Chapter Text
The lacework of the Orlesian mask itched abominably. And the silver inlays around the eyes probably made her look like some kind of ghoul, Yael was certain of it. She sighed, although trying to breath out in her tight-fitting uniform was equally as uncomfortable as moving her head in this Creator’s cursed mask. She shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, nodding every so often at the long line of nobles walking up to greet her to a chorus of “Your Grace. Your Worship. Your Eminence.”
Empress Celene looked as radiant as ever at her side. She curtsied at every bow, a practiced smile of grace and openness upon her face. One could see her fine pale skin even under the golden mask she wore. She had had such a mask commissioned specifically for tonight’s celebrations, as had Yael’s own.
A year had come and gone since the war and Orlais intended to celebrate in true fashion. As the Inquisitor, Yael Lavellan had not only been invited, she had been presented as a guest of honor, and in the spirit of the celebrations she had found herself been treated second only to the Empress herself.
Josephine had been practically giddy the day she had informed her of the honor. Yael had done her best not throw herself off the highest balcony in Skyhold.
She bowed again as another family introduced themselves. Yael could feel cold stares all around her. Turning her head ever so slightly she could see the full Orlesian court peppered around the grand Halamshiral ballroom. The last time she had set foot in this pit of vipers, her reception had been much the same, although then it was laced with slightly more open malice and tittering from the crowd. The Inquisition had been in its infancy then and they had still needed to prove themselves a power to be reckoned with. Now they were the strongest force in Thedas, yet still the shemlen nobles whispered behind their fans and their masks about the knife-ear who had risen far above her natural station.
Anger, a soft and warm comforting broil just under her skin, simmered quietly as she endured fake smile after fake smile. Yael counted herself lucky; unlike her imperial counterpart she did not have to please anyone. Half the world feared her rather than loved her and she was satisfied with the arrangement. She let the miserable mask do its job and paint a face of joviality and celebration. Meanwhile she had a headache the size of the Frostbacks…
At last the end of the procession had reached them and Yael quietly uttered several prayers to the Creators in thanks. As the attendees took their leave, Empress Celene gave a courteous nod to all before she gracefully turned on her heels to leave the dais.
Falling into step alongside her, Yael walked up the grand staircase to the upper levels of the ballroom.
“Now that is certainly something to keep the courts talking for an age. The Empress of Orlais and the Inquisitor of Thedas side by side as one united power,” Celene mused, folding her hands through the long sleeves of her ballgown.
“I find that it does not take much to set courts talking these days.”
“Very true, Inquisitor, but it is the subject of the talks that one should always be considered with.”
“I have more to concern myself with than gossip.”
Celene’s laugh was as clear as a bell. “Ah, I do forget how singular a person you are, dear Inquisitor.”
Yael bristled, knowing full well when she was being led around by invisible leashes. “Your Majesty, I have offended you somehow?” and she did not care. But Josephine would murder her in her sleep for not acting as though she did.
“Oh on the contrary no indeed,” Celene waved a jeweled hand. “I often forget that you do not play the Game.”
“Not so well, you mean.”
“Not at all, I dare say.”
Yael raised an unseen brow, eyeing the Empress most quizzically. Frustrations aside, Yael found the woman to be a shrewd and keen intellect and while she would never go so far as to say she admired Celene, she did respect the power she commanded. As easy as she made it seem, Yael knew it was anything but.
Celene must have seen her looking, her clever eyes missed nothing, and Yael nearly leapt back when the woman placed a hand upon her upper arm. “May I give you some advice, Inquisitor?”
Yael nodded and Celene’s voice suddenly switched from the airy pleasant tones they had previously exuded to a deeper, far more serious inflection. “The Game can save lives as well as end them. We are all players here, and not all are as honest in their sport as you. I do not forget how you saved my life once before. Consider this a friendly warning as it were...you have many enemies.”
“And they are here tonight?”
Celene released her arm and smiled. “Oh my dear Inquisitor, you delightful tease!” she laughed loudly and exuberantly, “But you must have many admirers to attend to tonight, I would not hoard all of your attention. Go and enjoy the celebrations, after all without you none of us would be here to partake in such joys tonight.”
Yael did not know much about how the Game was truly played, but she knew enough to register that someone was listening nearby. Yael did not return the Empress’ smile, merely bowed low to her. “Then I take my leave of you, Your Majesty,” said with just the same amount of disinterested flattery that marked her as a poor player of the Game.
She walked through the open corridors around the perimeter of the ballroom. May the Void take the whole of this blasted empire! Painted and masked faces stared at her as she walked, full of fawning smiles and delicate turns of the head. What did Celene mean she had enemies here tonight? How was that different than it ever was when she visited Orlais? Half the shemlen in the empire hated her, that had not changed. As far as she was concerned they were all her enemies. If one or two of them dared to attack her openly tonight, well then at the very least she’d get some decent action and the death of a few shemlen and the night wouldn’t have been a total waste.
As she guessed, Josephine found her first. Her ambassador joined her at her side and Yael paused in her turn about the room and took momentary rest against one of the marble pillars.
“You performed remarkably, Inquisitor,”Josephine said with a smile, the first genuine smile she had seen since she had entered the front gates of the palace. “Half the court is already talking of how well you appeared alongside the Empress.”
Rather like a good mabari hound alongside a Ferelden lord, no doubt. But Yael kept those unsavory thoughts to herself. “Empress Celene had some rather interesting things to say to me.”
“I saw the two of you talking as you left the dais. Whatever did she tell you?”
“Nothing we don’t already know. I am a terrible player at the Game and the Inquisition has enemies. And the sky is blue and Orlais is full of liars.”
A frown pulled at the corner of Josephine’s mouth. “Of course there are always rumors of individuals vying for power against us. That is to be expected. She did not tell you who these enemies were did she?”
“What?” Yael laughed rather more viciously than she meant to, “And spoil the great Game? Josephine I’m surprised at you.”
Her ambassador sighed, “I suspected as much. Ah...let us just keep an eye out. No one would be so mad as to attack you tonight.”
“You sure about that?” Yael asked, “Remember what happened the last time we were here?”
“Altogether too well,” Josephine smiled. “Do try to enjoy the ball, Inquisitor. And do restrain yourself, don’t set all of the Orlesian nobility on fire.”
“You are always ruining my fun, Josie,” Yael winked.
She felt better having talked to the woman. Josephine belonged in this atmosphere, she excelled at this moving war of words, turned it almost into a higher art that mesmerized Yael. It was a skill she was never going to possess, much to her friend’s constant chagrin.
Breathing out she kept up her perimeter, casually as she could. She caught sight of Sera down the hall and waved. Her fellow elf was no doubt up to some pranks against the nobles, who knows, she might even join her at it later. Josephine couldn’t exactly yell at her for that, it wouldn’t be as if she was setting anyone fire.
Varric was chatting with a gaggle of young ladies who, by the sound of it, were greatly amused by whatever the clever dwarf had to say. If he was uncomfortable by all the high-born attention he certainly never let on.
Vivienne was dancing below, the absolute jewel of the evening in her newest gown. She looked happy at the envious stares, Yael smiled under her mask, and knowing her the enchantress had a running tally of just who was giving her such jealous looks.
Yael strolled through the crowds until she reached the windows leading to the open balcony. Stepping outside was like stepping into a warm bath, the night air was crisp and refreshing and the music and murmuring of the crowd faded into a background chorus of cricket chirps and rustling leaves.
She leaned out over the railing. All along the other balconies she could see groups of people talking pleasantly and drinking together. From this distance it looked almost friendly. Ah, just another few short minutes and then she’d go back inside and play the good socialite, Yael promised herself. Her head gave a sickening throb that was just shy of genuinely worrisome.
“I thought I’d find you out here.”
Yael turned her head to see the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies walking over to her, a lopsided smirk upon his face.
“Sick of tonight’s celebrations already?” He came to stand alongside her.
“Aren’t you?”
“Only too well.”
“No one’s bothered you have they, ma’vhenan?” she straightened up, remembering the hordes of nobles that had swarmed the man the last time they had come to the palace.
“No more than usual,” he shrugged. He must have sensed her sudden anger for he placed a gloved hand upon her masked cheek. “Don’t fret, Yael.”
Sighing, Yael pulled off the silver and lace mask, blinking as fresh air graced her skin. “How much longer do we have to be here, do you think?”
“All night, most likely.”
“Didn’t I save the world?” Yael groaned, “Why am I being punished, then?”
Cullen snickered and stole a quick kiss. “Tonight doesn’t have to be entirely miserable, you know.”
Yael nudged him with her shoulder and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence. Cullen played with the ends of her hair, fingers idly weaving through the small braid on the mostly shaven side of her head.
“Remember the last time we were here?” he asked her.
“And the mess I nearly made of everything?” Yael couldn’t help, but laugh. They both looked over at one another and Yael felt a moment’s normalcy counteract the headache and the noise.
“No, I meant...here...on this balcony.”
“Of course I do.” She remembered being so exhausted she thought she’d collapse right then and there. All the annoyance and humiliation running through her making her want to combust with rage and that’s how Cullen had found her. He had been the only one to ask if she had been alright; she had been startled to hear that he had been worried for her.
“Why?” she asked teasingly, “Are you about to ask me to dance again?”
“Maker, no!” he smiled until he realized how his words might be misconstrued. The look of sudden horror that crossed his face made Yael nearly double up with laughter. “I...I mean...no that wasn’t…”
“Only joking, ma’vhenan.”
“Right, of course.”
He seemed nervous, more so than usual. Yael didn’t believe him for a second when he told her he had gone unbothered by the nobility. The last time they had been here he had been pestered, teased, propositioned, and grabbed at by nearly every noble in the palace. They should just stay out here for the remainder of the evening, Yael decided, feeling Cullen place his hand over hers. There’d be an almighty scandal, the cries of every eligible man and woman would echo across Orlais, she’d no doubt receive several notices of open condemnation by half the nobility in the Empire and an additional dozen assassination attempts. It sounded marvelous.
She winced as her head throbbed.
Outrage moved deep beneath her skin, beneath her own thoughts to voices that were and weren’t her own.
This place was once ours.
This place. Ours. Ours.
You walk on the graves of your ancestors.
No, Yael concentrated, this couldn’t happen now. She closed her eyes and sank into a familiar pattern of breathing. It was only a few stray whispers in her head at the moment, but if she let it, it would grew to a cacophony of bitter cries. The voices from the Well were not so easily silenced, but she had been master of her own mind all her life and she didn’t intend to hand over that power now.
“Yael?” Cullen asked, “Is something wrong?”
Images of a far older city flashed behind her eyes. Halamshiral as it was. The remaining elven capital in the Dales, the last seat of their true power before the Exalted Marches scattered them for good. She could feel it, the buried anger, the betrayal, rose up deep within her and lingered--a radiating flame at the center of her as the voices revealed everything.
A hand upon her shoulder brought her back.
She blinked open her eyes and immediately regretted it. The headache had blossomed into something defying description. The voices were angered at being ignored. They always were. Her thoughts crowded and crashed against a gathering of words and images that did not belong to her alone.
Yael found herself drawn up against Cullen, his arm slung around her, tucking her head just under his chin.
A thin laugh shook Yael. “Someone is bound to see.”
“Let them.”
“Well,” she croaked out, feeling as if she had marched double time over the Frostbacks twice, “never thought I’d see the day when Cullen Stanton Rutherford would be arguing for a scandal.”
“I can tell Cassandra or Josephine that you are unwell. That you should retire early.”
“Oh no, that would be worse than if anyone saw us as we are.”
Yael gently removed herself from Cullen’s arms. She drew in a deep, rattling breath, letting the cool night air filter down into her lungs. Her head was clearing, the voices growing silent once more, well as silent as they ever became. They faded into a background whisper of words and shadowed images that were easily ignorable if one had the will. The pain remained, sharp and prodding at the base of her skull, but there was nothing to be done about that except wait for it to pass.
She looked over at her anxious Commander. Yael doubted that the man knew how heartrending he could make his expressions be otherwise he’d know to use it more often. She smiled, lips ineffectually tugging upwards in something of a grin. “I’m fine, Cullen, it’s just a bad headache.”
That seemed to be code for quite a few ailments for the both of them and she knew it didn’t fool him for a second. “I should go back.”
Protests formed silently on Cullen’s lips. Yael could see them all. “You know I hate this game as much as you do, but it’s only for one night.”
“Will you do me one favor, then?”
“And what would that be?”
“Meet me back here before the night is over. I have...something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Oh, now I’m intrigued,” Yael laughed.
“Are you certain you’re alright?” Cullen asked again. If he wasn’t careful he’d have new worry lines across his brow soon enough.
“Perfectly,” Yael grinned through the sharp pain, raising herself up onto the tips of her feet and pressing a kiss to the man’s lips.
Cullen knew better than to follow immediately after her. Yael turned and walked back into the oppressive heat and crowd of the ballroom. As soon as she put her mask back in place she began to miss the night air and the quiet peace she had barely managed to regain with Cullen.
The night blurred into one long endless repetitive noise. Yael let herself be whisked along with the frenzied energy of the celebrations. She was introduced to so many people she didn’t bother to remember their names. Thankfully, no one had asked her to dance. Maybe a few of the nobles recalled what a dismal dancer she was. If the night was to be forced smiles and the yammering of a few words Yael believed she might actually survive it.
The pain never truly dissipated as she would have wished. Lately it seemed to be harder to recover from the voices when they spoke up, but she would set that to rights when she returned to Skyhold. More research on the Well of Sorrows and what it had done to her was clearly needed.
She had spent the past year discovering what this new connection had done to her. While others had expressed their doubts that she’d be able to master its power, she had proven them wrong. The voices were guides. Nothing more. Pain spiked at the base of her neck as if to contradict her, but Yael shook her head and went on.
Hours went by in this manner and it was only on her second pass up out of the vestibule and back into the ballroom that Yael felt as if she was being watched.
A chill itched at the side of her neck and she stole a glance out of the corner of her eye. There were large groups of people talking amongst themselves. Yael scanned the crowd. Someone moved, walking solitarily away from the group. Yael tried to follow. The figure was masked and didn’t strike Yael as immediately threatening. Yet there was something…
The figure, Yael was now most certain that it was a woman, moved with a casual grace. Clad in a rather nondescript blue uniform. Could have been an officer from Jadar? It was impossible to tell. Maybe the headache was merely making her paranoid, but Celene had warned her of enemies amongst the crowd tonight.
“Inquisitor,” a voice at her side interrupted Yael’s tracking. By the time she looked back over to the uniformed woman, she had disappeared amongst the crowd.
“Have I disturbed you?”
Cassandra Pentaghast stood at formal attention before her. Normally her rigid attitude would annoy her, but tonight Yael rather appreciated it. “Josephine asked I check in with you.”
“Cassandra, you haven’t noticed anything...out of place tonight have you?” Yael asked, eyes still scanning the corridor.
“Nothing of any particular note,” Cassandra immediately followed Yael’s gaze. “Why? What have you seen?”
“Possibly nothing,” Yael murmured. “But keep alert. I’ve been advised that we may not be surrounded by entirely friendly faces. Hard as that might be to believe, I know.”
“Do we know anything for certain?”
“Only that we have enemies. Who they are and what they may be doing here I don’t know.”
“I’ll make sure our people are notified.”
Yael nodded. It was not often she got along with the Seeker, but tonight she was appreciative of the woman’s swift action.
The mysterious woman never did show her face again and by the end of the night Yael was beginning to doubt if she had actually seen her at all, or if it hadn’t been an image conjured by the voices. The pain had more or less begun to fade out to something just shy of bearable, but perhaps that was brought on less by her own control and more by the knowledge that soon she would be departing this loathsome shem infested palace for good. She didn’t even want to think about the next time she’d be returning.
Before she notified the others to begin to plan their departure, Yael made her way back to the balcony doors. A promise was a promise after all.
Cullen was there, or rather attempting to make his way there. He was stopped up against the glass windows, surrounded by a fawning group of admirers. He looked to be trying to make his excuses to back away, however unsuccessful he was.
“Commander,” Yael barked as she strode over, “I must speak with you.”
If she had been a cleverer woman when it came to words she’d have found a better turn of phrase to excuse Cullen. All eyes turned to her and she fixed them with an uncaring glower. She knew some of the younger nobles thought of her as a frightening savage. If she had an ounce less of control she would have bared her teeth at them to hammer the impression home.
“At once.” She snapped, letting her voice cut in the way she did when giving her troops direct orders.
“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied, relief evident in his voice. “If you will all excuse me?”
He practically slid his way around the nobles until he was outside of the confining circle of their presence. Yael gave him a nod and gestured out towards the balcony. Cullen led the way with Yael following up. Petty though it was, she couldn’t help but give the gaggle of disappointed admirers one final penetrating glare. If they talked of her at all tonight it would be with accusations of her harsh treatment of their beloved Commander. Good. She looked forward to reading the heartbroken letters in the coming weeks.
Vicious thoughts fell out of her head as Cullen grabbed her and pressed a rather enthusiastic kiss to her lips. “You have an excellent sense of timing.”
“I do my best,” she smiled and removed her mask once again. “Although I imagine this won’t make me any more popular in the Orlesian courts.”
“They shall have to learn to live with disappointment.”
“Oh, I do like it when we disregard propriety,” she grinned wickedly, “Remember last time how we conspired to throw the entire court into the Breach?”
“A missed opportunity if you ask me.”
Yael shook with silent laughter. Soon they’d be back on their way to Skyhold, and Yael had to admit she was rather looking forward to the trip back.
“You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me?” she asked.
“Yes...I...yes I had hoped that…I mean yes I did want to…”
“Creators,” Yael laughed, “It isn’t anything serious is it?”
“No! But...yes, ah, Maker’s breath…”
He took both her hands in his, squeezing lightly. His gaze was trained down at their feet and Yael had to marvel at his sudden anxiety. He exhaled, it sounded almost shaky and for half a moment Yael became genuinely concerned.
“It’s been a year since the end of the war and so much has changed since then. I wanted a way to show you--to tell you, all that you’ve done...I could never have anticipated meeting someone like you. Not after all that had happened in Kirkwall, and with the chaos of the Breach, you’ve been a wonder from the start.”
Yael felt her face grow hot. She looked away from him, never knowing what to say or how to react when he became so sentimental. Discomfort clawed at her in the pit of her belly, a wild, scrabbling sensation that almost made her want to pull away. It was met immediately by shame.
“I suppose if someone had told me I’d choose to willingly spend most of my days with a Templar shem, I’d have thought they were mad too. Before I set them on fire, of course,” she said in a half breathless laugh.
“Maker, you hated me when we first met!” Cullen smiled.
“More than I am probably allowed to put into words. Don’t play games, ma’vhenan. You weren’t overfond of me either at the start.”
“That is not true,” Cullen shook his head. “You were infuriating yes...unpredictable. But you were strong, anyone could see the command you wielded over people, as if you had it all your life. And you were kind,” Yael tried to remove her hands from his and turn away, but he gripped her harder, “You were. You are. Though you hate it when I remind you of this,” he laughed, although it sounded more like a sudden exhale.
“I cannot think of my life before you were a part of it and I cannot imagine a future without you in it. I wanted to…”
Yael covered his mouth with her hand, choking off his words and hushing him. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
There had been a rustling against the trees though the wind had not picked up. She could hear something, a dull scraping of leather against stone. “Listen,” she urged, removing her hand.
Confused, Cullen did as he was bid. Thank the Creators he trusted her instincts enough not to argue with her. He looked at her with wide eyes when heard the scraping sound as well, coming at intervals. “Someone is climbing the walls,” he replied, softly.
Yael nodded. Whoever they were they were directly below them on the railing. “And it sounds as if--”
An arrow shot past her face and only an early scream of warning in her head made her leap back before it could lodge itself in her skull. Snipers in the trees. Mythal curse them. Before she could move a shadowed weight crashed directly into her. She grunted in surprise and tried to roll to avoid being pinned by the figure.
Magic flooded Yael’s body on instinct as she threw up a barrier, causing the attacker to bounce off of her, forcing them away and giving her time to rise to her feet. Damn them, she was unarmed and without her staff.
“Yael!”
Cullen hauled the attacker to their feet and landed a punch square on their face. The figure elbowed Cullen in the jaw and struggled free. In the flicker of the candle light from the other side of the window, Yael recognized the blue dress uniform. The woman.
Forgoing magic for the moment, Yael barrelled straight into the woman’s back, throwing her down onto the floor. She gripped the woman by the collar of her uniform and slammed her head onto the stone. Dazed, but undeterred the woman brandished a knife pulled from the sleeve of her jerkin. Yael grunted as the knife caught her shoulder, a lance of white-hot pain blooming out of the gash that appeared.
Forced to let her go, Yael staggered back to avoid another cut from her knife. The woman leapt to her feet. “Blighted creature,” she spat.
Yael backed up towards the railing of the balcony. She could see Cullen tracking her and Yael kept the woman’s focus on her alone. “What is it that you want?” she snarled. “You think you’re the only one to think they could kill the Inquisitor?”
“You led the Wardens astray and will summon another Blight, traitor!”
“What?”
But there would be no answers. Cullen grabbed the woman as soon as she was close enough to the railing. Yael dodged out of the way as he booted the attacker over the side. Two arrows followed in retaliation from the trees and Yael threw out another wall of magic to block them, they clattered harmlessly to the floor. With another push of magic, Yael sent a rolling wave of force at the tree branches. A piercing scream signaled the sniper’s demise as they plummeted to the courtyard below to join the body of their comrade.
Both Cullen and Yael breathed heavy in the aftermath of the short skirmish. Questions careened through Yael’s head. The Wardens? The Blight? And who had she betrayed? A mad woman? A fanatic? Renegade Venatori left over from the war? And how had they managed to get so close to the palace under full guard? One of the attackers had even been inside the palace. Had she been invited?
“Yael!” Cullen’s shout of alarm caused her to lose her train of thought. “Are you hurt?” His hands went everywhere at once, checking her over for injury.
“I believe I’ll live,” she soothed as he came to the gash on her shoulder and upper arm. “The real question now is who wanted me dead?”