Grand Duke Gaspard, who had invited them to the ball, met them on arrival. Evelyn wore a blood-red dress with a bodice that was made to look like a military jacket, draped with gold roping twisted and tied down her front. Off her shoulders fell a matching cape in gold with the Inquisition's insignia embroidered beautifully on its trail. The collar of her jacket bodice was high, but the neckline plunged modestly in a sharp V-shape. Her balayage hair of brown and blond was braided around her head like champions' laurels despite their loss at Haven. While she wore enough makeup to hide the scars on her lower left cheek and nose, it was hidden behind the mask of a firebird. It had been masterfully crafted and designed by Josephine as a reminder of her other namesake.
The Grand Duke was candid as he was a proud military veteran. Though having just met, they conversed with an air of familiarity, all for show as the Orleasian court gaped at their arrival together. After their ceremonious presentation to the Empress, the two parted to begin the night's festivities.
Having been informed rather explicitly by Madame Vivienne of what this night meant for the Inquisitor, both her mother and betrothed were left to their own machinations, for which Evelyn could not have cared less about. Ryker seemed to be happily besotting himself with drink and her mother floated about jockeying for social standing.
Her first tip of the evening was to investigate the servants' quarters. Apparently, people were going in, never to come back out. Such as things were, she informed her advisors she was taking her team in to see just what was happening, and on the off chance they didn't return in an hour, to come searching for them.
***
Finding himself the perfect spot from which to observe the Empress' guard, Cullen tried to blend in as much as possible but he was swarmed by a bunch of Orlesians asking him all manner of personal questions. Of all the topics he wanted to avoid that night, both women and men alike were dying to know his relationship status and pedigree. Every half-hearted answer began weighing on him making him feel more and more inadequate. If that wasn't bad enough, they were even touching and grabbing him, sometimes in completely inappropriate places. His blood boiled from being treated as if he was a Ferelden plaything to these aristocrats… and because of his anger towards Evelyn's words.
He had tried his best to keep it hidden, but it was proving more difficult by the hour. Ignoring it only served to allow the feelings to ambush him when he caught sight of her moving through the crowd. Thankfully, she was headed away from the ballroom for a bit to check on dubious activity in the servants' quarters.
For the most part, it seemed she was able to forget him easily enough. Supposedly. He knew her better, and even her coldness towards him seemed off. She was hiding herself, pretending to be someone she wasn't. For all the time he had known her she never acted so irrationally. Like a ray of sunlight fighting through clouds, parts of her poked through her act. Whatever was going on, he could be sure of one thing, she was protecting someone.
But why not ask for help? His mind spun with a new sort of headache not knowing how he should feel. He couldn't help but want to just let the matter drop and make it easier on him. Just move on... but how could he after barring his soul to her? He felt the fool for it. Everything he did to allow her to breach the walls of his heart had blown up spectacularly in his face. Even if this was some elaborate scheme or if there was something larger going on that for whatever reason he was the one she was protecting, the internal damage had been done. The betrayal was made and she sacrificed him in the end.
Despite knowing there may be a hidden motive for her actions, he was still bitter. The things she said ate away at his heart. How could she not believe that he would do everything in his power to make her happy? To provide for her. Even if she may have been just saying it to end their short relationship, there was truth in her words. They made him feel less of a man, just another soldier destined to go on fighting for whoever was paying. No longer a Templar, his options were limited. Ironically, the only offer he had received so far outside of the Inquisition was made by Hector Trevelyan back when they were at Haven. What a disaster that would be. And while a soldier's pay could support a family, he'd be away from her most of the time. How many times had he dealt with soldiers who requested leave due to their spouse threatening to leave them because of how long they were away. Or the rage that erupted when they found out they had a secret lover fulfilling their needs in their absence. The life of a soldier's wife was a lonely one, could he resign her to it? Or even worse, be forced to retreat home to South Reach and work the family business. How far he would fall only to drag her down with him.
"Commander, has anyone ever told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?"
"Several times this evening, actually," came his terse reply. Trying to push the thoughts from his head and concentrate on the job at hand, he continued to ignore the people around him to discreetly observe the palace guard. Whatever was happening at least he still had his duty to cling to. His faith in the Inquisition, and even in her ability to lead, still held strong... for now.
***
Evelyn had been running ragged around the palace as the war waged everywhere around the ball. She was exhausted, and trying to find something other than alcohol to drink was a monumental task in itself. It was to the point that she was stealing sips from questionable sources as they chased the Venatori through the servant and guest wings where she could find it. While her red dress hid the stains of each confrontation with mercenaries, spies and Venatori alike, her powdered makeup was ruined from sweat showcasing the pink hue from the effort on her face. The few times she was able to meet with her advisors in the ballroom to update them on her investigation, Josephine tried to touch her up, but the lather she had worked up made it impossible.
"Just wear your mask, it will cover your face and scar enough people won't be--"
"I don't fucking care what I look like or how my scars horrify them," she growled out as quietly as she could, "This dress is incredibly hot, I'm wielding fire magic running all around the damn place and all three of these assholes," inclining her head to the back of the ballroom at the Empress, Grand Duke and Ambassador Briala, "are fighting each other unaware that it's the Venatori that they're really battling." She panted a bit as the restriction of her corset was beginning to tax her trying to pull in ragged breaths, "Can someone please find me some water." She faced the wall closing her eyes becoming dizzy.
Leliana and Josephine drifted to her sides keeping up the pretense that they were still conversing politely. "Deep breaths, and stand up straight. It'll help get air into the lungs," the Spymaster coached while donning a dead smile. Josephine passed her a fan which she waved desperately for relief. She wiped a hand over her moist neck that was beginning to wet wayward strands of her amazingly still-in-tact hair. Thankfully, a cool glass of water was thrust into her hands, and without a second thought, she downed it as quickly as proper etiquette would allow. Sighing with relief, Cullen handed her a second glass taking the empty one from her. She tried to avoid his eyes but found the pull too strong as she finished the extra glass.
"Thank you, Cullen," the color of his eyes intensified looking into hers as if trying to delve deep into them to read her thoughts, to find out what she was hiding. What he would find was nothing but a woman who burned for him and yet she had to act as if he were just another member of the Inquisition. It was a punishment in itself to be so close and never joke, smile or do anything that they used to do in each other's company. So many times she wanted to, but the sentiment was doomed to always be replaced by crushing guilt and sadness.
"Did you just come from dancing with Duchess Florian?" Josephine pulled her back and she instantly focused on the task at hand.
"The Duchess wanted a private word, seemingly the only place for that is the dance floor. She points her finger at her brother. In the guest wing, we found Gaspard's dagger planted in the back of one of the Council of Heralds. Now she says the leader of his mercenaries is out in the courtyard. That he'll have answers for me."
"That seems like a promising lead."
"Or a trap," Cullen interjected with Leliana in agreement.
"Either way, we need to find out who is in league with Corypheus. All three are guilty of waging war on each other tonight, but only one is planning a public assassination. I'll take the others and head there now."
"A moment, Inquisitor," Leliana's masked voice had been laced with honey for the duration of the evening, "this is an opportunity for us as well. To defeat Corypheus, someone has to be on the throne after tonight, but it doesn't have to be Celene."
Cullen was quick to jump in, "She's right. It's because of Celene that the country is in this position. I recommend Gaspard, provided he's innocent. He'd be a stronger military ally for us. He'd see the real threat and not play foolish Orlesian games."
"But Briala would bring true peace to the Empire, uniting humans and elves," Leliana reasoned.
"But surely our mission is to save the Empress!? She is the rightful ruler and very strong diplomatically. You both are suggesting we let the assassination attempt succeed, how can we morally condone this?" Josephine, though her voice shook with shock at the comments of the others, her face remained calm and collected. "Inquisitor?" It was almost a plea rather than a question.
Evelyn took a moment to sort the many thoughts flying around her mind. Briala and Florian were quick to name Gaspard as the assassin, and he was a man easily villainized. In her experience with The Game, purely from a spectator's viewpoint, things would not be so obvious if true. The Grand Duke was trying to change Orlais, make it stronger as Emperor Drakon had done in the past. Briala was a wild card with a hidden agenda. If she had survived this long in the Court of Orlais she knew how to play The Game well and had an army of elven spies at her disposal.
"Backing Briala is out of the question. What is there to keep her loyal to the Inquisition when all is said and done? She would use us to help eliminate her competition before stabbing us in the back. Besides, the Orlesian nobility would never bow to an elven empress, we could start another civil war. Celene is an expert diplomat, but we don't need diplomacy in this war, so I feel the logical choice would be Gaspard. Even over Celene, he is the true Emperor of Orlais and he is a military genius. Once he knows the full extent of Corypheus' corruption of the Empire he won't let it stand. Still, it doesn't sit right to just allow the Empress to be murdered..."
"Evel--, pardon me, Inquisitor," her mother interrupted, "I just had the loveliest chat with…" she tuned her out, having yet turned from finishing her thought. "Have you heard a word I've said, dear?"
"No," her mother spattered after her rudeness, "now if you don't mind, I'm speaking with my advis--"
"What is that vile stench?" Like a Mabari who caught a scent, her mother found the source of the smell as her nose led her along. "What in the Maker's name have you been doing to smell so? Luckily, for you, I have just the remedy." She began rooting about in her dress pocket.
"Oh, for the love of--" Her mother brandished a small vial and spritzed her with a scent that was so overbearing she began gagging. She fought hard to control her choking in their present company.
Having sprayed it in the direction of the Commander and Spymaster, he began clearing his throat and coughing slightly, but Leliana breathed it in pleasurably, "Ah, the new musk out of Val Royeaux. Not my particular favorite, but I have a friend who raves how her dogs enjoy it."
"I'm going to go try and sweat some of this off. With any luck, Cassandra will gut a Venatori over my head and dull the stench."
"Evelyn! Such talk is unaccepata-- gutting who now?" As she paled slightly, her daughter simply turned and walked away. Had her mother not become estranged from her child, she would know what she had become over the years - what recent events had forced her to become. Yet, even now, Lady Trevelyan saw her as nothing more than a pawn at her disposal to further her ambition. The drama in her personal life was starting to take its toll on her. Ryker alone was enough of a headache, but her oblivious mother was becoming too much.
The whole evening she spent avoiding the two of them as if they had the Blight. Ryker was piss drunk and getting handsy, while her mother basked in the fruits of Evelyn's labor as she won over the Court little by little. In a night of uncertainty, the Phoenix was sure of one thing, when they got back to Skyhold something had to be done about the two of them. Henley and Sorin would hopefully have returned and she could set her plan in motion.
***
Slipping through the ballroom doors, all the guests began moving towards the back to hear the Empress speak. Lurking behind Celene was Florian, unaware that her plan to kill her had failed. The Grand Duchess moved with an airy swagger, perhaps already celebrating her victory. Believing she had sufficient evidence to condemn Briala and Florian while clearing Gaspard's name, it was time to act.
As quickly and discreetly as she could, Evelyn elbowed her way along the right side of the room. Florian faced towards the left so she hoped she was in her blind spot. Her pushing was met with grumbles until the nobles realized who it was who had just brushed by, some even apologizing for being in her way. Unable to fade step due to the sheer density of the crowd, the Inquisitor prayed she'd make it in time. Halfway there she could see Cullen still standing sentry against the wall and needed to get to him so he could signal their men. When only a few Orlesians stood between them she called to him a few times, but before she could tell if he heard her, a hard yank at her arm sent her into the arms of Ryker.
"Get off," she gritted, adrenaline pumping wildly through her, "this is important!" She heard the silky voice of the Empress hush the crowd. It was starting.
The Templar had her in a firm hold and pulled her waist against him whispering in her ear. "You've neglected your future husband all night, I suggest you rectify that before I make good on my threat." His lips went to her neck, but she pushed him away using her palms.
"No, you don't understand I need to get up there! Get your hands off me!" She squirmed and struggled frantically as the speech continued. Sensing that he had recently taken lyrium, his aura was affecting her so much she couldn't fade step away from him. Time was running out, Florian was by the side of the Empress standing smugly with her arms behind her back. She could hear Ryker growling and slurring his drunken curses at her, and she knew decisive action was going to need to be taken to save Celene.
Suddenly, she felt the drunkard slip away from her. Looking over, Cullen had Ryker by the back of the collar holding him back as civilly as possible. He stared at her angrily and she knew why, not at all disagreeing with him; her betrothal had just interfered with the mission.
With no time to dwell on it now, however, she called back to him, "The assassin is Florian, signal the men!" Leaving the Commander to deal with Lord Armand, she dug her heels in pushing her way through the finery draping off the Orlesians.
Finally through, she rounded the corner, but she was too late, "No!" She was just in time to watch as the Grand Duchess plunged the knife through the back of the Empress. A collective grasp resounded through the ballroom as did Evelyn's cry of distress. Celene sagged to the ground as blood soaked her fine cobalt dress. The whole of the Orlesian nobility watched in horror as Corypheus' plan succeeded despite their great skill at The Game. He and Florian had outplayed them and the victor addressed the crowd, coldly staring down at her dead cousin.
Having heard enough, the Inquisitor fade stepped over to Florian landing a kneel to her gut. She bent in shock but recovered quick enough to slash her hip with the same dagger that fell the Empress. "All is not as it seems at a masquerade, Inquisitor." As Inquisition soldiers and her companions began to descend on them, out of nowhere, more Venatori appeared to engage them. The ballroom erupted in violence as Gaspard called for his people to aid the Inquisition, while Briala seemed to be watching which way the battle favored.
Florian backed away as she watched two of her rogues battle Evelyn, all the while prattling on about Corypheus' vision for Orlais. Using a mind blast spell to buy her time, she found the hilt of her new dragon bone spirit blade and brandished it at her foes. She cursed her heavy dress which hindered her speed and footwork as the rogues easily commanded the fight. On the defensive, she looked for a window, just needing to cast one spell to rid her of one of them. When that opening never came, she created one. Blocking an incoming attack with her blade, she turned away to blast a stream of fire at the other unexpecting enemy. They wailed as their skin melted off their body before finally crumpling to the ground. Turning back to the other Venatori, she was met with a pommel to the head. A stream of warm sticky blood oozed down in front of her ear as she steadied herself against the banister where Celene lay. Before her enemy could advance, a quick flick of her wrist unleashed an immolation spell dispatching them.
"Hmph, it seems I'll have to deal with you myself."
"By all means, your grace, do try," she said with a smug curtsey.
She rushed Evelyn, a second blade flashing in the golden candlelight as she whirled it at her. The spirit blade caught both daggers as they landed, throwing her back two steps. With her free hand, she conjured a flame, ready to fry her if she got too close. Gaspard and an escort of soldiers joined them, halting not getting in the middle of their duel.
"Brother, I thought you'd be pleased?"
"Florian, what have you done?" She studied the Grand Duke's face, who no longer wore a mask. His aged and graying features seem truly disturbed by the events unfolding. It seems he was not aware of his sister's coup. "Do as you will Inquisitor," his grave tone was condemning. Now surrounded by the Inquisition and the Duke's forces, she had nowhere to run.
"Surrender or die, which will it be? Though nothing would give me more pleasure than to reduce you to ash, I would be remiss if I didn't try to detain you for Lady Nightingale. Though for some, that has been a fate worse than death." Florian's hand flexed on her daggers looking about, "Choose."
A quick expertly aimed blade struck the Inquisitor in her wounded shoulder. She cried out at the retearing of the scar tissue, dropping her spirit blade. Before the Duchess could cause further damage, Evelyn blindly unleashed a torrent of fire, equal to that of a dragon. She held on for as long as she could before twisting down to her knees in overwhelming pain. The sound of feet on the marble floors flooded her ears as the soldiers moved in. The Duke came to her side and ordered his men to find one of her healers. Behind him, she could just make out a charred body curled up on the ground. Having set everything in the corner of the room on fire, she raised her right hand quelling the inferno.
"Pull it," she gritted out to him. Gaspard's calm and cold expression didn't seem phased as he gripped the dagger. She looked resolutely into his eyes and gave a firm nod, breathing heavily through her nose.
"Inquisitor!" Cullen and her other companions rushed to her side. Gaspard released the dagger, not wanting to interfere with her people.
"Get it out!" It burned so badly, that she wondered if it was just the reopening of it that hurt or if the rogue had coated her blade in acid.
"It'll hurt."
Her face reddened and looked incredulously at him, "That's your professional opinion then? Do it!" There was some laughter from the soldiers around them. He sighed heavily, unamused, and steadily pulled it from her shoulder with a quick yank. Blood sputtered forth, as the dagger clanked on the floor and he pressed a hand to it.
He looked to the Seeker, "Cassandra, where are the bloody mages!"
Before she could answer, Varric stepped up, "I'll go see. Come on Tiny!" The two ran off in search, of them.
The Inquisitor groaned, weakening by the minute, "Well, isn't this familiar. Warmer and with more people, but familiar." A small piece of Evelyn peeked through, "Cullen pulling things out of my shoulder and Cassandra fretting over me. How's my hair? Josie will kill me if I die here looking like a mess." The two pitifully shook their heads at her and even Gaspard looked amused by her antics.
"Lady Inquisitor, I have a medic here. He can stitch you to help stop the bleeding as we wait on your mages." She looked to her council, both deeply concerned, then down at herself. She felt uncomfortably wet, and though she was sweating from using her flames, she knew she had not perspired that much. Nodding to the Grand Duke, he snapped at the man by his side who knelt in front of her.
The nearly-bald man with silver spectacles said something cheery in Orleasian, but cowered when he saw the glares lowered on him by her two watchful friends, "I said, 'I'll have you patched up in no time.'" The medic swallowed hard working under their oppressive scrutiny, which though intimidating, came from a good place. They removed the arm from her cape and jacket, revealing the satin dress underneath. Thankfully, the strap was still intact, allowing the medic to just let it fall off her shoulder. Snapping his fingers again, one of Gaspard's aides produced a bottle of whiskey that was handed to the Commander.
She held her good arm out to receive it, "Hand it over, I think my mother and Josie would be over here faster than a banshee if they heard my mouth." He shook his head, unable to hide the small glimmer in his eyes. That alone was enough to dull her pain. After three large gulps, she nodded to the medic. Giving the superb vintage back to the Grand Duke and thanking him, her right hand squeezed Cassandra's at each prick and pull. Endeavoring to not shower the court with her soldier's mouth, she just grumbled it instead.
"I may have to use some of those colorful descriptions the next time one of my chevaliers falls out of line," he chuckled.
Cassandra made a disgusted grunt, not looking up towards the Duke, "Don't encourage her. I don't understand the half of what comes out of her mouth."
By the time Vivienne was found and hurried to her side, the wound was cleaned and the stitches were in place, "It's ghastly, but sealed. I can't do anything for the scaring--"
"I didn't expect you to, it's a bit late for that anyway, can you just…" she waved her hand about in exasperation.
"Of course, dear." Vivienne held her well-manicured hand over the wound. Closing her eyes, she worked at the internal tear, weaving her muscles back together. The effect relieved some of the pain, but she had lost a good amount of blood. "There darling, better? Let's get you up." She stepped away and allowed the others to pick her up. Bull was quick to step in, as the designated muscle of the group, placing her on her feet. She clung to him for a minute while the dizziness subsided. They tucked her lame arm into her jacket to act as a sling, which worked nicely to both support her arm and hide the blood.
With the battle that had erupted in the ballroom was under control now, Gaspard, Briala and the Inquisitor met privately to decide the fate of the crown. The two Orlesians bickered back and forth eloquently, but Evelyn remembered something "Ambassador, why didn't you have your people help our forces against the Venatori?" An uneasy silence settled between them, having only the sounds of the crickets chirping in the background. She sighed disappointedly, "I don't think you're working with the Elder One, but I do think you're only in this for your cause. Orlais will require a strong leader to see her through this." She turned to the Grand Duke, "Lady Nightingale will provide you with all the evidence you need to arrest her."
"You can't do this," she was seething with rage, "alienages across Orlais will rise up."
"Not when I have a witness willing to testify that you were sleeping with the Empress at the time when she purged your alienage." They shared a hard look as Gaspard signaled for his men to take her away.
Her strength was waning, and even the new Emperor was concerned, "Let us address the court and then, Inquisitor, you should rest." She nodded, taking a deep fortifying breath of the cooling night air. The two strode in and stood on the spot where the Empress had fallen. The blood and the body had been removed from the white marble with gray and gold swirls. Even if things had turned out like she wanted, she regretted that Celene had to die. Such was the price of war and games.