Fen'lath sighed as Josephine laid out the itinerary for the day out on the war table.
"A judgement? You know I hate dressing up for those, Josephine. Is it really something that I have to do?"
The Antivan ambassador shifted, eyes darting around and looking anywhere but directly at Fen. "It is, Inquisitor. This one cannot be delegated or reassigned. Unfortunately."
Fen groaned. It seemed that on any given day, everyone wanted the Inquisitor to sit in judgement over some matter or another, no matter how petty. Thankfully, Josephine had managed to cut through most of the shemlen bullshit, but she couldn't escape all of it.
"All right. Can we just bump this up to be first thing so it's over and done with?"
"Certainly, Inquisitor." Fen eyed her ambassador after the hesitant response. It wasn't like Josie to be timid.
Turning from the table, she caught Leliana covering a small grin. Oh dear. Leliana smiling like that rarely, if ever, meant something good. She trudged up to her room and changed from her normal Skyhold leathers into the black and silver getup that Josephine insisted on for judgements. Before leaving the room, Fen just leaned her head against her door and heaved out a sigh. She was so tired. Even as they waited to find more information on what Corypheus's next movue would be, she wasn't allowed to rest or relax.
Pulling her shoulders back, Fen straightened and marched down the stairs to meet Josephine. As soon as they met at the bottom landing, the ambassador began her normal fussing routine; patting, tucking things in, straightening hems. "This will be unusual, Inquisitor, but please, please, take it as seriously as possible."
"You're not bringing me another Avvar clansman that's been throwing goats at the keep, are you?"
Josephine fluttered around her, "Oh, I wish it were that simple! Just remember, serious, please."
The door opened, and Fen glided to her throne and sat gracefully. Spotting the guards at the back of the great hall, she waved Josephine over.
"What's with the box?" She asked, leaning in.
"Just-let me do my introduction, please?"
Fen gave her a side-eye and sat back. Josephine took her place, then cleared her throat, messing with her paperwork and speaking as the soldiers dragged the large wooden crate forward.
"First, this wasn't my idea. It is an issue born of titles and heir apparency and…" She cut off in a sigh, "Halamshiral is having difficulty freeing trade routes formerly controlled by Duchess Florianne."
It took all the self control Fen possessed not to slap her hand to her forehead and groan. Of course Orlesians would be absolutely helpless and complicate what should be a straightforward 'she died a traitor, her possessions are forfeit' into this… this farce. Immediately outside the door to Josephine's office, she could see Leliana leaning against the frame, hand over her mouth again, and shoulders shaking. At least someone else appreciated the absurdity of this. Or perhaps, the spymaster was gagging. It was hard to tell from this distance...
Josephine continued, "Had she been tried, her assets would be forfeit and considerable bureaucracy avoided. So they ask that we judge her."
The look on her Antivan advisor's face pleaded with her to understand, and for a measure of forgiveness for the ridiculousness of Orlais. Looking out over the crowd observing, Fen saw the cluster of Orlesian nobles watching eagerly. Blighted vultures, waiting to claim whatever they could from Florianne without learning a bloody thing.
"I have to judge her remains?" Fen turned her attention back to Josephine. "This is supposed to make sense? I'm judging a box?"
Josephine's shoulders slumped, resigned to the fact that Fen wasn't going to just play along. Flies buzzed around the crate, and both women quietly brought kerchiefs to their faces as the ripe scent of decay reached them.
After a few moments of silence, Josephine straightened and sighed again. "That was the time allotted for rebuttal. Her crimes negated any claim to-" She stopped, making a small retching noise into her kerchief, "Forgive me, there is an odor."
The soldiers flanking the crate were going green, one of them visibly gagging every few seconds, then choking back whatever was attempting to come up. Fen waved, indicating they could step back. It wasn't like the box could run away. Their relief was palpable.
As Josephine coughed into her kerchief again, Fen laughed, "Community service!"
The Orlesians at the front all recoiled at the unexpected pronouncement. An impish, evil grin spread across Fen's face. "I call for rehabilitation! The skull shall do public theater about the evils of evil!" Leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees, she said sweetly, "I also judge the box. End table for orphans."
Flustered, Josephine flapped her kerchief at Fen before looking desperately at the clucking cluster of perturbed nobles. "That's quite enough, Inquisitor. Point taken."
Reading the note, Fen looked up at Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine. "Well, it looks like my 'community service' idea didn't work to get the point across. Suggestions?"
Leliana steepled her fingers. "Arrange visitation. Not with you-with the Duchess. I dare say that waking to find a boxed traitor on their end tables will set each straight."
Josephine put a hand to her temple, and said in a despairing voice, "Leliana, no." She turned to Fen, "You've seen how they are slaves to bureaucracy. Demand they attend the duchess's reception, as is usual for this time of year. I can see it now: the fashion is pine."
Rolling his eyes, Cullen said dryly, "Since we are being barbaric, why not set her head on a pike?"
The three women looked at each other, brows raised, and wicked smiles slowly widening across their faces. Horrified, he began waving his hands in desperation, "That was a joke──do not ask for her head on a pike!"
Seeing the three of them turn on him with those evil grins, he sighed, "You want her head on a pike. Fine. Maker."
Jaw stiff, Cullen stepped up next to Fen at the war table. As they looked over the paperwork Josephine had set out for the day, he ground out, "Well, I cannot say I'm pleased, Inquisitor. Thanks to you, I now have a soldier whose sole job is to shake the duchess's head at social ne'er-do-wells."
He slapped one of the papers down on the table. "Was this truly necessary? I could have had a cherry of a 'don't' sign delivered from Kirkwall in a matter of days. Or made here. I believe that Varric commands the rights. Regardless, I am not sure the problem was solved. Truth be told, now I forget what it was. So, job done."
He slammed the rest of his stack on the table with a growl.
Not looking up from the papers she was sorting, Fen said in a syrupy sweet tone, "Thank you, Cullen. Just remember in the future, don't make suggestions you don't want me to take seriously."
Cullen glowered, "Serious is the last word I would use to describe this farce, Inquisitor."