Bioware owns everything and they do a masterful job with all of it. Except the sadly lackluster and entirely ambiguous endings for all the companions of Inquisition.

To Have Purpose

"A traveler asked the Ashkaari:
What was your vision of our purpose?
The Great Ashkaari replied: I will tell you a story."

-Codex entry: The Soul Canto

The Inquisitor stepped out into the cold night air of Skyhold. When had she gotten so used to the stinging bite of their snowy surroundings? Somewhere between moldy, damp caves and blazing, dry wastes, I guess. She looked up at the sky as she did every time she stepped outside, always slightly holding her breath, expecting to see a hole still ripped into their world. All that her gaze could find were starry constellations. No trace of a breach. Yet she always knew exactly where it had been. The line of discoloration was ever present; a bruise in the sky. Could the wound ever be reopened?

Wishful damn thinking. You just want to keep fighting. She frowned, tossing back a long swig from the bottle of whiskey she'd brought with her for company. Josephine threw a magnificent party but Orlesian Brandy and Antivan Ale just weren't doing the job tonight. It had taken her and Bull over an hour to ransack the kitchens in search of something more medicinal. In the end the head cook had grown so exasperated with them frightening the servants and disrupting order that he'd pointed them towards the hidden crate. A dozen bottles of Ferelden whiskey buried under cabbages. Apparently Josie had seen this coming.

In fairness, Ambassador Montilyet had an epic challenge on her hands when she decided to arrange this celebratory banquet. She might be complaining about invitations and catering but the real truth was that she was most worried about everyone's manners. She was the only member of the Inquisition for whom etiquette mattered. Well, her and Vivienne but it was much harder to take advice on manners from a courtesan. Do not argue. Use a handkerchief. Do not scratch your head. When your sponsor bends you over the lacquered desk and hoists up your petticoat do not disturb the inkwells!

So, Vivienne could be delightfully engaging and well behaved and stroke all the nobles'. . . egos. That just left the rest of their allies to frighten all the guests and give Josephine a fit. Cassandra had already growled at three of the representatives from Nevarra; most viciously at the one that was apparently her cousin. Dorian was coyly holding court with several of the prettier Orlesian lads and would no doubt flirt two of them either into an orgy or a duel before the night was over. Bull was keeping an eye on his Vint lover but didn't seem particularly jealous; he was too busy arm wrestling every Chevalier in the room. Sera kept 'accidentally' bumping into various aristocrats. She didn't really care what she was stealing; it was just her way of keeping score. Leliana would recover and surreptitiously return all the valuables once the Elf was plastered.

Varric was telling tales taller than the mountain peaks and twice as windy. Maybe it was partly being a Dwarf? Everything he did and said just had to be larger than life. Inevitably, all the attention and drink would start to affect his narratives and it couldn't be long before he started recounting some dreadfully off-color adventures. Please, just don't let it be the one about Sera and Iron Bull's bet in the Emerald Graves.

Blackwall and Cole were good at keeping to themselves but invariably someone would approach and try to strike up a conversation. With Blackwall that seldom resulted in anything more than a bit of apathetic grunting but Cole had a bad habit of responding to what people were thinking rather than what they actually said. When the Inquisitor had last seen the spirit turned flesh he was staring skeptically at one of the tiny cakes Josephine had especially imported. He kept poking at it, muttering 'Misery!'

Her own social graces were nothing spectacular this evening. Certainly not up to her performance at Halamshiral. There was just something about the way every single aristocrat, ambassador and representative in the room absolutely had to come greet her that felt tedious and ritualized. Add to that the fact that they all insisted on using her full name and it was a miracle she hadn't broken any fingers in the handshakes. Seriously? No one else thinks 'Evelyn Trevelyan' sounds a bit too much like one of Maryden's songs? She was only Evelyn when she was in trouble. Apparently no one else got that memo. Or the one about how much she hated titles. They seemed to appear out of thin air, accruing with each successive introduction until Eve had trouble differentiating where her labels ended and the other person's began.

All in all, The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, (but not actually) Champion of the Mages, (so long as they were on the right side) Hero of Haven, (despite not saving the city) and Bane of Orlesian Fetes, (she rather liked that one) preferred the company of the chill night breeze to the elaborate festivities within. That fact bothered her. She'd always loved a good excuse to drink more than she should, fondle people she shouldn't and hopefully wake up with a headache and a stranger.

It had been a source of endless distress to her mother and was probably the ultimate reason she'd been sent to Haven in the first place. Sure, there were all the noble and dutiful statements about participating in the events of the kingdom, trying to make Thedas a better and safer place for everyone, being present on a historical occasion etc. Deep down, however, she knew that her mother was praying that a few days in the company of Chantry officials and Templars would persuade her to higher pursuits. Got a bit more than you bargained for, Mother.

The courtyard of Skyhold was dotted with bonfires that mirrored the stars above. It was filled with music and noise and voices. She could even pick out the sounds of a few more licentious activities in the shadows. It all felt so much more sincere. Soldiers, refugees, clerics, mages; people of every possible race and background weren't trying to judge or impress anyone. They were simply, honestly, energetically rejoicing in the fact that they had survived. Inside the banquet hall there was none of this joyful, unrestrained hedonism. Everyone was so damned dignified. We almost died. All of us. Eve frowned and took another pull at her whiskey. After nearly dying all anyone truly wanted to do was affirm they were alive. They wanted to eat and drink; sing, dance, play games, start fights and fuck like randy nugs. Where was all that passion for life in the room behind her? The most sensual thing in that entire banquet hall was Celene and Briala trading coy glances.

"Got tired of everyone trying to touch you, Boss?" the deep, rumbling voice sounded like the groan of a shifting mountain. Eve glanced up at Iron Bull as he approached and leaned one arm on the balustrade next to her.

"It's just always the wrong people. You here to fix that?" she smirked and tossed him a wink. The Qunari grinned down at her.

"Not tonight, dear, I have a headache. Too much hot wind and stuffy conversation." He teased right back. He was always good at keeping their playful banter rolling, like Dorian. Maker, she was going to miss that.

The smile left her lips as she turned her gaze away and drank until her lungs caught fire like her throat. The inexpressibly oppressive emotion that had felt like a sucking hollow beneath her ribs was beginning to take shape. It started with the news that Solas had vanished. Then it grew stronger when Leliana was elected Divine. Vivienne planned to return to Orlais to continue shaping a future for mages. Varric wanted to go back to Kirkwall. Even Dorian and Bull seemed to be halfway out the door, lingering as much for each other as the cause. The last twist of the knife came only the night before when Morrigan told her she was leaving. The ache still throbbed like a fresh wound as Eve's eyes unconsciously tracked to the dark window of the mages' tower where the mysterious apostate had dwelt with her son.

"I can't change your mind?"

This is a test-start story to gauge interest/reception. Reviews will be critical.