A/N this chapter was hard to write, and I'm not sure I'm happy with it...thoughts are appriciated (constructively, please!)

That night Alistair and Zevran, dressed in borrowed finery from the palace hired a carriage to take them past the lively area of town known as Night's Doorstep and up the curving road of Mount Nuit. And as they stepped inside one of the beautiful manors that dotted the rise, Alistair realized exactly what the Night Court was.

"It's a brothel!" Alistair hissed as they stood inside the doors of Eglantine house. At his outburst a nearby group of young women giggled in delight and stared at the two foreigners with mirth in their eyes. They were lovely, as was everyone in attendance, and patrons and adepts alike were engaged in every kind of creative pursuit that Alistair could imagine. There was a great deal of mirth in the air…mirth and something else. The women batted their eyes at Alistair, silently beckoning him closer with good cheer. The dowayne of the house was less than amused.

"Eglantine house is not a brothel," Ismae no Eglantine said with dignity, "None of the thirteen houses of the night court are, messiere. We worship blessed Eula as he bid us and give homage to Nammah. Every one of my adepts are skilled in the service to which they have dedicated themselves, I could arrange a showing should you so desire."

Alistair blushed at the reprimand and Zevran rolled his eyes in exasperation before turning to the dowayne.

"Forgive my companion, dear lady, he is…how you say, prudish when it comes to the act of love, having never divined the pleasures to be found there," the elf said with an apologetic bow. Ismae's expression softened into one of amusement as she regarded the templar with new eyes.

"An untried virgin, you say? Elua, that is rich! Come, my lords, I shall show you what Eglantine has to offer in the ways of Nammah."

The dowayne ran a hand down Alistair's arm before turning to lead them into an inner salon. The two men followed, Zevran's eyes fixed pointedly on the dowayne's sashaying rear. Alistair nudged the elf with his elbow, shooting him a pointed look to which Zevran waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

Ismae led them to a quiet room strewn with sumptuous pillows where a curtained stage lay recessed in the center of the room. She motioned for the two men to sit and they both reclined on the pillows; Zevran with a fluid grace and Alistair with an awkward stumble.

Within moments a man and a woman entered, clad only in silken robes and glided gracefully to the stage, the curtains parting to allow them access. Alistair swallowed hard when he saw a bed positioned there. Shortly thereafter a trio of musicians followed and settled themselves inconspicuously off to the side. They began to play a soft and seductive melody, the sounds of harp, drum and lute twining through the air like a perfume.

"This, messieres, is how we serve Nammah," Ismae murmured in amusement as she gestured to the couple.

It began innocently enough with a kiss, the man running his fingers through the woman's fiery hair as his lips pressed lightly against hers. Alistair shifted uncomfortably at witnessing such an act and glanced at his companion, searching for a clue as to how to behave. Zevran paid him no mind, his attention focused solely on the two people before them.

It was when the man gently parted the woman's robe, sliding it along her creamy skin and letting it pool into a puddle of silk on the floor, that Alistair stood up, his cheeks a blaze with embarrassment. He averted his eyes just as the man ran a teasing hand along the woman's chest.

"I don't think I can do this," Alistair whispered hurriedly, hoping that Zevran would, just once, think with his brain and not the organ that seemed to rule his every thought.

"I understand my friend," the elf said dismissively, never removing his gaze from the performance happening before him, "I trust you can find your own way back to the palace, yes?"

Alistair sighed in dismay before turning to take his leave, the sound of a soft moan of pleasure chasing him out of the room. He hurried quickly through the hallways and solars of Eglantine house, desperately seeking the exit. Spying a set of glass doors that led outside he smiled in triumph and slipped out into the cool night air.

To his dismay he realized he had not escaped, merely landed himself in a small, walled in garden within the houses grounds.

"Andraste's sanctified girdle, can I please catch a break?" he muttered in frustration as he glanced about his surroundings. At last his eyes came to rest on a small statue situated near a fountain, surrounded by flowers growing wild. Curious, Alistair strode over to the object, careful not to trample the flowers that dotted the land. He kneeled before the effigy, his eyes narrowed in studious thought. Depicting the image of a young man, the statue was made of flawless white marble and stood mo more than three feet high. The man held out his palm, almost in an offering, and his face wore a serene, content expression. Alistair couldn't help but notice, amidst the flowers nestled at the base, that the man was barefoot.

"Blessed Elua," a woman's voice murmured from behind him. He jumped up in surprise and quickly turned to face the visitor. Phedre no Delaunay stood before him, a cloak of red so dark it was almost black pinned about her shoulders. She smiled at him in amusement before walking gracefully over to join him.

"Comtesse," Alistair squeaked as he hastened to bow. She let out a chuckle and placed a hand on his elbow, bidding him to rise.

"Please don't. Call me Phedre, I beseech you. I am still unused to being named a peer of the realm. It is very foreign to me, I am much more comfortable being what I was than the Comtesse de Montreve."

"I understand what you mean," Alistair said with a grin, "it seems that once someone gives you a title of nobility it mucks everything up, doesn't it?"

"I suppose you could look at it that way, I certainly have received far more invitations from prospective patrons since acquiring the title," she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

"Patrons? What exactly were you before becoming a noble, Phedre?"

"I keep forgetting you are not native to Terre d'Ange, though you certainly are handsome enough to pass." She paused then, amused at the blush that colored his cheeks at the word 'handsome.' Her lips curved into a wry smile before answering his question, "Before I became a peer of the realm, I was a servant of Nammah, and still dedicate my services to her."

Alistair stared at her in shock and took a step back.

"You mean-that is-you-you're one of them? Is that why you're here?" he stammered, trying to wrap his mind around this bit of news. What sort of backwards kingdom is this where nobility are common prostitutes?

"If by one of them you are referring to Eglantine adapts, then no, I do belong to their house, nor any other for that matter, but I am still a servant of Nammah. I am here receiving tumbling lessons. I had need of the skill recently and found myself sorely lacking. Eglantine house claims artisans of all crafts, so who better to learn such a skill from?" she replied lightly, her voice carrying a bit of indignation at his tone. Alistair swallowed and tried to control his discomfort.

"I apologize, Phedre, I am unaccustomed to being around women of your…profession."

"There are a great number of men pledged into Nammah's service as well. Why should you blush and stammer so when encountered with such a person?" Phedre asked quizzically, somewhat baffled at his puritanical attitude.

"I was raised by the chantry and pledged to the templars. I was taught chivalry from the cradle up, that is why," Alistair explained lamely, "and I have…well, I have never found a woman…that is, what I mean is-" Phedre cut him off with a giggle.

"I think I understand, Alistair, you do not need to explain any further. It seems I am to be plagued by chaste warriors for the rest of my days." Alistair cocked an eyebrow at the comment and watched as a wave of pain passed over her lovely face. She shrugged it off after a moment and remembered herself. "Come," she said, motioning to a bench situated near the statue of Elua, "sit and I shall explain why service to Nammah is a holy thing."

Alistair shrugged and followed, settling himself next to her, refusing to meet her eyes as she related the tale of Blessed Eula and his companions, how they wandered the earth and Nammah lay down in the stews with kings and commoners alike in sacrifice to him. How they found the land of what would become Terre d'Ange,, how the people welcomed them and mingled with the angels and Eula himself, creating beautiful offspring that spread the message of 'love as thou wilt.'

"And that is what it means to serve Nammah, it is a sacred service, one entered into willingly, or not at all," she finished, smiling.

Alistair remained silent, his head reeling with the strange form of worship. To pay reverence with sex? It was ludicrous. But perhaps the idea that a deity would care so much for the people who prayed to them was what he had such issue with. After all the Chantry teaches that the Maker has left his children, turning his back on Thedas, never to return.

"Alistair?" Phedre inquired hesitantly, unsure how to take his silence.

"It is a pretty story, Phedre, but it is still so strange to me," he supplied, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"That is because you have not experience Nammah's grace yet, perhaps if you were to experience-"

"What?" Alistair yelped, jumping up and away from her, "I couldn't! I mean, you are beautiful women, the most beautiful…and it's not that I'm not flattered, but, I hardly know you!"

Phedre watched his outburst calmly, regarding him with those strange eyes, and merely nodded in acquiescence when he had finished.

"So be it, Alistair, just know the offer is there, and considering my reputation, you are quite fortunate to receive such an offer, especially since I am quite certain your tastes are not that of my usual clientele."

"What exactly is your clientele?" Alistair asked, coughing out of discomfort, "you said you didn't belong to a house, yet you are a-a servant of Nammah?"

"Yes, my marque was purchased from Cereus house by a nobleman and I was adopted into his house; Anafiel Delaunay, I bear his name still. And as such I contract my patrons at my choosing and not at the behest of a house dowayne," she explained, smoothing out her skirts and she rose to approach him, "I bear Kushiel's dart, Alistair, it marks me as an anguisette, the first in living memory."

Alistair stared at her in bewilderment, confusion plain on his face. Phedre sighed and pointed to the fleck of crimson floating in the depth of her marked eye. He simply cocked an eyebrow at her, still not understanding.

"It means that I experience pleasure from pain," she stated simply and Alistair stumbled back, almost toppling the statue of Elua over in the progress. He fumbled to right the effigy and cursed as he trampled the flowers around the base.

"It's late," he stammered, "I should return to the palace."

"Alistair, it is nothing that I am ashamed of-" Phedre protested, slightly put off at his reaction.

"I should go, I'm sorry. Good evening Comtesse," Alistair stated with a quick bow as he hurried past her and back into Eglantine house. After a few wrong turns he managed to find the exit and was relieved to find the carriage they had hired still waiting for their return. The whole way back to the palace Alistair thought back on Phedre's words, desire, disgust, and curiosity waging war within him.

Phedre wearily made her way back to the palace that evening and paced nervously in the Queen's receiving room. Never before had she misjudged a patron, and as sure as Eula had walked the earth, Alistair was a patron of hers. She felt it in her bones, that flutter of wings and the presence of Kushiel pressing down on her. But when she had offered herself, even after explaining her origin, he had fled into the night, horrified at her admission.

She was pulled from her thoughts at the soft opening of a door. Phedre sank into a low curtsey as Ysandre glided towards her, eyes crusted with sleep.

"Have you learned anything, near cousin?" the queen asked with a yawn as she bid Phedre rise.

"I did not, my lady, he was…unreceptive."

"Losing your touch, Phedre?" Ysandre inquired, her eyes disbelieving.

"Perhaps if you hadn't sent me after a pious virgin," Phedre stated with a little more bite than she intended. "Forgive me your majesty, I apologize. I am tired and unhappy that I could not do as you ask."

And ask she had, Ysandre had sent Phedre on a path to seduce Alistair Theirin, in the hopes of gathering Ferelden's true intentions in sending an diplomatic envoy to Terre d'Ange's shore.

"I shall have to postpone a decision then" Ysandre remarked hesitantly, "I am unwilling to allow these men to recruit from our citizens to fight an enemy I have never seen nor heard. It is far too great a risk to take."

"As you wish, Your Majesty, I shall endeavor to try again, should you so desire."

"No, that is more than alright. I was foolish to even suggest such a thing. You have made your marque and are beholden to know one. It was presumptuous of me to ask this of you," Ysandre murmured apologetically.

"I would do this and more to ensure that you are secure in your throne, your Majesty," Phedre replied fiercely, dedication clear in her voice. Ysandre smiled and gently hugged her, gratitude writ plain in her gaze.

"Anafiel Delaunay would have been proud of you, Phedre, of that I truly believe."