard was there, too, and there were others but I couldn't see them well enough to recognise them."
"So, we know they've been in each other's lives for a long time, but how does that help us?"
"If there was a varterral involved, then Celene, Briala and Gaspard have seen more of magic than any of them are letting on," Fae explained. "If we tell them the truth about the time magic and what you saw, they might be willing to temporarily set aside their designs on each other without bloodshed. No one will be spared if Corypheus isn't stopped."
Ellethir sat up with Fae's assistance. "It sounds too simple a solution to a mess like this."
"It does," Fae admitted.
"We'll have to think about it on the move, we're already running late."
"Sorry about that. Is that why the others have left?"
"Yes. You did well, but we need to get to the trophy room while we still have the chance, let's go."
Fae and Ellethir tiptoed when there was no one around, and strutted confidently whenever they walked past guards. The late bell rang. No going back to the ballroom now without drawing attention. The trophy room was still roped-off, but now it was guarded by two chevaliers.
Ellethir pulled Fae back before she could round the corner. "Wait," she whispered. "Are they Gaspard's or Celene's men?"
"I don't know."
Ellethir stole a glance. The chevaliers were chatting with each other.
"Did you see that knife-eared servant girl in the kitchen? The ginger," one said.
The other groaned. "Keep talking, I'm starting to believe I was there."
"I need to get me one of those."
"Don't we all?"
Ellethir scowled. "They're disgusting," she whispered angrily.
"I know," Fae whispered back. "But it will make our job easier."
"What?"
"Let's take a page out of Dorian's book. Follow my lead," Fae wound her arm around Ellethir's. She led them around the corner towards the chevaliers, giggled, and pretended to whisper something in Ellethir's ear, casting her gaze between Ellethir and the chevaliers. One of the two men straightened their posture as the elves sauntered towards them, and the other one just looked confused. Fae giggled again. "Good evening, monsieurs."
The one who had stood up tall noticed Ellethir's Anchor first, and pointed. "Hang on, you're the Inquisitor, are you not? We have heard stories of your accomplishments. They are an inspiration!"
Ellethir shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye-contact with the other chevalier who continued to silently stare her down. "Uh, I am. But people exaggerate."
Fae batted Ellethir's arm playfully. "Don't be so modest, Your Worship! The stories we could tell, monsieurs!"
"I told you, Philippe!" The first said excitedly.
Philippe grunted. "Not everyone fights an Archdemon and lives to tell the tale," he conceded stiffly.
"Oh?" Ellethir feigned curiosity. "What have you heard?"
"They say the army of the Inquisition made a desperate stand at Haven against the forces of an ancient darkspawn, one of the Tevinter magisters who invaded the Golden City!" The first rambled. "And then you cast down a mountain upon the Archdemon and escaped. Is that not what they say, Philippe?"
Phillippe huffed. "If even a tenth of that is true, Louis, it is a remarkable feat."
"It is, of course," Fae beamed. "But really, the Inquisitor is no more an expert in battle than I am, isn't that right, Your Worship? We don't really remember all the, uh, troop movements, and things like that."
"Yes, it…was all a blur," Ellethir mumbled.
Fae leaned in to whisper conspirationally. "Truth be told, if you really want to know all the details, it's our Commander Cullen who could tell you all about it. He's in the ballroom now if you want to ask him."
"Really?" One look at Philippe, and Louis was cowed. "But… we shouldn't leave our post…"
Fae waved a hand. "You'd only be gone a moment, and we wouldn't tell, would we?"
Ellethir smiled, picking up the performance. "Of course not, we wouldn't have suggested it otherwise."
"No," Philippe said dourly.
"Philippe…" Louis whined. "The world is coming to an end. If we do not hear this story now, we will never have a chance. We are going. Thank you, Your Worship. Uh, mademoiselle." Louis practically dragged Philippe away, already singing Cullen's praises.
"No door-handle. We need another halla," Fae said, her fingers skimming over the door as soon as the chevaliers were out of sight.
"Help me with the skirt."
When the door opened, they crept inside and closed it quietly behind them.
"You are worryingly good at acting," Ellethir whispered. No one else was in the room, but surrounded by so many wall-mounted creatures of every kind, some even in their own glass tanks, it felt like they were in a room full of eyes and ears watching and listening in.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
They checked every nook and cranny of the room, but to no avail. Ellethir spotted another door at the far end of the room, and it led to a stately office. "Quickly."
Fae began rifling through the paperwork on the desk, making mental notes of useful tidbits for Leliana.
"Fae, stop, I've found what we need." Ellethir handed the small, crushed scroll to Fae.
"Phillippe,
Move in on the western wing of the palace on the midnight bell. Not taking any chances.
Gaspard."
"Wow. This is better than we could have hoped for," Fae whistled lowly, impressed. "Hopefully we can halt the attack long enough to negotiate with Gaspard."
They hurried back to the ballroom, but Fae hesitated when a pair of servants rushed past with empty silver platters. "Wait!"
They stopped, and stared.
"Tell any elven women with red hair to steer clear of the Hall of Heroes tonight, if you can," Fae advised.
One looked to the other, smirking. "Fancy yourself another ambassador Briala, my lady?"
Fae huffed. "A couple of guards in the area were heard making…ungentlemanly comments, that's all. Tell them it's on Briala's orders, or don't, whatever works."
"We really have to go," Ellethir grabbed Fae's hand and pulled her away, only letting go when they finally re-entered the ballroom.