"This is Orlais, lethallin. We've been forced into their Game. Suspect everyone."

People didn't come to these events for their health, after all. Even as they spoke, Sontna could see a masked Bard out of the corner of her eye, gold and purple ribbons cascading down... probably attempting to listen in, though also probably just out of earshot.

"Hm- my guard is always up." A simple admission from a man who had seen plenty of the horrors that the world has to offer. Every masked face in that room, every person, every passing presence... he didn't trust in the slightest. But - he was that way with most folk, even back at the keep.

"... I can keep quiet and inconspicuous, at least. I fear that a sense of 'normal' here just entails a log of peacocking and I'm not particularly good at that."

"And I love this about you," he told him once their eyes met, unable to deny that smile and the warmth in Lyrian's gaze, "Maybe I can stick around and help you with your tasks for a few days, then. At least while you figure out what it is that keeps you up at night."

It was frustrating not knowing the enemy, but Fenris doubted that it was something he could easily slay, even if they figured out the source.

"I'm not sure what it is-" Lyrian admitted quietly, sinking somewhat into the realms of his own thoughts and their often tangled web. "It's like... a strange feeling of dread, I suppose. I can't get rid of it and... it makes no sense being there. "

His word posed as a perfectly honest admission to what had been carding through his mind, the confusion of it muddled with the agitation of it's presence - robbing him of what little sleep he would usually get.

"Maybe it'll pass in a few days." He nested close again, listening to Fenris' heartbeat, knowing it would soothe his racing mind considerably; always more potent than any elixir or draught. "Though - you know I'll never pass up more time with you around camp."

At his question, she gave a soft hum and a nod, giving a cursory glance away from her companion out to the rest of the ballroom.

Lyrian had, in the very least, expected some variety of troublesome reason to present itself one way or another; one didn't bring a healer to such a large gathering of nobles and politicians alike to idly mingle. That, and with the current climate of late being naught but suffering and slaughter, it was easy to assume more was but only a few steps around the next corner.

The soft touches along his arm made him sigh out a rumble from his chest, an action close to the purring of a cat, contently accepting Lyrian's affections despite the dull pain they caused his markings.

"It's alright," Fenris promised him, holding Lyrian a bit closer; more protectively. "There is a lot going on around camp, no one would blame you if you had to step back for a while."

"... no... I'm not going to leave. I wouldn't be able to settle away from camp, anyway." Lyrian let his eyes slip closed, let himself sink into the sound of Fenris' heartbeat within his ear. It was a comfort far greater than he could ever explain, and no part of Lyrian ever wanted to walk away from that not even for a short time. "Not even for a day."

"You look fine. If anything, it makes your hair all the more striking." Once she said it, she realized it may not sound the most complimentary, though she certainly had meant it as one. "I... meant that to be a good thing."

At the question, she gave a soft, thoughtful hum and looked down toward the dance floor. Most of their agents lined the room, but some tried to blend in and remain undercover.

"Well - - at least any bloodstains won't be seen, I do suppose." Lyrian smooths down the front of his jacket, letting his eyes scan the room - - not a single cell of his person particularly wanting to be there among the height of the political madness of the world. He cared very little for any of it, truly, but understood the importance given the current circumstances.

Where would they go?

Sontna thought about it for a moment, her head briefly tilting to rest her cheek against the top of Senreth's head. Eventually, though, she righted herself, and looked down to him.

"I'm not sure I could ever faithfully belong to another clan--" Not after how he had lived within the Inquisition, not after everything he had suffered; not after his death, the war that had claimed him. After everything, Senreth truly didn't believe he belonged within a clan any longer - it didn't suit him and he didn't want to blindly offer himself into something that he knew would ultimately make him uncomfortable.

"I suggest," he starts, his voice loud enough for their small company to hear "That we make camp for the night."

There is a murmur of relief among the men following them, and they slowly disperse to make short work of setting up camp while Vallen takes a seat near Senreth.

"We'll keep watch," he tells the other elf, now keeping his voice low and just for the two of them, "They're good men, but they are new to this, they haven't seen the world like we have."

He had wondered why they could only afford to send him rookies for this quest until he found out who they were up against, then he realized they were not here for support… they were the bait.

Another sleepless night it was to be, Senreth thought, as he set himself down - - honeyed tone fo eyes scanning those of company. New men would get eaten alive by the viciousness of the world if they were not guided, but eventually... they would have to face it and either remain strong enough or break under the vulgarity of it. He'd been there, seen it countless times before.

Senreth had no optimism, frankly - - the world was dark, the machinations surrounding were dark, and now that they were stood as bait toward whatever they were facing... he had little hopes that many of them would see the next dawn. He hoped he was wrong.

Probably Cullen. It looked like something he'd pick. Of course, she could well be wrong... and hoped she was, considering how uncomfortable he looked, too. Sontna herself thanked all her lucky stars that, as the Inquisitor, she was able to choose different attire.

Lyrian didn't think he looked good in red- in fact, it made him look even paler than he was. His hands adjusted the uniform for a moment longer, pulling at the discomfort of the collar and the odd feeling to the cuffs before entirely giving up and deciding he would just be uncomfortable for the evening.

"...how did Cole get away with it?" He utters, more under his breath than aught else, attempting a smile - attempting to look comfortable and at ease when he was anything but.

With all the love in the world, he could not solve all of the things tormenting him, so he would sometimes pretend not to see them until Lyrian found it in himself to tell Fenris about it.

His ears twitch when Lyrian sits up, and tiredly, Fenris blinks his eyes open when Lyrian adjusts his blanket. He yawns and curls into the warmth, reaching one arm out to the other to invite him into his embrace.

Lyrian had tried his best to not wake Fenris, knowing how light of a sleeper he was - but his restless that eve was truly something beyond the usual restlessness. Hearing his voice, feeling his arm reach for him - - his dear heart felt warm within his chest and Lyrian couldn't resist laying back down just to tuck himself close against the other.

"I'm sorry I woke you." He whispered, closing his eyes if only to bask in their shared warmth. Soft fingers run over Fenris' arm, gentle affections offered in pure heart, to hopefully soothe toward rest once more. "I don't know what's wrong with me lately... I just cant seem to settle." Maybe it was an omen of some kind, a subconscious feeling that was warning him about something - or he was just frazzled from working as hard as he did. Perhaps both. He didn't know, and that was part of the agitation.

What was there to do?

"The only thing I am able." He was never the most optimistic of people, but the Maker had left him here for a reason, and as far as he could tell it was to help others however he was able. He was upright and functional, it was enough. "People will die. I am not naive enough to think anything can stop that, for it is how the world works. But if I am able to save a few or at least ease their passing, it will mean the world to them."

Senreth had seen so much death, so much suffering; to expect it was normal by that point. He wasn't so naive to think it could be prevented, not in its entirety. Serving as an Emerald Knight had proven that to him - - small victories had to be cherished for the atrocities of war an difficulty would spread faster than water on a flood plain.

"Pessimism, I fear, I might have sank into the marrow of my bones a long time ago." Before he had died, likely - - and had only soaked further into his bones as he had rotted away in that crypt, forgotten even after his deeds. His apparent resurrection hadn't altered that - he had seen too much.

He stands, reaches for his longsword and sheaths it once more; ready to move.