Blackwall demonstrated again. One apple in the air, two apples in the air, three. Caught, caught, and caught.

Fae threw her first apple, then her second, then let the first hover in the air while she threw the third, then dropped the first when she was ready to catch it, and then the second. Caught, caught and caught.

"That's cheating."

"I threw all the apples, and I caught all the apples."

"Juggling is about timing, that's what makes it look seamless. A couple of floating apples in the air is a dead giveaway."

"It still looks cool, though."

Ellethir found Fae, Blackwall and Sera loitering by one of the great hall's long dining tables, apparently oblivious to the veritable storm of servants whisking away the used dishes and leftovers from today's breakfast spread. Hopefully, their alliance with Orlais also included coin, to feed both this army and the visitors who made the pilgrimage here.

"No no no, next time, leave just the first apple floating, and then I'll shoot—" Sera posed, and Fae clapped her hands.

"Ooh I like that idea—"

"If Lady Josephine sees you in here shooting arrows she'll feed your bow to the nearest hearth fire," Blackwall chuckled.

"Fae!" Ellethir called.

"Yeah?"

"War council, let's go." Fae put the apples down, and Ellethir picked one back up and put it in the Seer's hand. "Eat. Come on."

"You're very bossy this morning, boss," Fae observed through a mouthful of apple.

Ellethir nodded with a wry smile to Solas as they passed by, and he bowed. "I'm in a good mood."

Fae didn't miss the silent exchange. "Ugh, I'm trying to eat, lovebirds. What's this meeting about?"

"The empress has a mission for us."

"More Venatori?"

"I don't know yet."

Fae graciously held the door to the war council open for Ellethir.

"Ah, Inquisitor, you found her."

"She was hiding in plain sight."

"Morning, Josephine."

"Good morning, Seer. Well, let us begin. We have received our first official assignment from Empress Celene, in accordance with our new alliance. It is regarding the current unrest in the Exalted Plains."

"Dirthavaren," Ellethir corrected her, looking for it on the table's map.

"You know it, Inquisitor?"

"My clan may have roamed the Free Marches, but every clan knows where the Dalish kingdom ended," Ellethir said matter-of-factly. "We are the last elvhen. Never again will we submit."

"Ah, of course," Josephine hesitated. "It is true, the area was named exalted when Andraste's champions defeated the last of the elven armies, in her name. History does have a tendency to favour the victor, as we all know. I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor."

"None taken."

"Andraste herself had returned to the Maker's side, by that moment in time," Cassandra added. "We- that is, Sister Leliana and I, are familiar with the Canticle of Shartan. I do not believe Andraste would have approved of the killing of the elves."

"Well, I'll make sure to ask, if I ever meet her. Josephine, you were saying Celene wants the Inquisition to go there?"

"Yes, Inquisitor. Over the course of the civil war- which the nobility have taken to calling the War of the Lions- the Plains had become a battlefield, until the empress and the grand duke agreed to a temporary ceasefire preceding the peace talks in Halamshiral. However, not long before the announcement of the ball, they had both lost contact with their respective forces. They sent scouts, of course, but neither received any communication back. Empress Celene had hoped that the scouts she sent from Val Royeaux to proclaim the end of the conflict would shed some light on the situation, but…nothing."

"Odd."

"Indeed. The empress has requested that the Inquisition investigate on her behalf, and report back. She would send her own men, of course, but right now, truth be told, the Orlesian army- that is, those still accounted for, is not at its best. Celene is consolidating the army who have remained loyal to her and those who took Gaspard's side into one cohesive military force once more. It is…a complicated matter. Some crimes may be forgiven, if she can be convinced that some dire circumstances forced the hand of one soldier or another, but those who were truly loyal to Gaspard alone…"

"As I hear it, many executions and banishments have been taking place these last few weeks, and prisons are filling up," Leliana stepped in smoothly. "Celene is moving quickly, as she must, but she is also wisely being careful in making appointments to replenish the ranks. We have yet to learn who will be taking Gaspard's place as the leader of the chevaliers, for example."

"And recovering her missing forces is part of that operation," Ellethir concluded.

"In a word, yes."

"Have we sent scouts to the Plains yet?"

"We have," Josephine answered. "We do not yet know the fate of all the missing soldiers, but it seems a significant number of them on both sides have deserted, and formed their own group. The Freemen of the Dales, they call themselves."

"They claim to be casting off the shackles of Orlesian politics which have forced them to fight their own kin." Cullen snorted. "But from what I can tell, they're using this as an opportunity for common banditry. It's hard to say whether they truly believe they're advocating for freedom from oppression, or freedom from responsibility."

"Then we'll try to make contact with them, if they don't come to the Inquisition first," Ellethir decided. "Is there anything else?"

"One more thing, unpleasant to think of as it might be," Josephine glanced reproachfully at her clipboard. "There are also reports of undead in the area, particularly around the battlefields. It is possible they are the bodies of the missing soldiers, but that would imply a huge loss on both sides. Such stalemates are rare in these cases, especially where chevaliers are concerned; it is considered more honourable to raise the white flag in the event of an honest defeat, rather than waste one's life falling in a doomed battle."

"Convenient, too. Well, if this is our chance to uphold our end of the bargain, let's get to it. We leave as soon as we're ready."

"On your order, Inquisitor."

"Inquisitor," Fae jogged to catch up with Ellethir. "How soon is soon, exactly? I mean, I'm ready to go whenever, but—"

"You're staying here." Ellethir couldn't completely hide the guilt she felt when she had to deliver unwanted news, but she stuck to her resolve.

Fae, for her part, couldn't hide the immediate stab of hurt. "What? Again? Why?"

"Because I need you at your best, Fae. And you need rest."

"No, I don't," Fae insisted, panic rising like bile in the back of her throat. "I need to stay busy and I'm not here to rest. I'm not even taking requests for Seeing these days. I'm your right hand, I'm supposed to be by your side. How can I help you if I'm here and you're days away?"

"You can help me by doing as your Inquisitor commands."

"You only say that when you run out of…" Fae paused, mind whirring. "…This is because of Redcliffe, isn't it?" She said slowly. "You don't trust me anymore. Maybe I'll get upset and reopen a Rift you just closed."

"No," Ellethir put her hands on Fae's shoulders. "That's not fair. To me or you." Fae chose to look at the ground instead of answering. Shutting herself away again. Ellethir leaned down and rested her forehead on Fae's head, a gesture of playfulness Fae was quietly grateful for. The real Ellethir, not the Inquisitor.

"I trust you the most," Ellethir said softly. "But I need you to stay here, because if you're this tired when we're out on the job, I risk losing you, and I would never forgive myself. It's just for a few days."

Fuck it. Fae was tired. Even the courtyard was starting to look like an inviting place to lie down, and that had to be a sign. "If you die and I'm not there, I'm going to learn necromancy, raise you from the dead, and kill you again," she mumbled.

Ellethir stood back up straight, and dusted off the Seer's shoulders. "And that's why I trust you the most. Nobody else would talk to me like that."

Fae returned to her room, flipping the sign on the door over before closing it behind her. She spent a few moments leaning against it, taking in her room. It was beautiful, and cosy, and already full of little treasures and trinkets, mostly gifts. A delicately-carved wooden halla miniature stood on the mantelpiece, a present from Blackwall. A little linen doll dressed in a very frilly Orlesian ballgown sat on her bedside table next to an iron amulet emblazoned with the profile of a mabari hound, and at the foot of the bed, a woollen blanket had several embroidered griffons flying above the seams. Beautiful, and too much.

Back in Hawke's family manor, Fae thought having a whole trunk full of her possessions was bordering on excessive. She had enough money from her cut in the jobs they took to live on, then, but now whatever the Inquisition tried to give her, she gave back to Leliana to send to Denerim, hoping Shianni would forgive her for staying away. And for living like this. This room was a tiny palace. A soft, warm, quiet (ish) palace.

Fae drew the curtains over the window in its alcove, stealing a quick glimpse into the gardens below. There was a small team overseeing the gardens now, growing vegetables for the kitchen, flowers for the great hall, herbs for the healers, herbs for Sera's "bag of tricks." If she closed her eyes, Fae could almost believe she was upstairs in the Hanged Man, listening to the chatter floating up from the floor below.

Closing her eyes was enough. Fae woke up with a surprised start. She hadn't even dreamed, but the sky had changed, the final rays of orange sunset still peeking out from a curtain of soft blue twilight. She shivered. Her blankets were crumpled in a tangled ball behind her. Must have kicked them off in her sleep. After detangling the blankets to rescue one missing sock, Fae blearily shoved her boots on and wandered outside. Dinner would be on in the great hall right now, too many people at once. She briefly considered heading to the Herald's Rest, but she wasn't in the mood for music and cards.

She settled on meandering across the battlements instead, occasionally passing a guard or two maintaining Skyhold's constant vigil. The ones who recognised her let her pass with a simple nod, and the ones who didn't stared suspiciously, prompting the Seer to walk past a little faster. The view of the snow-capped mountains was beautiful, especially in this light, but it was cold out, so Fae kept walking, until she reached the battlement entrance to the mages' tower that most people didn't notice.

The upper levels of the tower were the mages' barracks, but this level housed the library which had quickly been refilled with books as more and more scholars joined the Inquisition, as well as Orlesian nobles who enjoyed being able to brag that they'd donated selections from their esteemed private collections to the Inquisition. Here, at least, it would be quiet. There were a variety of cushy chairs slotted between the shelves where room had to be spared for the windows, and Fae gratefully sank into one, allowing herself to become lost in thought.

"Why, if it isn't Faellathi Tabris."

Fae jolted in her seat. "Holy—! Dorian. Hi."

"I've had worse greetings, I suppose." Dorian cheerfully began scanning he shelves, running his fingertips over the tomes.

"Sorry. I didn't expect to see anyone here."

"Yes," Dorian looked to the ceiling above them. "These southern mages all tend to give me rather a large berth. I cannot imagine why."

"I thought you'd be out with the Inquisitor."

"Alas, I've been instructed to remain and scour the shelves for information about lyrium usage in armour. I've no doubt some magister or other has at least attempted it, but that's by the by. I suspect the real reason I'm here has to do with the potential for coming across any Dalish clans on their sacred grounds. Bringing a Tevinter along would make for a poor first impression, I imagine."

"Makes sense."

Dorian plucked out a book from the shelf and placed it on the side table next to Fae. "And what brought you here, Seer? Something on your mind that only the quiet of a library could help you solve?"

Fae leaned back in her chair. "Nothing in particular. It doesn't matter."

"Ah, nothing. Nothing is always such a bother. Would a sip of something help?" Dorian slipped a small flask from a hidden pocket in his robes and offered it to her.

Fae was about to refuse on principle, but then again… "Is that your ice rune flask?"

"It is."

She accepted the flask, taking a confident swig. It was velvety and smooth, and tasted like honey mixed with blackberries. Not too bad, until a bitter aftertaste set in, and her face scrunched up against her will.

"Cold to the taste, scorching to the throat," Dorian said sympathetically. "But it does warm you up from the inside." That much was true. "You know, I had hoped we'd developed something of a rapport since our brief dalliance in the Winter Palace."

Fae handed the flask back. "The Winter Palace…reminded me of who I am," she pointed vaguely to her ears. "Maybe I've been a mage in hiding with other mages, human or elf, for so long I forgot that people see an elf first. And here, in the Inquisition, no one dares to insult the Herald of Andraste. People who don't like elves don't stick around for long."

"Ah. And your being an elf makes you keep your distance from the Tevinter nobleman."

"More or less." Fae looked straight at Dorian, and despite himself, he felt a shiver up his spine. Not from fear, but from the feeling of being watched like a wild dracolisk. He was a threat being sized up, no sudden movements or it'll spook and you'll lose a hand. "You've allied with elves," Fae said carefully. "But I can't call myself a friend to anyone who owns slaves."

"Well, on that count, technically, I don't own any slaves. They are owned by my family."

"Which you will one day be the head of. Then what?" She'd been expecting that answer already.

Dorian hummed and returned to the shelves. "Would you believe me if I said I've been trying to work that out? That perhaps I'm not an evil magister, plotting to bleed slaves for profane blood magic rituals? That being said, I couldn't in good conscience leave the people I'd be responsible for without work, without security, in the slums of some undercity like they do around here."

"Mm. If only they knew someone powerful, influential," Fae said innocently. "Someone with connections."

Dorian sighed. "If only it were that simple."

"Never assumed it would be. But the question remains the same. Will you keep my people as slaves, when the time comes?"

Dorian almost risked giving too much of his plans away. The walls had ears, even here. Especially here. He could risk just enough that whoever might be listening would take his words as mere appeasement, nothing more. He turned around to place more books down, meeting Fae's gaze. "No," he said simply.

"Oh." Fae's surprise was poorly hidden. "Are you lying?"

"Why would I lie about that?"

"You spend your whole life around slavery, spend a few months in the south and suddenly you've changed your mind? Either something happened that made you change your mind, or you're lying."

Dorian chuckled, returning to the shelves. "The first, if you must know. I'd rather not speak about it, so you'll simply have to decide whether you trust me based on the knowledge you have of me already."

He could practically feel Fae's eyes boring into the back of his head.

"…Okay."

Dorian swung back around to face her with a flourish. "Might we call each other friends, then?"

He watched the cogs continue to turn in her mind, and finally she settled on yes with a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug.

"Excellent! From now on, you may consider me a shoulder to cry on in times like these."

Fae looked at him as if he were mad. "I'm not going to cry."

"A turn of phrase, my dear. So, what has you tucking yourself into little hidden corners like these? I've heard whispers of some small catastrophe in Redcliffe recently."

I'm going to kill Varric. Fae tried to figure out a way to tell Dorian what happened without actually telling him what happened. "It was my fault," she said quietly, drawing her knees to her chest and sinking further into her chair. "It's why I'm not on my way to the Exalted Plains with the rest. I failed her," she tried to say matter-of-factly, failing to maintain eye-contact with Dorian as she admitted her defeat. "I failed Cole…and I'm not someone that can afford to fail."

"I see." Dorian crouched down beside her, ostensibly beginning to sort out the small tower of books on the side table. "You know, until quite recently, I believed I couldn't afford to fail either."

Fae stared glumly at him. Her interest was piqued. "…What happened?"

"Well, I came here to try and prevent my mentor from making a horrible mistake. And I did. Then I had the option to go back home, where my father was trying to marry me off to a woman of the correct pedigree for the noble house Pavus, knowing that he would go to any lengths to mold me to his will for our family. Or, I could remain here, being far too occupied by saving the world to worry about all that."

"So you ran away?"

"I did. But my father is my father, and he caught up with me eventually. We shouted ourselves hoarse at each other. I'd failed him, and our noble, ancient bloodline is doomed because I will not marry a woman to continue that bloodline. He in turn had failed me. He is my father, and in a moment of desperation he tried to change me into the son he wanted, not the son he already had. With blood magic."

"Wow. That's…a lot."

"Isn't it? The crux of the matter is that everyone fails. You might think you cannot afford to, but you can, because you must, just like anyone else alive."

"How did it work out in the end? With your father, I mean."

"As well as it could have, I'd wager. It helped that I had the Inquisitor in my corner, truth be told. Tevinter is an unforgiving place, and we are an unforgiving people. But we are not in Tevinter. We are in the Inquisition. Among friends, yes?"

Fae finally cracked a small smile. "Yeah."

"Then stay a while, I could use the company."

She picked up the book at the top of the pile.