#rythlen

[picchar]

What if the Hero of Ferelden became the Inquisitor?

[elithien]

Drew @picchar ‘s lovely Hero of Ferelden aka Queen Rythlen Theirin née Cousland for an art trade. Ahhh I love Ryth sm <3 

[calamity-writes]

EH 01 - MAY-DAY! MAY-DAY! M-

Remember, if you get caught-” The Keeper's expression was hard as he looked over the hunter who stood before him in the airlock. The blue vallaslin on the Keepers forehead pulsed in time with the man’s heartbeat, the luminescent tattoos giving his nerves away. No doubt the purple etched into Milliara’s own face was doing the same.  

“I won’t get caught.”

“But if you do,” The Keeper said sternly. He grabbed Milliara’s chin with his free hand. Even thick with arthritis, his fingers were strong enough to hold her there even as she reached up to knock the hand away.

“If I do,” Milliara said through clenched teeth, “You worry about keeping your end of the agreement. I’ll keep mine: I was working alone.”

“The spirits are malcontent,” Keeper Lavellan said. Pressing thin lips together, he pushed Milliara away from him from his grip on her chin. “I do not expect you to return, Mi'elgara.”

He shook his head, stepping out of the airlock and gesturing to the shadows where the clan’s first waited. Emerald green covering half the man's face, Varlas crossed his arms, watching through narrowed eyes. Waiting for a misstep, as he had since Milliara had first set foot aboard the Aravel.

“I should go with her,” the other hunter said to the keeper, though Milliara could feel his eyes on her as she pulled the helmet of her pressurized suit over her head, tucking her ears in carefully so they wouldn’t catch. Once the finest make that money could buy, it was scuffed and blackened, a pastiche of Orlesian and Dalish tech. But it worked, and none of the elves on the Lavellan Aravel were willing to part with more than broken parts.

“Varlas,” the Keeper said to his grandson with a warm pat on the shoulder, “Are not expendable. Mi'elgara is. I doubt she will betray us, we have what she cherishes most.”

Varlas nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the airlock controls. Milliara checked the suit’s pressure, hands practiced as they ran her last safety checks.  The HUD blinked to life in the familiar lilac that was now etched deep into her skin.

“Depressurizing on your signal.” Varlas’s voice was tinny through the speaker in her helmet.

 “Clear.” She said, grabbing onto the pack of gear that had waited by her feet, and looped it over her head and shoulder. She cinched the strap tight so the pack wouldn't float out of place 

 She could hear the hiss as the vacuum of the Lavellan Aravel sucked the air of the airlock back into the main ship. She took a deep breath of cycled air, the familiar carbon taste already seeping onto her tongue. Get in, get what they wanted, get out.

“Optimal tangent point approaching to intersect with the Temple. Opening hull doors in ten…nine…”

Simple. So why was she nervous?

“...six...”

The Elvhen had to find out if the skirmishes between the Templars and Magi was going to erupt into a war and risk the a mass exodus of the Fereldan and Orlesian refugees towards the outer systems where the Aravels lived safely. Milliara needed the Elvhen, and so here she was, heading back deep into human controlled space to spy on what was possibly the most heavily guarded meeting in hundreds of years.

“No pressure,” she murmured to herself.

“...two...one.”

The Hull door swung open. Distant stars swam as a familiar vertigo swept over her. It lasted only a moment. With a deep breath, Milliara grabbed the door, and yanked herself forward, launching forward into the void.

“Remember what's at stake, Mi'elgara.” Varlas’s voice crackled with static. In the background, she heard the Keeper order the Traveller’s exit of orbit. She was about to be on her own. The commlink snapped with static as the Aravel severed their connection.

Milliara swallowed her reply. There was no one to hear it and saying it outloud wouldn't make her feel better. Instead she looked at the icy moon’s surface below her. Haven, it was called. Rock, snow, and a swarm of ships that orbited it of her. The brilliant and impressive, painted gold to reflect the light of any stars they passed, the Templar fleet was the closest. The ragtag collection of Magi ships hid in the lee of the moon. Too far for her to reach safely without being noticed.

First she had to get into one of the Templar ships, then into a shuttle. Then she’d worry about how she’d get to the Moon’s surface. Milliara twisted, using the small thrusters on her suit to change her vector towards a shuttle that was still docked to one of the nearer Templar ships.

The Hound

Nose close to the glass of her datapad, Knight-Enchanter Haylan snuck a glance around it to check that the door to the barracks was still closed. The last thing she needed was Gavin walking in just as the story was getting to the good part. Huddled into her bunk, she squinted at the door before scrolling down to the next paragraph of Feral-dan Love, Volume 4. It was trash, but it was such good trash she couldn’t help it.

His bare chest heaved in the glow of the lake, golden luminescent algae lighting him in a godly glow. His eyes sparkled as he held out a hand to her, and his lips pulled into a smile that sent Riathlyn’s heart all aflutter.

“Come swim with me,” Alissar said. “You’ve never looked more beautiful than you have in this moment.”

Ruth-Lynne sucked in a breath, and took a step forward, pulling down the zipper of her pressure suit-

The hiss of the barrack’s door gave Haylan just enough time to swipe the smut from her datapad, replacing it with the Herbalwiki entry she’d been editing earlier. Cheeks burning, Haylan started tapping at the screen, pretending that’s what she’d been doing all along as Fallon’s blonde head poked into the room.

The woman arched an eyebrow at Haylan’s red face and smirked as Haylan huffed in reply.

“Lake scene?” she asked.

“Wh- N-“ Haylan said, swinging her legs off the bunk and holding up the data pad to show the herb entry.

“Lake scene,” Fallon said with a nod. “C’mon, it’ll be there in a bit. Knight Captain wants us in the briefing room.”

“It wasn’t…” Haylan said with a frown, locking her datapad and hopping off the bunk to follow. “I was working.”

The snort from her squadmate was enough to tell Haylan that Fallon didn’t believe her. Glowering in silence, the enchanter shoved her hands into the pockets of her flightsuit and led the way up to the bridge where the Knight Captain and her Second were waiting.

A hard woman, Captain Faulkner stood by a holo table, arms crossed and staring down at a slowly spinning debris field shown by cyan light that flickered and glitched in the centre. Pixels, static and flashes of green light kept disrupting the holo, and Haylan frowned as she looked from Faulkner to Gavin who stood nearby, his face solemn.

“Good,” Faulkner said, looking up at the two women. “We received orders at 09h10 that there was an attack on the Peace Talks between the Magi and Night Templars. Current reports are difficult, there’s…” she paused, frowning at the glitch that hovered in front of her. “…there’s an anomaly that’s causing communications to be spotty. Reports are unreliable but Command believes that survivors are minimal.”

With a gesture, Faulker zoomed the view of the holotable out to show the remainder of the moon that once held the temple of Sacred ashes. Shattered, a few large pieces drifted close to each other over the surface of a gas giant below: Frostback. Ruined ships spun in nothing, torn to shreds.

Haylan blinked, feeling the heat seep out of her. They’d intentionally been kept out of the way during the peace talks. The Hounds weren’t supposed to exist, and if things went south, they needed to continue to be the Ace in the Templar’s hole.

“Who did it?” Fallon asked, hands clenching at her sides. Open, closed.  Open… closed.

“We’re not sure, no one’s claimed responsibility yet.” Faulkner paused again, brow creasing. “What we do know is that the Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed, the Divine is missing and the anomaly is some sort of disruption in the Veil. That means it was one of the Magi. You have one hour to pack up, we ship out on the hour to Frostback’s nearest Station, Haven. Dismissed.”

 The Medic

 Space was quiet.  No sound travelled in the vacuum as the world flashed brilliant green and a wave of force expanded out from the moon ahead. Sitting next to her brother, Peanut grabbed onto the control panel and braced herself as the green wave raced towards them.

The Adaar’s ship bucked, steel and carbon fibre groaning under the force of the explosion. For breathless seconds, Pea was sure the hull would give way. Next to her, the other Qunari frantically tried to steady the ship.

Something fizzled and popped in the console, and Pea felt herself start to lift out of her seat as the artificial gravity slowly ebbed away.

“What was that?” she asked, brushing back white curls from her face. Without gravity to hold it down, her hair was lifting up tighter to her cheeks and horns. Wedging one foot against the floor and the other leg against the underside of her seat, Pea pulled her hair back, braiding it to keep it out of the way.

“I don’t know,” Tanim said, squinting at the controls and tapping at them before grunting in annoyance. “Fitzed us good though, Gravity’s off, so’s our engine control. I’ll go see if I can fix it, keep your eyes peeled for anything weird.”

“Weirder than that?” Pea asked, pulling herself back into her seat and buckling in to keep from floating away. The last thing she wanted to do was crack her horns on the ceiling of the ship. “Guess it’s a good thing we were late…” she said quietly. There was a green light shifting and flickering where the Temple had been.

“..or I’d have been split-pea soup!”

 The Queen

“How bad is it?”

Hands on the table, the Hero of Fereldan shook her head. Her hair was black, tied back into a braid that hung over her shoulder, brushing the surface of the holo table she leaned against. Ice blue eyes stared at the video of the explosion and she could feel a muscle start to twitch in her jaw. One of the many windows held a redheaded woman’s portrait with the ‘connected’ icon in the lower right.

“It’s very bad,” she told her husband, glancing away from the video to look at him with the smallest of smiles. It didn’t reach her eyes. “The Temple of Sacred ashes is gone. Just gone.”

“Hello Alistair,” Leliana’s voice said, crackling with static. “We’re still investigating, but unidentified life forms have been emerging from the tear, and causing us difficulty. I cannot talk for long, I am afraid.”

Alistair walked up to stand next to his wife, resting his hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“What can we do to help?” He asked.

“Send support, military, healing supplies. I would ask for anything you can spare, but I’m aware how delicate the political situation is right now,” Leliana said. “Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast will do what they can to hold the hostiles at bay until we can stem the tide.”

“I should be there,” Rythlen said, frowning. “I could help.” Even as she said it, she knew Leliana was right. Until they found out who was responsible for the attack, anything more than token aid would imply that Fereldan supported the Templars or the Magi. It didn’t matter which, both sides would argue that the other was at fault.

“No,” Leliana said. “I-“ there was a crack of static, and Leliana cleared her throat. “I must go. I will relay more information when I have it.”

The comm window blinked closed, and Rythlen sighed, straightening.

“She said she’d never seen anything like it before,” she said, leaning her head onto Alistair’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Considering what we’ve been through…”

“Yeah, that’s saying something,” Alistair agreed, wrapping his arms around her. “We’ll figure something out, Rybee. We’ll find a way to help. I promise.”

 The Spy

Someone was following her. Whoever it was didn’t ping the suit’s radar, but Nathyara had learned to trust the prickle on the back of her neck. Someone was following her, even though when she’d turned to look over her shoulder, the hallway had been empty.

The Magi and the Templars had gathered in the main sanctuary, and their arguing voices could be heard echoing through the temple’s hallways all the way up to where Millie crouched, hidden in a dusty alcove.

The prickle was still there, and the woman slowly reached for the knife stashed in her boot. The radar was fine, she knew. More than once it had saved her ass, but now it wasn’t showing /anything/. Behind her visor, Nathy frowned. The radar still wasn't showing anything, but from the corner of her eye, she caught a whorl of dust spin against the flagstones.

Someone was following her.

Nathyara activated the thrusters on her suit and leapt at where the person should be. Knife drawn, the woman thrust down with both hands in what was surely a deathblow. Casualties were to expected in this line of work.

The air flickered under her. A small form in a blackened space suit now where empty air had been a heartbeat before. Nearly a foot shorter than Nathyara was, the person was well short of where Nathy had aimed her knife. Instead of stabbing the stalker in the chest, Nathyara slammed into them, sending them both to the stone floor.

Nathyara, taller, heavier and stronger, quickly got the upper hand. Knife in hand, Nathy stabbed at the stalker again, but the small person twisted, dodging the knife as it sought their throat. While it cut into their shoulder, that was hardly a killing blow. Nathy wasn't given a second chance, the stalker grabbed the knife and tore it away, sending it skittering along the stone floor to rest against a large wooden door.

Fuck.

Time to improvise.

Using the stalker's movement, Nathy wrapped her arms around the smaller  person’s neck. Tightening the headlock, Nathy held on tight as the stalker  batted at her arms, her helmet, anything to get Nathy off, to get air flowing back into their lungs. But each strike was weaker, more desperate and less effective.

Then they went still.

Waiting for another few breaths, Nathy let go and pushed the small assassin away. Before she stood, Nathy listened carefully to hear if anyone had heard the scuffle and was on the way to investigate. There were muffled voices from beyond , but while they were heated, they didn’t seem to be about what had happened in the hallway.

Creeping forwards, Nathy carefully picked up her knife and pressed the door ever so gently to open it a crack and hear what was being said. A woman’s voice was begging, and a man’s laughed.

“Please, I beg of you, do not do this,” she was saying. Her accent thick and Orlesian. Was that the Divine? But then who was the man?

Maeve was yanked back and then slammed into the door, knocking it wide open and cracking the acrylic of her visor. Stumbling into the room, Nathyara blinked as she was hit again from behind, and the world exploded into green.

*

Milliara waited as the human stood, walking over to pick up the knife that had been knocked away. She knew something was wrong when she’d rounded the corner of the hallway and the woman she’d been tailing was gone. Now she was sprawled on the floor of an old as shit temple with a burning shoulder and crushed windpipe.

Sucking in air and watching to be sure the human didn’t turn around to finish the job, Milliara slowly pushed herself to her feet, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Splatters of red on the flagstones told her that she’d need to repair the suit before she could re-enter the vacuum. Hopefully duct tape would last long enough to reach a relay point with the Dalish.

Lungs burning, Milliara, crept up behind the human as they seemed to try to eavesdrop through the door ahead of them. With both hands, the elf grabbed the other woman’s helmet, yanking back before slamming it into the door with a satisfying crunch.  The door swung inwards, forcing Milliara to alter her plans. Instead of cracking the woman’s helmet into the door again, she tackled her, sending them both flying forward. Something flashed towards them, and then everything flashed green.

They didn’t land. Instead, they tumbled through weightlessness, or… the world tumbled around them. Milliara let go of the woman, clamping her hand over the tear in her suit to keep her air from escaping. Her injured hand held onto her attacker.

She hissed through the speakers on the side of her helmet. Her voice was raw, words too painful to say. Even the hiss had hurt near enough to bring water to her eyes.

“Who are you? Did you do this?!” the human asked, knocking Milliara’s hand free, and sending them drifting apart, spinning slowly in the air. Around them was spongey ground rising up in mounds, and Milliara reached out, stopping her rotation by resting her hand against one of the ‘mounds’.

Slowly they settled against the ground. Whatever it was, it seemed to have gravity, just not in a way that made sense.

Milliara shook her head, then made the sign of long ears against her helmet with her free hand, looking over the human’s suit a bit more closely. There was no insignia. No colours to signify which nation the woman fought for.

“Elf? You're an elf?”

Milliara nodded, and pointed to her throat. No words.

Something chittered and clicked from off to Milliara’s right. Glancing over, she saw a horde of…. Of somethings there. Boys, toddlers through to prepubescent, all wearing a very familiar face. Their eyes were empty, pale and glowing as their teeth snapped and chittered excitedly, as though they were talking amongst each other.

All at once, the heat was gone from her. The anger at her mission getting interrupted, the anger at the woman for maybe poisoning her… everything was gone in the face of this new horror. How could- there was no way this could be real. It was a projection, an illusion.

“Come on, before they get us,” the human yelled, grabbing Milliara’s wrist and yanking her along. The flare of pain in her shoulder urged the elf into action, her feet digging into the soft ground. She was lighter than the human, but faster. All the years in space had helped form her species for low-grav environments just like this. Wrapping her hand around the human’s, Milliara used their hands to point to a slash of green that twisted in the air ahead of them. They just needed to get there, get through.

Someone in a golden suit was waiting there, holding the glowing light ‘open’ to show dark space beyond. Safety from the very wrong children that were scampering after them on hands and knees.

Scrabbling up the steep incline of slime and rock and spongey ground, Milliara and the human took turns dragging each other forward, tumbling into the slash of green and out…. Out into a debris field of slowly rotating rocks, bodies and detritus from the fleets that had been destroyed.

Hand still to her shoulder, Milliara blinked, her already aching lungs not able to draw enough air through her damaged throat to keep conscious. She felt arms wrap around her, one over her own hand on her shoulder... And then nothing.

[picchar]

Thank you for the piece! And being so patient and giving towards my nitpicking XD

July commissions! thank you so much  for commissioning me 😊💕

[trashwarden]

whhhooops, I forgot to post it here but I did a little thing for @picchar some time ago. I love Rythlen and I hope one day I will be able to draw her flawless long hair

[kauriart]

Rythlen Cousland Theirin

I’ve always wanted to add some of my fave OCs as part of my portrait series. So here’s @picchar‘s Warden Queen, who I adore. I think her hair is technically even longer. <3 <3

[otherwolves]

Recent sketches.

Astes for orsob Astoria for nelmdraws Rythlen for picchar

[dreadwolfdepression]

Confession Time

Remember how I said I would post that Fenhawke fic ASAP?

well... I kinda still haven’t written it...

It’s not because I’ve forgotten! It’s just I get really nervous about writing outside sharing with my sister and one of my other writer friends. I hate that I put this off, and I hate lying, so it’s probably better if I just say this.

-Guilty Rythlen

[picchar]

Vamptober

[calamity-writes]

EH sneak peek

Being left behind on a mission rankled, even though Rythlen kept telling herself it was a political issue. The Queen of Ferelden could hardly waltz into the heart of Orlais and start killing what were technically Orlesian Nationals. To do so would nuke whatever goodwill she and Alistair had managed to build up between Ferelden and Orlais.

That didn't stop her from being restless, though. Unable to sleep, she'd pulled on Alistair's shirt and crept out of bed to sit at the desk in her Skyhold quarters. Her rifled was taken apart in front of her, and she was fiddling with the calibrations. It didn't need to get fixed, but she needed to be doing something or she was going to start pulling her hair out.

"What's bothering you love?" Alistair asked from the bed behind her. "Would that help? You're... fidgeting. I haven't seen you fidget in years."

[annemayfair]

In 9:36 Dragon, Arl Eamon decided to legally pass the Arldom onto his younger brother, Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere. Although the decision was opposed by the Southern Bannorn, King Alistair I had accepted the request. Many blamed the relation between Queen Rythlen and bann Nathyara Guerrin nee Mac Eanraig, who were first cousins from both maternal and paternal sides. Despite the resistance, Arl Teagan Guerrin had become the ruler of Redcliffe, and northern banna Nathyara became a southern Arlessa.

Their popularity rose quickly among peasantry and gentry alike, especially with mageless heirs and heiresses that soon filled the Redcliffe castle. Those who saw otherwise were promptly silenced by Arlessa’s smiles and by Arl’s relentless kindness.

- From “History of Modern Ferelden” by Dr. Selwyn of Denerim.

[tiggyarts]

Sketch art trade with @picchar of Rahlen :D No really, tell Rythlen she did an A+ job

[kauriart]

Tiny Hair tutorial 

Borrowing @picchar‘s Rythlen for this cuz she has AMAZING hair. Directions below the cut.

I use 2 brushes, a harder edged one, and a soft edged brush at the very end. Step 1: In the sketch, keep the lines LOOSE. Try to describe the form of the hair, more then “getting it right”. Step 2: Start with a middle color, for very dark hair, I start with a middle-brown -- you’ll be building up the color and form as you go. Step 3: Start laying in some darks -- you’re just beginning to describe the form; where the hair tucks in, and where it billows out. Stay loose, and don’t get detailed.

Step 4: For hair that is very long, or bleaches in the sun, or is dyed a specific way, I’ll use a gradient (in this case on multiply, so I don’t loose the darks I already laid down).

Step 5: Add shine / highlights. Avoid parallel lines, or strokes that are too similar in width. Try to follow the organic shape of the hair. Don’t put highlights in the areas that you’ve already decided hold the “darks”.

Step 6: Add in the darkest darks, avoid the areas where your highlights are strongest. This is a good time to begin to break away from the original shape of the hair, and add in some additional details (like flyaway strands) & personality.

Step 7: Switch to your softer brush, and start to add in some color variation, brown hair isn’t just brown, it has bits o reddish-brown, blue-brown, purple brown. Depth of color will make the hair look richer. This is also a good time to address any lighting effects (like backlit hair).

Step 8: Final step! Make any color corrections that you need!

[dreadwolfdepression]

Ask me anything! My inbox is always open, and I’d really appreciate some asks.

-Rythlen

[picchar]

[calamity-writes]

EH 27.2 Endgame

Cast: Haylan ( @siriusdraws ),  Rythlen Theirin ( @picchar )​, Milliara (me!) Theseus Trevelyan (@perditionxroad), Peanut Adaar ( @cupcakelogic ), Fiowyn ( @shyquisitor )

Guest appearance: Karya and Aldes ( @kingsdragonage ), Kenslynn ( @megan-mayhem ), the DuMarcs ( @fangrl-esque )

4400 words cw: violence

Theseus - The Winter Palace

The music being played was wonderful, the food and wine were the best Southern Thedas had to offer, and the company was beyond compare. Theseus was trying to enjoy himself, and every few moments he convinced himself he was having a good time. Then his eyes would drift over to the doors that lead to the foyer and he wondered what the rest of the Inquisition was up to. Did they need help? What high ledge had Milliara thrown herself off this time, to save someone replaceable? The niggling thoughts would have eased if it had been Rythlen or Cullen out there with them, but instead she'd chosen... him.

The man who'd shown up to warn Theseus that she was dangerous, the man she'd lived with for so long, the father of her son. It was stupid, he knew, to worry. He'd been around her long enough, gotten to know her habits. She watched Rousseau like a hawk, and she had Dorian and Solas with her. She would be fine. The same couldn't be said of whoever she ran into.

Trust her, Theseus, he told himself. Like she asked you to.

"I'm sorry darling, am I boring you?" asked the woman he'd been speaking with. She'd been asking... something about dogs. The merits of the Chevalier pointer compared to the Mabari. While it was difficult to read expressions through the masques the Orlesians insisted on wearing, Theseus had the impression that his current distraction had miffed the woman. Lady DuMarc, something wines, something, dogs.

"Far from it, I admit I'm envious of the Orlesian and Ferelden breeds. In Ostwick we only have mutts and the odd retrievers," Theseus said, banking on the chance the woman was still on about dogs. The tinkle of her annoying laugh rewarded him with the answer. Yes, apparently she was. "But if you'll excuse me, I'm rather parched. Would you care for a drink?" Theseus asked, bowing slightly at the waist.

"Oh yes, please, and do save a dance for me, oui?" the woman asked, tittering behind her fan.

"Of course." With a smile, Theseus stepped back from the drudgery and looked around for one of the servers. They were few and far between. Since his earlier glass of wine, Theseus had been hardpressed to find any of them among the crowd. He spotted the dark suit of Cullen and Maeve's red hair next to him, nearby was Rythlen speaking with the Prince of Starkhaven, her husband next to them, looking just as bored as Theseus felt inside.

Poor man, from what he remembered learning about the Ferelden Blight, he'd never wanted to be King. Yet here he was, in Orlais, listening to what Theseus hoped wasn't discussions about dog breeding lines. Across the ballroom Josephine was speaking with a woman who was near to the same height and build, though dressed in the latest Orlesian fashion. Heavy silks and ostentatious ruffles, cut and structured in a heavy dress that looked more like a building than something people were supposed to wear.

He was about to head over to say hello when a small commotion caught the corner of his eye. Dorian, laughing and waving off curious Orlesians, wove his way through the crowd directly towards Rythlen and her husband.

Theseus reminded himself not to frown, and headed through the gathered nobles at an intercepting angle. As he stepped up next to the Altus, the faintest of red splatters across Dorian's jaw caught his eye.

"Dorian," Theseus said genially, placing his arm around the mage and giving the man a friendly pat on the back. "Have you seen any of the servers? I'm dying for a drink."

"Ah, yes, about that," Dorian said, unruffled. "They're slightly indisposed. A shelf of red spilt in the kitchen you see, I asked."

Theseus nodded, walking along with the mage towards the King and Queen of Ferelden. Rythlen had glanced over now, and the Prince of Starkhaven's gaze followed.

"Kaffas that man is beautiful," muttered Dorian under his breath. He cleared his throat. "My Lady Queen, King of Ferelden, and, I can't say we've met," Dorian said as they joined the three monarchs. He offered each a little bow, complete with flourish.

"Sebastian Vael," the monk-prince held out a hand to shake it, and Dorian smiled, clasping it firmly. Theseus nodded his return greeting, and couldn't resist rolling his eyes as Alistair met his gaze. THe king coughed, unsuccessfully covering a chuckle.

"It is a pleasure that i'll have to repeat, however, I must steal the Queen for some time, the Inquisitor's asked to speak with her you see," Dorian said with an apologetic smile towards the King and Prince. "I'll return her, I promise. I'm not one of those Tevinters, I promise." With a laugh and wink, he held out his hand for Rythlen's.

"I found you just in time, then," Theseus said. "I'll come with-"

"Ah," Dorian said, and for a moment Theseus was sure he looked uncomfortable. "The Herald of Andraste only needs the Queen." The air grew heavy between them, and Theseus's brows tugged together despite his best efforts.

"I see."

"Not yet," Dorian said with a sigh, tucking Rythlen's hand into the crook of his elbow. "But you will. Ta!" With apologetic excuses, Ry let herself be led away from the men, her head bending close to Dorians as they made their way out towards the Foyer.

"He's quite the... chatty one isn't he?" Alistair said after a moment's pause. "Not what I'd pictured in a Vint."

Sebastian nodded, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed thoughtful, eyes fixed on the door that Rythlen and Dorian had just left through. Only then did he glance back to Theseus, a small frown on his face.

"Aye, he's no what I'm used to encounterin' back at Kirkwall or Starkhaven," Vael said quietly. He dipped his chin towards his chest in a nod of respect, or piety. Theseus was too distracted to care. "Slavers or escaped slaves, th'lot."

"Ugh," Alistair said. "I hate slavers. Did I tell you before Ry and I took the throne that the bastard who stole it sold off the Elves in Denerim to pay for his army?"

Theseus listened, eyes still fixed on that damn Foyer door. What did Dorian mean by 'not yet'? What had happened? Why would Millie ask for Ry but not him? Maker take it, he was going to go crazy if he didn't find out what was going on. He turned to the two royal men and dipped his head in a bow, excusing himself.

To his surprise a hand reached out to catch his shoulder as he turned. Looking back, Theseus saw Alistair let go and motion to lean in. For once the man wore a serious look on his face. This wasn't he happy love-struck puppy Theseus had met earlier, and been chatting with over lunch, this was the King of Ferelden. The Veteran of the Fifth Blight that leaned close.

"Mate, look," Alistair said quietly, and Sebastian pretended to look interested in the vase of flowers nearby. Giving them the illusion of privacy. "I know you want to rush in, Maker knows I wanted to do that whenever Ry goes off to save the world. I want to save her, make sure she's fine, but when a lady like them, Ry and the Inquisitor, when they ask you to stay back, you'd best at least consider the request before rushing off."

Theseus listened, but there was more at stake than the King could know. He hadn't been there in the garden when Milliara's mask had cracked, or felt how tight she'd held onto Theseus's hand as the car had pulled up to the Winter Palace.

"I'll take that advice into consideration," Theseus said honestly. "But I need to find out what's going on." With a nod to the royals, he made his way after Rythlen and Dorian. The brief advice had taken enough time that they were gone from the Foyer as Theseus slipped out of the ballroom, and he glanced around at the party goers who were standing about.

"Excuse me," he said with a congenial smile, approaching a richly dressed Dwarf and his companion. "Have you seen the Queen of Ferelden pass by?"

"So I say to him, you aren't going to pay for the latest shipment, we'll find another buyer," the Dwarf muttered. "Lyrium's at a premium with all the wars going on." Finished his thought, the dwarf looked up, scratching at his beard. "The Warden Queen? Yeah she went to the hall of Heroes. You aren't planning on bothering her, are you?" He asked, looking up with steely eyes at Theseus.

Ah, right. It was easy to forget how revered the Wardens were among Dwarves. Especially after Adamant... Theseus shook his head, and tried to shake off the clinging memories of the Nightmare. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard at the mention of lyrium. It wasn't like he'd been hurting for a hit, but it had been a while. Not a long while, but a while.

"No, no, I'm just a friend," Theseus said, holding up his hands defensively with an easy grin. "I just wanted to know where she'd slipped off to, thanks." He stepped back, heading down towards the Hall of Heroes, ignoring the statues of Orlesian men and women that were carved from the finest marble, gilt with gold and with small holos showing their greatest achievements.

He needed to find out what was going on, and then he needed to take a small hit of Lyrium to take the edge off. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Theseus nudged the door to the staff area open with his foot, and frowned at the bloodstain that was immediately visible.

"Well you certainly don't waste time," he muttered, and paused as he recognized the Inquisition's cache of supplies. Inside would be his armor, his sword... and his philter. Theseus stood frozen, staring at the crate, his mouth suddenly drier than the damn Western Approach.

He wasn't sure what he was walking into.

He should be prepared.

Theseus crouched by the crate and lifted the top off, rooting through until he found his pack and he pulled free the philter and the small blue vial that would help ward off any surprise attacks. He glanced around, spotting the neatly folded clothing of the Inquisition party Milliara had brought through earlier. Rythlen's dress had been placed next to Millie's white suit.

"Maker-damnit Millie," Theseus muttered, striping off his jacket. He rolled up his sleeve, preparing the lyrim for injection. The rush of power was immediate, like Andraste's hand reaching down and caressing his very soul. Spurring him forward and into action.

Refreshed, Theseus changed into his kit, following the trail of blood up towards the guest rooms. Red footsteps led to and from one room in particular, he noticed, rounding a corner. The door was open, and as he approached, Theseus activated his shield, lifting it up in preparation if anything had been left alive within.

Nothing had been, but it wasn't the body of a Venatori or a Bard laying in the room that had been painted red with blood. It was a member of the Inquisition. Rousseau.

He'd failed. Something had taken him out and now Millie had called for Rythlen instead of him? That stung, more than Theseus wanted to admit. He stepped into the room, crouching by the body of Frederic, the man's throat slashed to ribbons.  There was a void on the ground near him though. Something had blocked the arterial spray from the marble. Similarly there was a void by the bed, large four poster thing that it was. So whoever had killed Frederic had done so from behind.

Best be careful.

Theseus adjusted his grip on the shield and followed the red footprints out of the room and down the hallway.

So help him, when he found her, Millie was going to have to explain why she kept leaving him behind.

Rythlen - Winter Palace

Dorian's whispered explanations had come as a shock, but... maybe not a surprise. Given their history, she wasn't surprised that Frederic had slipped back into old habits. But the timing, the location and the end result, all of it was shocking. Quietly, in her heart of hearts, Rythlen approved of the end of Frederic's life, but how would this affect the Inquisition's standing with the Orlesian Court? Would it risk the tentative peace talks?

Would her friend be alright after killing the man who she once loved? Sure, Milliara had never said as much, but no one spent so long with a partner with only lukewarm feelings. Even then, there was their son to think about.

"She was still in the room when I left," Dorian said. They were standing in the doorway of the room where Fred's body lay. Rythlen could still see strands of hair twined around his fingers, stained red as he'd tried to stop the bleeding at his throat.

"They went ahead," Rythlen said, tilting her head down at the red footprints on the hall floor. "Should have waited for us, but maybe she wanted to wash off the worst of it," Rythlen murmured. She followed the footprints through the halls to a small sitting area. Solas stood there, grave faced and on watch as the sounds of running water could be heard beyond the door by his shoulder.

"Your Highness," the apostate said with a small nod. "She is washing off the worst of him. But there's still work to be done, when she is ready."

The worst of him?

What had happened?

Ry nodded, and knocked lightly on the door.

"Millie?" she asked quietly. The water turned off, and the door opened inwards to reveal a beautiful marble and tile bathroom. The sink was covered in pink water droplets. The careful makeup and hair styling from earlier was gone, though the dark lipstick and eyeliner remained, impervious to water and soap.

"Hi," Rythlen said quietly, closing the door behind her. "Are you okay? Dorian said he grabbed you and-"

"It doesn't matter if I'm okay," Milliara said quietly. "I have to be right now, because they'll smell the weakness on me." The elf wiped off her hands with a towel and checked herself in the mirror, but her eyes slipped over to focus on Rythlen through the reflection.

"I'm going to do everything I can to keep you safe until this is over," Milliara said quietly. "I'm so sorry I had to pull you away."

Ry smiled, or tried to. "Orlesian politics isn't really my thing. So, what's next?" she asked. Focus on the next step, then the one after. It was how she'd coped with her own tragedies during the Blight, it would help at the very least for getting Milliara through tonight.

"One of the fancy shit Orlesian fucks wants to meet in the Guest wing gardens," Milliara said, towel drying her hair. "We go, and spring the painfully-obvious trap waiting for us. Then, when this is over, we get drunk."

Ry nodded.

"Let's do it."

They left the bathroom, and Rythlen watched the two mages watch Milliara, both unsure if they should say anything or stay quiet. But the Inquisitor squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Ry wondered how much that would cost her, emotionally. Later, when this was over, Rythlen made a note to steal Milliara for a night of relaxing. Just girls, wine, some horrible holo and takeout. Maker knew they all had earned it within an hour of arriving at the Palace.

"Shall we?" Rythlen said to the men, pulling free her shield from the clip at her waist and activating it with a flick of her thumb.

"The sooner this is over the sooner I can get drunk," Dorian said. "Yes, let's."

The night air was still warm by Ferelden standards, and warm even compared to Skyhold's controlled climate, with cicada song buzzing in Rythlen's ears as she took point, stepping out into the garden with the shield up and sword in hand. Milliara followed, daggers drawn and crouched low. The men followed, the prickle of magic along her skin telling Ry that they had cast something over the group. Hopefully, it was a barrier or some sort of forcefield.

Ahead, kneeling around a metal statue of... it was modern art, who knew what the hell it was supposed to be, it was a metal statue of a twisted wire, were a ragged looking group of men and women, hands and feet cuffed together behind them, and black hoods over their heads. One of them had managed to shake the hood loose, and watched them walk in with wide eyes.

"Inquisitor it's a-"

"We know," Milliara said, cutting off the warning.

"I thought Orlesians were supposed to be subtle," Rythlen said to Milliara, looking around for the inevitable attack.

"You're thinking of the /successful/ Orlesians," Milliara said from just behind her.

"Tsk, white rabbit, my darling you wound me," called a voice from one of the balconies that hung over the little garden. Looking up, Rythlen recognized the woman by her masque, and the butterfly inspired dress. The wings of animatronic butterflies were fluttering as though the bugs were real, placed all over her dress. Rythlen wondered if the women knew butterflies would drink blood as readily as they would flower nectar.

Hm. Actually, she probably would. Orlesians were strange about fashion.

"Florianne, the lesser of Celene's cousins," Milliara said for the mages's benefit.  "Forgive me Florianne. I just thought, you know, Corypheus would choose someone... good at this to be his snake in the grass."

The Grand Duchess drew herself up, the smug smile twisting into a sneer as she looked down at the four of them. Rythlen's headset pinged, lighting up the positions of hidden combatants that stepped out into view. The four of them were outnumbered by at least two to one. And that wasn't counting whatever dirty tricks Florianne had up her ridiculously large sleeves.

"And would you have me so figured out, oui?" Florianne asked. "If not for my gracious decision to say farewell to the upstart rabbit in person?" The Grand Duchess sniffed. "I think not."

"Your Highness," Florianne said, eyes shifting to Rythlen. "It was truly a pleasure to meet you. However, I am afraid you will not be permitted to survive. The Elder one requires-"

"He requires my foot up his crusty ass," Milliara's voice boomed out through the garden. The cicada song died, leaving heavy quiet in the garden. "Get fucked Florianne. Don't think I never saw how bad you wanted Fred. Don't think he never laughed about you while we fucked. How apropos you’re wearing butterflies, the only thing up your twat is moths and dust."

The distaste on Florianne's face was almost funny. Rythlen wasn't sure how her lips had managed to pull into the upside down 'u' shape the duchess now wore. Whether the insults struck home, Ry wasn't able to tell.

"Insolent to the last. Kill them," Florianne said. She turned away, gesturing lazily to the combatants who had been creeping closer while the Inquisitor and the Duchess had been trading barbs.

"Ready?" Ry murmured to her friend. Milliara nodded.

"Yeah, I think they're close enough now," Millie whispered back. She lifted her hand up to the sky, the anchor flaring to life in her palm. Ry adjusted her shield, angling it to brace against the blast of Fade magic that always followed the opening of a rift. Even still, as the night flared green and reality tore above them, the pressure wave of magic hit Rythlen's shield enough to send a tingle of numbness up her arm.

Caught by surprise, the blast knocked Florianne's agents from their feet. Two that had been standing next to her on the balcony toppled over the low railing landing with a crunch on flagstones below.

Milliara sprinted towards the closest agent, slamming her knife into the bard's belly while Solas and Dorian launched salvos of bright magic at the few that remained standing. Ry stepped forward, slamming her shield up into the face of a Venatori agent who'd just gotten back to his feet. His nose crunched, and he toppled back, grabbing at his face. Her sword ended it quickly. Regrouping at Milliara's side, Ry blocked an arrow loosed at the Inquisitor, sending it skittering off into the hedge nearby.

"There's going to be demons coming through," Millie warned, throwing a knife into the throat of the archer. "The rift was already there, I just pushed at it."

"We're on it, Inquisitor!" Dorian shouted from behind them. "Just close the damn thing when you can. Sooner is always better than later."

"Really? I had thought of just leaving it there," Milliara replied dryly. "It looks so nice in the garden." Ducking under the swipe of a Venatori blade, Millie tucked and rolled, popping up behind her attacker. Twisting, she sliced through his hamstrings with one knife and sank the other into the man's neck as he fell to his knees, screaming.

"Protect the witnesses," Milliara shouted, darting toward the captive men. Ry followed, knocking aside the blades of a bard, and smashing the pommel of her sword into the man's face. The followup swing struck off his head in a single, clean blow.

Glancing up, Ry saw a rage demon rear up with fists raised, ready to slam down onto her. A sword pierced it's chest from behind, and the demon howled, twisting and clawing at the blade. Ry slashed at it, lopping off a chunk of fiery flesh that dissolved to Fade Dust. The Rage demon howled, twisting to strike at it's second attacker, only to be knocked to the ground. Ry slammed her sword into it's face while the other knight stabbed his into the beast's chest.

"Theseus?"

The Templar nodded, putting his back to Milliara and taking up another defensive position as the Inquisitor worked on freeing the bound men. Scanning the garden, Rythlen watched as Dorian and Solas sent a Dispair demon up in flames. The rift above them throbbed, green light brightening the garden for a moment before Milliara shoved her hand up.

Energy arced out of her hand into the Rift, pulling it closed despite clawed arms that reached through, grasping for a chance at freedom. With a snap of air, it shut, cutting off the Fear demon's arm at the elbow. The appendege fell, bursting into green embers as it hit the ground by the captives. The man who'd managed to get his hood off flinched and shook off a stray ember that had landed on his shoulder.

"Is everyone alright?" Rythlen asked, looking around warily for any reinforcements.

"Well enough," Dorian said, walking over and brushing flakes of dead demon from his armor. "Though I'm afraid that the smell of roasted Demon never washes out once it gets into clothing fibre."

"I will be once someone tells me what the hell happened," Theseus said quietly, eyes fixed firmly on Milliara. The elf seemed busy with picking the locks of the captives, or maybe just chose not to reply.

"Theseus maybe later-" Rythlen said, trying to catch his eye.

The men, now no longer blinded by the hoods looked up at their rescuers, unsure who to focus on. The Queen? The Inquisitor? The Tevinter magister?

"Well," the man who'd shaken off the ember said. He was certainly not Orlesian by his accent. Denerim, or along the coast of Ferelden. "We were supposed to meet with Gaspard about the pay for our job, but we met some Vints and the Duchess instead." He looked up at Rythlen and nodded, hands not free to do much else. "Your Highness. You do great work. You too, Inquisitor. While normally I like to experiment these cuffs-"

"Right now is really not a good time, Theseus," Milliara said sharply over her shoulder. "I needed people in the ballroom." She glanced at him over her shoulder, and Rythlen stepped over to help with the cuffs, pulling the nearest man to his feet.

"So," she said, turning back to the man who'd been talking. "Willing to offer testimony about Gaspard? We pay better than that tightwad anyways." The man nodded, rubbing his wrists with a roguish grin.

"Straight to the point, I like you, Inquisitor. You bet we'll take the job."

"You needed me here," Theseus said, stepping closer to Millie. Ry bit her lip, letting them handle it. It wasn't her place to get between but now was really not a good time to air hurt feelings. "Why are you insisting on holding me back?"

"Because Fred attacked me and I had to kill him and I didn't want to have everyone know," Milliara snapped, undoing the last man's cuffs and standing. "But hey, let's talk about this now. Florianne will wait, I'm sure."

Millie turned on her heel, facing the mercenaries. Theseus looked taken aback, but before he could ask any more questions Milliara had started towards the garden's other exit.

"You lot," she said to the mercenaries as she passed. "Go find Leliana or Commander Cullen. They'll direct you to somewhere safe until the rest of the situation is handled."

"If it's alright with you," the talkative mercenary said, standing and brushing grass from his pants. "I'd prefer to stick around and help out. We never got paid and I might as well enjoy watching you kick that bitch's ass." Handsome, dark hair pulled back and a ready smile, Ry couldn't help think that something about him reminded her of Zevran. The swagger, maybe.

Ry passed him, joining Millie at the exit of the garden.

"Fine," Millie said. "But keep up, we've lost enough time as it is."

"I'm Galaren by the way," the merc said, trotting after them. He looked over the other men of the party curiously. "Is everyone in the Inquisition so attractive? I'd heard stories but-"

Milliara rolled her eyes, and motioned for Ry to follow her. They'd discuss strategy on the way. Millie was right, there wasn't much time left. The sooner they got back to the ballroom the sooner Rythlen could make sure Alistair was safe.