I chased a dream

A feathery dream

Whose eyes were black as midnight

And all that dream

This feathery dream

Returned was barren sunlight

A whisper on a terrible wind

Mere mortals, each act we scatter

Forgotten and forgiven but never forsaken

In truth, it did not matter

Her spirit so delicate like crisp white wine

While deep fire in the mountain, tainted was mine

You chose the light, and I was dark

When angels sings, the devils hark

The tune was played, they made me dance

To this spectacle of life, to preen and prance

While all around me turned their ear

They clutched their purse strings ever so dear

Yet still the merriment tainted your eyes

My sight stole away, filled bitter with lies

Your horrid little lovely face

That plucks the string of fate without stint

Another whispered destiny, another dismal hint

To rue the day and cry out in pain

Beckons the question

Are the mad, truly, the sane?

Of rolling green hills and valleys embedded with the promise of a fertile harvest, it was that time of year when the land needed to sleep once more. The leaves were slowly drying up and falling off the trees one by one and the sharp nip in the air grew cooler by the day. Despite the chill Redcliffe farms had never felt more lively that morning with eighty or so soldiers training hard under the guidance of Commander Cullen and The Maister of Blades, Michel de Chevin.

The new recruits had come from all over Ferelden to join the ranks of the Inquisition, and this was their initiation before they left their former lives and journied up the Frostback Mountains to meet their destiny. From young to old, crop hands to noble's daughters, there was a vastidity of character and caste eager to take up arms for the good of the realm. It was often said that a Ferelden was the salt of the earth, and one could hardly doubt it on this particular day. The recruits were true and honest folk searching for better days ahead rather than the idle pursuits of glory. When that could be achieved then they would gladly go back to ploughing the fields and stoking the smithy, and all that once was would be as it were.

The targets were lined up against the burnt amber bales of hay as the eager men and women took aim with their shaky bows, while others kept an uncertain hold on the hilts of their blades as they were instructed to thrust.

Coated in Ferelden steel armour Michel de Chevin directed a large group encircled at the side of the field, mentoring the recruits in how to fight with a sword. Presenting up his impressive blade that had been bestowed at the Skyhold Grand Tourney, he held it firm with both hands as the group look upon it with admiration.

'A blade is an instrument that will demand your respect.' he called out to the group 'Only you can choose whether to be at it's mercy or it's command.'. Swiping the steel in front of him in a figure of eight, it sliced fast and sharp across the air. 'When you hit another blade in combat, take care to not meet its edge. Parry with the flat edge only, not the sharp part of the blade.'

'That can't be right.' muddled one of the recruits, and a few in the group looked around in confusion 'That's how you fight. Blade on blade.'

'I take it none of you have had your blade broken in battle?' observed Michel seriously, casting his eyes around the group as they shuffled uneasily at the concept. Michel shrugged 'Of course you can hit the sharp edge of your blade against your opponents. No one will stop you from doing as you will. Just remember it is the active part of your weapon, the sharpest and easiest to damage. If you strike upon the edge of a blade, it will chip or break entirely. Then you'll be fighting your enemy with a hilt and nothing more.'

The ex-chevalier moved into the middle of the circle before a new recruit, eagerly waiting to parry with his mentor. Towering over the Orlesian, the Ferelden man was at least eight feet tall with a large barrel chest and waves of red hair. The giant of a soldier held a magnificent double handed broadsword in his hands, outstretched towards the Orlesian.

Michel walked lightly around the circle, holding his own blade firm as he kept his eyes fixated on the man. With a massive swing, the Ferelden swung his blade heavily across Michel, who agilely stepped back from the impending blow, an amused smile on his lips.

'The strength of an arm and the weight of a blade may seem imperative,' he yelled out to the watching crowd 'however they are meaningless if you do not strike with precision and accuracy. You need to be in control your weapon or it will control you.'

With a frown the Ferelden swung heavily again, a diagonal blow across his shoulder, and once again Michel evaded the weapon effortlessly. With a flurry of clashes of steel, Michel pressed hard against the man who struggled to match his agile strikes, his footing stumbling backwards as the Orlesian pressed harder and harder onto him, the ring of steel sounding growing louder and more forceful. The ex-chevalier parried his opponent's sword with the flat of his blade and knocked his weapon hard against the hilt of his opponent, causing the Ferelden to drop his sword, drawing his hand back in surprise as it crashed to the ground.

The group clapped as Michel grinned.

'Do not fear the size of your opponent's sword, it's what he can do with it that counts.' mused the Orlesian, and more than a few chuckles sounded across the group.

Michel went up and shook hands with the Ferelden who was muddling his head in disbelief as he looked at his weapon lying in the dust.

'I've never lost a sword fight in me life,' admitted the Ferelden with a chuckle 'let alone be disarmed like that!'

'Neither have I.' grinned the Orlesian 'You fought well, just remember to practice on precise attacks. Your weapon is heavier than mine, and where I gain agility you gain force. You can use that to your advantage but you need to make each swing of your blade count. If you don't, you're just wasting stamina.'. Turning back to the crowd he added 'Now everyone pair off and start parrying. And remember, accuracy over brute strength. Reflexes over frantic thrusting. Your sword needs to be one with your arm. It needs to be apart of you, and your eyes need to be hard upon your opponent's weapon.'

Scouting the field, he could see Cullen yelling at a rather confused looking group of recruits apprehensively holding pike staffs and awkwardly lunging them upwards at an angle. The Commander looked like a man that had run out of patience as he tried to instruct the group how to form a pike wall, an essential formation to contend with cavalry.

With an amused smile the ex-chevalier turned back to his own group of soldiers.

'This is horse shit.' shouted one of the new recruits, a young lad with matted brown hair and a hardened face 'That group over yonder are sparring with friggin' sticks, and look at those idiots over there who can't even hold a bow let alone shoot one. How the hell are any of us a match for those Red Templars? Might as well have signed up for our execution in the town square.'

Michel turned to the recruit, a frown on his face as he drew his blade and pointed it towards every face as he turned the circle 'A true warrior does not fight because of how well he yields his weapon or what that weapon is made of. A true warrior fights with passion in his heart. You all fight for a cause. A person that fights with passion in their heart is a force to be reckoned with. Do you think I became a knight in a day? It took years of dedication and hard training. You start with sticks because that is where you begin your journey. That is your first step and it will be the most important step along the way.'

The group fell quiet as Michel cast his eyes sternly to them. 'Now go and practice.'

With a heavy sigh the Orlesian leant against the fence for a moment's break. Whether he wanted to accept it or not, he was beginning to act as serious and hardened as the Commander. Sternness aside, Michel wanted to instil in these soldiers a passion that he never was encompassed with when he learned to become a chevalier. He wasn't interested in mentoring with an iron fist. No. What he desired to do was to show these soldiers the true meaning of honour, and ingrain it into their very character. Merely thrusting a weapon in their hands and telling them to fight seemed wrong, for he knew there had to be more to make them truly great warriors. That was his calling and that would be his atonement.

A rickety carriage rolled slowly by as the Orlesian rested, and he could hear the voices of two women as they passed, eagerly speaking in rather loud hushed whispers.

'It's him, the Maister of Blades!' exclaimed the first woman, eagerly looking out of the coach. Her eyes lit up as the carriage came close to the fence where the Orlesian resided.

'Imagine being given a rose by him?' dreamily whispered the second woman, poking her head out of the window beside her friend 'Makes you hate the Inquisitor even more than that ghastly dress she was wearing on the day.'

'He only did it because she's the Inquisitor.' dismissed the other woman 'It was an act. He's a bachelor ready for the taking!'

Wicked cackles of delight sounded as the carriage continued to roll along, with a few recruits nearby snickering at the comments made about their mentor.

Feeling his blood rise more than a little, Michel threw his sword on the ground and walked away from the recruits with a clenched jaw. Grabbing an abandoned bow lying beside the fence, he drew aim and released an arrow sharp into a target attached to a bail of hail. The arrow head landed square in the middle of the target. Again he drew another arrow, and another, and another, until his arm was burning. He did not care. The pain was a welcomed distraction.

'I fear for the person that was intended for?' mused a voice beside him. Turning, Michel saw Cullen approaching with a raised eyebrow 'Did that target talk back to you?'

Dressed in his heavy steel armour, Cullen's brow was coated in sweat and he looked spent like his companion. The hot morning sun in Ferelden was unforgiving, and their recruits were proving even more so. The Commander rested against the fence as he watched the recruits nearby flail their sticks about. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his companion.

'I'm tiring of the incessant comments.' Michel muttered, drawing his bow again and releasing another sharp arrow 'The Maister of Blades has brought more condemnation than glory. More gossip than even I can handle.'

The Commander threw him a pouch of water, and the Orlesian caught it with one hand. Nodding in appreciation, he took a long sip before pouring the rest over his head. The beads of water fell over his blonde hair and he flicked it backwards, enjoying the coolness on his skin.

'An unfortunate side effect of being the champion of the Skyhold Grand Tourney I'm afraid.' observed Cullen 'Titles are never forgiving. I still shudder every time someone refers to me as Knight-Captain.'

'I am a soldier, ready to fight for the Inquisition. I thought I had left the pomp and ceremony behind in Orlais.' declared Michel heatedly 'Who cares what we were, or what we did? All that should matter is the present moment. Now is all that matters, and the cause we are fighting for!'

Kicking the fence in frustration, Michel grabbed the bow and began to shoot another arrow while Cullen watched him with a frown. After a few moments of silence, the Commander cleared his throat sharply, gaining the attention of the Orlesian once more.

'I've decided to give you some time off.' informed Cullen sternly 'It is long overdue and all soldiers must take it, including the Maister of Blades.'

Michel looked up in surprise. 'I didn't request for time off. Thank you but I do not want it.'

'That wasn't an offer Michel, it was an order.' informed Cullen firmly 'You have had no respite since arriving at Skyhold. You are tired and overworked, and that is not productive.'

'You never take time off yourself.' accused Michel 'There are some of us that can't afford that luxury. The soldiers may have their roster of scheduled breaks but I do not desire such luxuries.'

'It's as much a luxury as it is a necessity.' argued Cullen 'When you're overworked, you begin to make mistakes. You'll take two weeks off starting from tomorrow.'

'No mistakes have been made on my part, and I don't want time off.' replied Michel in frustration 'You want me to waste frivolous time when there is so much work to be done? We have just received this new batch of recruits! I do not need time so I can traipse around Thedas and be harassed by people like the ones here, gossiping about the champion of Skyhold and other such nonsense.'

Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes as he tried to muster all his patience. 'Is this about the kiss between you and Ophelia?'

Michel's deep blue eyes darted to the Commander, suddenly caught off guard. 'Ophelia told you about that?' he asked, somewhat surprised.

The amber eyes of the Commander looked up to his companion suddenly, narrowing in suspicion. ''I was referring to your grand gesture at the Grand Tourney. You apparently were not?'

Michel's heart sunk as he realised he had slipped up. 'No...I..' began Michel uneasily 'Yes of course that is what I was referring to. I should return to the recruits.'

The ex-chevalier suddenly turned and began to leave before feeling a firm grip on his arm holding him back.

'What kiss?' asked the Commander dangerously, refusing to let go of his companion's arm.

The Orlesian pulled himself roughly off the Commander only for Cullen to stand angrily in front of him refusing to budge.

'If she wanted to tell you she would have.' replied Michel angrily 'It is not my place. Ask Ophelia.'

'And yet I am asking you.' scorned Cullen, looking more and more furious by the moment 'And if you were involved then it is your place. So speak.'

Michel locked furious eyes with the Commander. 'It was nothing, just a kiss. It happened after she came back from Kirkwall before you reconciled. She thought you hated her.'

'So the chevalier came in to save the day?' observed Cullen flatly 'What else have you done with her behind my back? Come now, let's have at it shall we?'

The Commander crossed his arms, refusing to move, and Michel brushed past Cullen knocking his shoulder quite aggressively. The Commander turned swiftly and pushed the Orlesian in the back, before Michel swiveled around and took a swing at the Commander, landing a punch square across his jaw.

Clenching his fist, Cullen threw a punch at the ex-chevalier, hitting his cheek hard and the Orlesian stumbled backwards.

The pair glared at each other before charging. Michel lunged for Cullen, grabbing him at the waist and knocking him over. Pushed backwards Cullen landed heavily against a target before it gave way and the pair fell onto the ground, throwing punches and kicking at each other as they rolled on the grass.

A group of recruits began to gather around the pair, eager to see a fight between their superiors, with more than a few cheers sounding as the men continued to throw punches at each other. Blood spilled out of both their noses, dirt and hay covered in their hair as they continued to push and punch and ram at each other.

'You just can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?!' Cullen shouted angrily 'Or do you just enjoy other men's women?'

'It was one kiss, nothing more.' yelled Michel 'You left her heartbroken when she returned. Forgive me for actually giving a damn about her.'

Cullen lunged at him again. 'It's two kisses now you damn Orlesian bastard. And you weren't giving a damn about her. You were trying to weasel your way between us yet again.'

'It's funny because you seem to be doing a fine job of that yourself.' spat Michel 'Between wanting her dead and accusing her of being...'. The ex-chevalier stopped, realising there were people listening and he had already said too much.

'Enough!' roared Cullen, standing up with blood staining the side of his mouth 'You are taking time off immediately. Now go before I lock you up for insubordination.'

Michel threw a dark look at the Commander before turning away. As humiliating as it was and as loathed as he was to accept it, he had an order from his superior and he had to obey. Picking up his sword he marched across the field, refusing to look back at the Commander who was glaring at him with pure loathing in his eyes.

The keep was busy that late afternoon with the new recruits being received in the courtyard and assigned to their new rosters. I was anxious to steal away Cullen, having spent the last few days desperately missing the ex-templar as he recruited more soldiers in Redcliffe. It was funny how I missed the subtle things when he went away. Like the sound of his breathing at night beside me, always heavy and constant, soothing me into a deeper sleep. Or the steaming cup of tea that he brought in every morning from the kitchens before I had managed to even get out of bed, leaving it by my bedside table before starting a new day's work. Perhaps it was the templar in him, well-conditioned to rigid discipline, but Cullen often awoke early. I, on the other hand, found the morning a strange and displeasing time of day and desperately tried to stay in bed as long as possible. However Cullen rose as the sun did and in my eyes, he was just as glorious.

Was this what wearing rose tinted glasses felt like?

I missed the way his voice sounded deeper and his amber eyes transformed into the colour of burnt syrup when he was tired, returning to me in the evening with a content smile on his lips as he eased himself into our bed. I missed his warm musky scent as I buried my head in the crook of his neck, and the way it pervaded my senses in deep intoxication. In every way possible, I missed Cullen whenever he was not by my side.

Eyes darting around the courtyard, I searched for the Commander only to spot Michel de Chevin unsaddling from his white horse, sporting a black eye and a split lip.

Fearing the worst, I rushed over to Michel who caught my eye as I approached and threw me a half smile.

'Ophelia.' he remarked dispiritedly 'Redcliffe sends its greetings.'

'What happened to you?' I asked hastily, grimacing at the welt on his cheekbone 'Were you attacked? Are you okay?'

Michel waved his hand to dismiss y concern. 'No, no there was no attack. I had a little incident with the Commander.'

'Incident?' I asked in surprise, drawing closer as the Orlesian achingly walked over to the nearby stone wall of the keep.

Leaning against the cobbled rock, he shook his head as he kicked the dirt under his feet. 'Cullen knows that we shared another kiss. I am so sorry Ophelia, I thought he knew about it. He mentioned a kiss, and I stupidly got caught off guard and self-confessed before I knew what was happening.'. Turning to me with wide blue eyes, Michel looked deeply apologetic 'You must believe me. I would never have revealed that to him intentionally. Cullen is now furious. I would never wish to unharness that onto you.'

His last words were more than a little bitter and made me in turn feel uneasy. It was evident that Michel was furious at Cullen, and judging by his appearance he had every reason to be.

I bit my lip, feeling more than a little worried at the reaction of the Commander. Cullen had revealed his anger on the subject of Michel and I before and it was chaotic to say the least.

'What did he say?' I asked hesitantly.

Michel shrugged, pointing to his face 'Well this is what he did, and that was after I tried to explain myself.'

'Michel I'm so sorry. If I'd just told Cullen in the first place none of this would have happened. How could he do that to you?'

'It was one kiss,' Michel sighed 'and Cullen overreacted like he always does.'

Straightening up suddenly, Michel's attention was drawn behind me. Turning quickly I could see Cullen approaching us both. He too was sporting a bruised face, a large purple welt at his chin. Looking back to Michel I frowned. He had failed to mention he had returned the favour to Cullen rather well.

Cullen threw a cold glare towards Michel and I as he approached.

'Cullen-' I began.

Cullen ran his eyes over Michel and I like we were a pair of rodents, a disgusting pair of creatures that should be driven out of the keep rather than linger where we were. Cullen's jaw was stiff and his demeanour was cool and unnerving.

'Michel,' he ordered sternly 'I don't want to see you around the barracks for the next two weeks. Is that understood?'

'Yes Commander.' replied Michel darkly, casting his attention away from the ex-templar.

'Cullen? Are you okay? ' I asked softly. Reaching out my hand, I placed it on the ex-templar's arm but he wrenched it away.

'Do not.' he warned coldly 'Michel, I suppose, had some decency to inform me about the two of you. My suspicions about you both were true, and I now know where we stand.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' I scoffed, looking over to see Michel was looking surprised at the comment also.

Throwing a disinterested look, Cullen passed his eyes over the pair of us with little enthusiasm.

'It means you have both played me for the fool for the last time.' replied the Commander sharply.

Turning his back, he made his way back to the recruits in the barracks, already barking orders at several along the way.

Riding in the carriage, Jowan looked idly out of the window studying the passing countryside with even less enthusiasm. After the hundredth dairy cow, the continual split wooden palings and tired stiles, and scattered hedging and clumps of green shrubbery, the Orlesian countryside was beginning to grow somewhat disenchanting.

After Jowan had transported Mabel and Athalwolf back to his cave, he had executed the rite of taking their forms. Josephine had fearfully watched on as he performed through hours of drivelous chanting, their life force slowly draining as the Orlesian siblings desperately screamed out for help in their iron cages. Hand in hand, the pair eventually grew weak and died, their eyes finally fluttering shut as Jowan and Josephine morphed into their figures, like two hideous butterflies emerging from the chrysalis of death.

Josephine took the possession of Mabel's body rather well, giggling in delight as she gazed in admiration at her new form before the enchanted mirror of the cave. The Antivan had come a long way from the quivering specimen lying on the floor of his hideout in previous days. Perhaps that was the way of the world? When faced with one's own ruin, perhaps the soul changed into a ravenous creature determined to survive under any circumstance or any means possible. Jowan knew that the harsh realities of life could harden and change the most rigid of characters. Anything could be broken, reshaped and remoulded into another form. Whether Josephine had been that twisted creature of malice before, she was indeed now a spectacular spirit of malignance that danced to his tune of darkness.

Beside him, Josephine could not stop fidgeting, looking at her arms and legs in amazement and running her hands over them in wonder.

'Will you stop that?' snapped Jowan 'You've been obsessing over yourself for over a week now.'

Josephine grinned, continuing to examine herself 'I can't help it. My body and skin colour, everything is so different. It is so strange. Even my teeth feel different!'

'Yes, well, we all have our own troubles.' muttered Jowan, running his hands disapprovingly through his mop of black curls that adorned his head 'Get used to it. I don't want you acting like this when we are at Skyhold.'

'My waist is so small.' she confessed in wicked delight 'Did you know I can fit into a twenty-two inch corset?'

'Remarkable.' muttered Jowan.

'Mabel had all these gorgeous Orlesian clothing.' informed Josephine in excitemeny 'Lace. Silk. White linen. She always was disgustingly rich. Oh but I doubt even Empress Celene has a wardrobe to compete with Mabel's. Her dresses are pieces of art. Like this wonderful dress I am wearing now! The feel of royal lace and beaded freshwater pearls against my skin is more exquisite than I could have ever anticipated.'

Drawing his fingers to his eyes, Jowan squinted in pain. A sudden recollection of more memories, they flooded into his head even now. An unfortunate but necessary side effect of possessing another's body, Jowan had now taken on every memory ever collected by the late Athalwolf Guildersleeve. His life story, his childhood, companions, hopes, wishes, fears...desires. Everything. However the most recent recollections to fill his mind had become more than a little disturbing even for the mage to contend with.

Casting his eyes to Josephine, he watched her curiously as she continued to examine herself in delight.

'How are you coping with Mabel's memories?' he asked precariously.

Josephine shrugged 'She had many friends, and happy memories. What a life to live...well, to have lived.'.

Dreamily, she cast her gaze outside to the fields, her mind a million miles away.

'You haven't remembered anything...vexing?' he asked carefully, running his eyes more closely over his companion.

Josephine grinned wickedly, turning back to Jowan. 'You mean about Mabel and Wolf?'. She flipped her hand carelessly in the air 'It is not so uncommon in some of the older and nobler families for such things to arise.'

'Did you know they were lovers all along?' Jowan asked in surprise.

'They were extremely close, perhaps I had my suspicions?' shrugged Josephine 'What does it matter?'

'You were to help me choose someone for the position of ambassador that would not draw attention to herself.' he scorned 'I don't want any scandals bringing attention to us on our arrival.'

'No one knows.' dismissed Josephine 'Besides you must admit we couldn't have chosen anyone better. Look at us!'

'It could cause unwanted attention.' he replied dryly 'That is the last thing we want.'

'Their sordid little affair is in the past, as are their lives.' reassured Josephine 'We have a new start. Nothing will draw attention to that now.'

Jowan turned back to the window. He hated the feelings that were creeping into his head, of Mabel's naked skin pressed beneath his hands and her sweet lips like pillows against his hungry mouth. The demons had taught him to distance one's thoughts from the host and to separate them emotionally, so why was Jowan feeling so uneasily drawn to those memories? Why was he craving Mabel's touch, as if he were Wolf himself?

Shaking his head, the mage closed his eyes. 'Not long now before Skyhold,' he muttered 'and then the tiresome charade finally begins.'

Over the next few days, Cullen refused to visit my chambers and instead returned to his loft to retire for the night. The longer the time went by, the more desperate I admit I became. That horrible knot growing in my stomach, a feeling of knowing I could lose him over the foolishness of a kiss.

Of course he was right to feel betrayed. Michel and I had kept our feelings from him. In all his brutal honesty I had not returned the common courtesy. I had disrespected the man I professed to love, and it was filling me with guilt. Of course, like a wicked master, Cullen was punishing me with the one thing he knew would hurt me the most. His silence.

I wasn't prepared to lose this battle to Cullen's reticence, and with a surprising amount of courage at mid-morning I made my way up the battlements and barged into his study without a knock or salutation along the way. Cullen looked up in surprise as I stood there in the doorway, wild eyed and prepared for battle.

'You can't keep on ignoring me like this!' I announced, my unbridled enthusiasm suddenly falling into bouts of ineloquence as Cullen looked sternly at me 'We...uh...we need to talk about this….if you're not too busy….'

Resuming what he was doing before I barged in, Cullen returned to reading the letter in his hand.

'Why talk now?' asked Cullen 'You had plenty of opportunities to talk about this with me? I recall you having the audacity to accuse me of being involved with Leliana, while you were the real scarlet deceiver all along. Ironic, is it not?'

Throwing my eyes away from his in embarrassment, I pressed my nails into the wooden frame of a nearby chair, shamefully fidgeting my way through his accusations.

'Im sorry for that.' I murmured.

'I saw the way you both acted around each other.' observed Cullen 'I saw the looks, and the disgraceful flush in your cheeks when Michel looks at you. You flaunted your relationship with Michel in my face time and time again, while denying anything was going on. You made me feel like the unreasonable one. Only now I find out my suspicions were warranted.'

'There is no relationship between Michel and I. I returned to Kirkwall and your damn passive aggressive disposition greeted me. I didn't know what to think. You weren't talking to me, so-'

'So you thought that was an invitation to indulge in Michel de Chevin?' continued Cullen coldly 'Is our bond that fickle that you could just as easily be with him than with me? Depending on what temperament Im in?'

'No!' I protested 'But don't pretend you weren't being unfriendly, cold and completely aloof when I returned. Of course I thought you and I were over at that point.'

'I do not share.' he whispered dangerously 'I told you that before. Yet you let him indulge.'

'Indulge? It was one kiss for crying out loud! I wanted you. I've always wanted you. Honestly, if that kiss meant anything we could have taken it further but we didn't.'

'Is that supposed to make me feel better?' chortled Cullen. With a sad look, he drew his attention to me 'You have made a mockery of our love with that damn Orlesian fool. I need time to process all this.'

Feeling utterly dismal at the sadness in Cullen's eyes, I drew closer to the man. 'I'm so sorry Cullen. Let us process this together. Don't push me away.'

Shaking his head, Cullen presented his hand towards the door 'I have work to do. You and I, and all this nonsense, will have to wait. There is an Inquisition to be run, and you are not getting in the way of that anymore.'

Ushering me out of his study, his large frame moving forward as I stumbled backwards, Cullen closed the door sharply. Looking around despondently, I clutched my arm defensively, rubbing it as if to console myself. Left alone on the battlements, I desperately wondered to myself in my growing wake of unease…was that Cullen's way of finally letting me go once and for all?

Late that afternoon the council gathered in the courtyard at Skyhold as a magnificent black stagecoach rolled in through its gates drawn by four white horses and two opulently dressed coachmen. As the carriage drew to a halt, the coachmen jumped down and assembled a delicate set of stairs to the door of the vehicle, before opening the door.

The first to descend from the depths of the stagecoach was a remarkably graceful gentleman-like character, adorned in a long black velvet trimmed tailcoat, silk puff tie, black brushed cotton trousers and an elegant black top hat. He was tall and very handsome, with pale white skin that had evidently not experienced the harsh seasons that the working class were forced to endure. His hair was thick and black, rich with gorgeous silken curls, and he presented a pair of striking black eyes encased in dark black lashes. Indeed the lord's features were elegantly refined, like that of many of the Orlesian nobility, and his slender frame held himself tall with perfect posture. The man possessed a wistful and sombre look in his eyes, a sadness perhaps inflicted many years prior that had now grown into his features. Yet the despondency suited him rather well, as if he was destined to be that mournful and pensive lord, a dark creature of the night coming to meet us that afternoon in his splendour. I couldn't recall a more dashing, if not melancholic, lord in my life. It was a strangely alluring combination.

'Lord Guildersleeve,' greeted Leliana with a wide smile, her voice sounding more Orlesian than usual. 'it is wonderful to see that you have arrived so soon, and without trouble I hope?'

Surprising the party before him, the serious man suddenly smiled broadly, looking across to us all with great interest.

'We had a wonderful journey,' he remarked pleasantly 'I thank you!'. He cast his black eyes across the bleak keep, adding with enthusiasm 'What a remarkable stronghold you have here! '

Turning his attention back to the carriage, the lord helped a woman step down onto the stone courtyard. With brilliant emerald eyes, long black hair and pale white skin like her brothers, the lady was every bit as refined and perfect as her companion. She was dressed in a magnificent white dress, a pale bone lace corset cinched tight over her waist, following into a hooped skirt below that was covered by mountains upon mountains of silken fabric. Undoubtedly it was an Orlesian custom to dress in the most difficult of shades to keep clean, and this white dress was impeccably crisp and unforgiving. An ostentatious statement if ever I saw one, most likely to inform us that we were before a ridiculously wealthy woman who could afford the luxury of wearing white.

The pair stood out like stunning jewels amongst the dreary surroundings of the keep, and we in turn looked on in intrigue, although I confess I was more disinterested than the rest of my party. Yes they were rich and Orlesian, but surely it took more than that to secure one's respect? Turning my eyes to the rest of my party, who all looked bedazzled, my heart dropped. The answer was apparently no.

Facing Leliana, the lord bowed politely before extending his hand with a warm smile. 'We have not been formally introduced. I am Lord Athalwolf Guildersleeve.'

Leliana presented her hand to the lord, and he pressed his lips against hers before looking up with a warm smile. Turning, he extended his hand to his companion 'This is my sister, Lady Mabel Guildersleeve.'

Smiling towards Leliana, Mabel nodded her head 'We have met before, is that not so?'

'At Lady Loevette's soiree a few years back.' replied Leliana with a grin 'How could we forget?'

'The very one!' remarked Mabel cheerily 'Never have I been fed so many quail eggs in all my life!'

Leliana laughed, an echo of her courtesan tendencies revealing itself for the pleasure of us all to spectate. 'It was hideous, was it not?' she replied enthusiastically 'To serve quail eggs and roasted quail on a plate of quail feathers. I could not look at a quail the same afterwards.'

'I ordered my maidservant to throw out all my quail feather bonnets when we returned home that very night!' replied Mabel with a roll of her eyes 'I vowed never to go near the bird ever again and to this very day I fear the call of one whenever we venture near the woods.'

Leliana laughed airily in delight, before realising formalities were being ignored and introductions were needed to be made. Turning her hand to each of us, the spymaster introduced the members of the war council.

Mabel met each of the party with a soft smile, and when it came to our introduction it was somewhat polite and stiff, almost a forced courtesy as she beheld the Inquisitor with what I couldn't help thinking was with a bit of disdain? Of course I had my own insecure reasons to question her manner, greeting a woman that everyone seemed smitten with. Her beautiful features were flawless and her clothing impeccable. You could see she was someone who prided her appearance to the point of obsession, but as I looked over to my companions it seemed her compulsiveness had done her credit. Everyone was infatuated, including her brother who doted on her like a cherished doll. I in comparison was a flawed creation and perhaps that was all I was feeling in our introduction. Resentment.

Cullen smiled, graciously presenting Mabel with his arm. 'If you would like I can escort you and your brother to your chambers?' he offered in a polite manner, as if speaking to a delicate rose 'I can show you both some of the best parts of the keep along the way?'

Frowning I cast my eyes away from the pair to focus on an old bucket nearby, examining its weather worn appearance with a great deal too much interest, trying to ignore the hurt I was feeling. To say I abhorred the kindness the Commander was bestowing upon another would have been an understatement. It was childish on his part to act like that and I didn't appreciate it one bit.

'Why thank you, I would like that.' smiled Mabel, interlacing one hand through Cullen's and the other through her brother's. 'What a merry party we shall be, traipsing the halls of Skyhold just us three!'. Their chuckles could be heard echoing throughout the cloisters as they departed to explore the keep.

'Aren't they adorable?' observed Leliana with a pleased smile 'I believe things shall be a lot more lively now the Guildersleeves are in Skyhold!'

With a spring in her step, the spymaster turned back to the stairs of the keep ascending into the main hall, while Cassandra and I remained behind with uncertain expressions on our face.

'Well,' I observed with a hint of disapproval 'they seem a spritely pair.'

'We have a saying in Nevarra.' informed the Seeker cyically 'Some bees create honey, while others leave a sting.'. Frowning, she cast her dark eyes towards me 'I am not certain which are the bees we have just greeted.'

With a raised brow Cassandra turned towards the stables, leaving me to my deliberations. I was left alone on the desolate courtyard, a chill covering my shoulders as I watched the grey clouds tumble in overhead, growing darker as the evening fell upon us all.

It had been many years since Jowan had had the pleasure of living in proper quarters, and the warmth of a roaring fire in a large stone fireplace and the comfort of a Ferelden four poster bed brought a content smile to his face. In a strange way he felt safer now than he had for many years, and already he was growing rather fond of it. The simple pleasure of viewing a fine tapestry on the wall, a servant to bring him supper, and a warm pelt rug on the ground under his bare feet felt wonderful after many a dank and dismal nights he had previously spent in his hut at the base of the Frostback Mountains.

Of course the mage was well accustomed to never to grow content of any situation, but the current one had proven more promising than he could have hoped for. After an audience with the Red Templars which he easily secured through the help of his demon acquaintances, Jowan was directed to the Shrine of Dumat. It was there that he was introduced to the leader of the Red Templar's, a man named Raleigh Samson. Samson was eager to gain any information from within the Inquisition, and seemed more than willing to inform the Elder One of the mage's part to play. Surprisingly, Jowan found Samson to be quite solicitous to his every need. Of course Jowan pitied the man, who already looked half dead encased in his red lyrium armour. He would never be so foolish as to accept such a death sentence from anyone, let alone Corypheus. However Jowan was in slight awe at how powerful Samson appeared to be with his armour. There was power out there to be had, and perhaps Samson had only obtained a small fragment but it was glorious to behold nonetheless. The man was indeed unstoppable.

A light tapping at his door distracted his thoughts and Jowan quickly retreated to the entrance, opening it to greet his sister.

'Mabel!' remarked Jowan festively, casting his eyes across the hallway 'Is everything is going well?'

Stepping aside, he beckoned her in.

'Oh yes my dear!' replied Josephine cheerfully 'Come, let me see your room! Mine has the most wonderful windows that look onto the-'

Jowan shut the door. 'You can stop with that annoying banter now.' he muttered dryly 'Why are you here?'

'I need your help.' she informed. She patted her cheeks that were rather rosey and flushed. 'Did you see how pleasant Cullen was to me when we arrived? A personal escort, and all that wonderful conversation about his time Ferelden in his younger days. I had no idea how charming he could be? His arm was so strong as he escorted us through the keep, I couldn't bare to pull my own away.'

The mage threw the Antivan a disgusted look. 'Not this again. So I look even slightly interested in Cullen? What do you want Josephine? Get to the point, I am tired.'

Josephine blushed, drawing a few paces closer. 'I was wondering...that is to say…is there a spell to alter the mind of another? To make them fall in love?'

'I have more important issues to deal with than this.' snapped Jowan 'Stop it! This is not the reason we came here!'

'I wouldn't ask unless I was desperate.' she replied hastily, pressing her palms together to plea with the man. 'I have one chance with Cullen and I need him to fall for me. I didn't want to entertain the thought before because I wanted him to want me of his own volition. But now? Now I know it has to be done this way.'

'So you would have him desire you against his own free will?' replied Jowan with a raised brow 'That is not very romantic. It is also a dangerous game to play. Why not just let see how things play out with Cullen? You said he was being amicable to you, maybe something will come of it?'

Josephine glared at him coldly 'You want me to report to you about the Inquisition's affairs? Then do this for me.'

'It would be unwise to try and blackmail me Mabel.' observed Jowan icily. Pressing himself close to her, she drew her breath as Jowan pierced into her eyes. Slowly he ran his fingers along her neck. Josephine stepped back and the mage tightened his grip around her throat suddenly, securing her place. 'I wouldn't enjoy it sister but I could take your form if you proved to be less than useful.'

Taking a deep breath close to her, Jowan could smell her sweet scent and a slight shiver covered his skin as he inhaled deeply. Roughly he shoved her away, and Josephine was left gasping for air, fearfully looking at the mage whilst holding her throat.

'Please Jowan.' begged Josephine 'Of course I will help you in whatever way I can. Just please please help me with this.'

'Fine' he muttered 'It is not a spell however, spells never last long enough. It is a potion.'

'A love potion?' replied Josephine curiously, still clutching her neck 'Like those of the fairy tales?'

'You cannot make someone love you.' informed Jowan 'Not true love, whatever that is. However you can make them obsess and lust over you, and all the rest that goes with that wonderful concept of infatuation. It is a potion that he must consume, and then it only lasts seven nights in duration. You can continue to drug him for as long as your tiresome plan pleases you, if that is your wish? If you do not his desire will quickly wane and all will be as it was once more.'

'So all I have to do is make him drink a flask?' she asked, somewhat surprised.

'Do I look like some clumsy oaf of a mage that brews ale and calls it a love tonic?' he snapped 'No. It is potent, you only need a few drops. A bottle will last for months.'

Sighing in frustration, he threw his arm around the room 'I am hardly equipped to do anything at the moment. I can prepare it in a few days, once all my items from Orlais have arrived. Now if that is all kindly leave.'

Ushering her out of the room, he opened the door once more with a broad smile 'You worry too much, Mabel dearest. These lodgings are very comfortable and quite homely I assure you. Shall we dine together in a few hours? I heard someone mention we are having pigeon pie! What a delight! I wonder if the pigeons in Ferelden taste the same as the ones in Orlais?'

Josephine smiled widely 'I have no idea, but what a splendid way to find out! I have some matters to discuss with Leliana before then. I shall see you soon dear brother!'