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Echoes of Arlathan
The Guild Charter
Owain did not leave Soren waiting long.
Although it was not his favourite thing to dwell on, the Arl and the Guildmaster had known one another for many, many years. In fact, there were few people still alive today whom Soren had known for longer than Owain in one form or another. Within a week of each other the senior apprentice had vanished from the same dormitory that Soren had been accosted and dragged from by the Templars for his Harrowing. Unlike Harrowed Apprentices who had reappeared the next morning dizzy and delirious from lyrium, the Tranquil had always vanished for a period of days before finally emerging from the bowels of the tower to take up their new duties.
Soren and Owain had reappeared on the same morning on completely divergent paths. One, a Mage; the other, a Tranquil.
Owain had submitted to the Rite of Tranquility willfully, or as willingly as someone could in the face of certain death. They had not been friends before the Rite and had certainly never attempted it afterwards, in fact: Soren was very firmly against reliving any memories of a boisterous, loud, and frankly stupid upperclassman. That person had died years ago, it was just an echo of him that met Soren in the Guildhall.
"Arl Surana. I did not know to expect you." Owain's face, without a real spirit to give it life, was perpetually sad. It was as if the Rite had condemned him to live like a man forever watching his home burn away in the pouring rain. His face was as hopeless as what little of his rust-coloured hair remained around his ears and the back of his head. He was dreary and miserable, his voice dull and utterly blank.
"Guildmaster Owain." Soren inclined his head as far as was necessary, along with the proper courtesy: "Are your people well, and your guild properly supplied?"
"Yes, your grace." For how uncomfortable Owain's existence was, he was still somehow not as pathetic as he had been on that night six years ago when he'd staggered his way wet and shivering into Vigil's Keep. Gone were the tattered robes and shoes with worn-out soles and open holes across the toes. No more half-starved cheeks and sickly darkness around his sad eyes. He wasn't shivering too hard to speak the way he had been on that strange night when he'd pleaded as well as a Tranquil could for sanctuary:
"If we are not permitted to remain in Vigil's Keep then we will surely perish of exposure before any other violence befalls us." That was what he'd said and as Owain felt no compulsion to exaggerate or lie, he'd meant it. They would have died but Soren had not allowed it.
Permitting two Tranquil into the Vigil had been almost nothing to him, it had been the four only two days behind them. The seven the month after that. The stragglers brought to Amaranthine by either their mage or Templar sympathizers. Taking in two of the Tranquil had been an obvious and easily accepted burden to Soren. Feeding and trying to accommodate over thirty of them just in the first two months had been overwhelming. When they'd tried to sway him to let them build a hall for themselves within the Vigil's complex or on the periphery beyond her walls he had shut the idea down: absolutely not. They were better off in the city and well away from him.
"I've come today to see you about your Guild's charter, Owain. Take me inside." The Tranquil nodded to him, the heavy gold chain and medallion of his office swaying as he made the motion before turning away to do as commanded. They left the public front of the guild hall by stepping around the tables and then under a rich purple curtain, which moved them along the edge of a busy but quiet workshop and then down a stone corridor.
Owain wore his chain and that was all that openly distinguished him from the other Tranquil in his care. His robe was exactly the same as Ansera's: white sleeves and a dark blue body and white hood, keys jangling at his belt. He kept the hood up, they all did: hiding their brands from one another as well as anyone like Soren who was unfortunate enough to have business behind the curtain.
They finally reached an office, and Owain went directly to a large cabinet resting against the back wall behind his wide desk. Both were fine pieces of furniture and reminded Soren vaguely of the large items used to fill the empty rooms of the Circle tower. It made sense: the Tranquil had constructed everything they could for the Circle, so that had probably included the furniture.
"There is seating available." Soren could see that, but declined with a simple gesture. "Is there a specific clause within the Charter that you wish to discuss?"
"Yes." He gave the simple answer first, standing there with his arms folded. "There is an issue regarding the safety of all guild members that I would like to see properly addressed. If the Charter doesn't already cover the matter, then I will see it amended."
"I understand." The case was unlocked with a mundane key, and then the white light of a rune was ignited with a mark Owain traced with the end of another key. He drew the runes together in a complex web, and the case gave a seize and release before opening properly. Inside was a large leather-bound ledger, not deep, but very tall and wide in dimension. Owain grasped the book and brought it to his desk, then returned to the case to shut the doors, then came back to the desk.
His slow need to take tasks one by one by one took long enough for Soren to open the cover of the Charter himself. He was surprised when he didn't lift it to find the illuminated face of the guild crest, but rather a stack of neatly ordered pages? These weren't part of the Charter, but since when did Formari mis-place-?
"My apologies, Arl Surana." Owain was quick for a Tranquil to return to the desk and gather the pages. They were the same dimensions as the book and there were perhaps five or six sheets printed over with controlled, neat tranquil script. "These are not ready for you."
"What are they?" He interrupted Owain's cleaning with a hand pressing down over the top sheet. He let the pointed fingertips of his gauntlets mark the supple paper, and Owain stopped moving to prevent him from tearing them.
"Amendments to the Charter." The Guildmaster answered him and then relented completely, handing the pages over to him. Soren took the wide sheets in hand and then looked behind him for that chair. He hooked a foot behind it and dragged it closer, then sat down. Owain had displayed tact! That was not the actual name of the document Soren was holding. Instead, it was:
A Compilation of Recommendations for the Consideration of the Formari Guildsmen of Amaranthine.
These weren't even at the point of being amendments, they were- there were a lot of them? And they…?
Soren read from the first page and doubted he hid his surprise:
"'On the matter of personal payment to guild members based on a system of organized labour and disregarding previous models of payment via output'? You're giving your people individual wages now?"
"It is a raw proposal, Arl Surana."
"It's been six years, Owain, you're not exactly living hand-to-mouth anymore." Meaning the guild could afford it. Soren had always understood that the Tranquil had a communal life based around supporting one another. The guild fed, clothed, and cared for its individual members as part of a collective, and either provided for one another's safety as a group or by relying on their lobbying power to get help from Soren himself or the city guard when issues arose. He continued reading: "'The acquisition of modest individual wealth permits the expression of modest individual preferences in the potential but not limited case of the following: supplementary diet, personal clothing, personal accessories, the patronage of other workshops, guilds, and markets, the acquisition of leisure texts and items…' to be further described in point three?"
"It is a raw proposal, Arl Surana." Owain repeated himself as Soren searched for this third point. It was on the fourth page and took up the entire sheet, but at the top inked in red was the bullet name: 'On the Availability and Promotion of Leisure Hours Within the Chantry Week and Culmination upon a Day of Rest on One Day Out of Every Seven.'
"Your members work straight through the week?" He asked. Why wouldn't they work throughout the week? They were tranquil, it's not like they had anything better to do with their time except labour in their workshops… except that whoever had written this had already addressed that point and provided a list of possible activities: personal grooming, extended hours of sleep, walking for the purpose of familiarity with the local environment as well as personal fitness, and so on…
There was even a notation stating that providing individual wealth and then allotting time for that wealth to be utilized would benefit the reputation of the Guild 'as a promotional unit of the city's economy rather than a drain on the flow of gold that is currently only ever expelled via taxation'. The writer cautioned the guild against hoarding gold unless they meant to expose themselves to higher taxes from Amaranthine City and Arling, or the possibility of outright theft.
Someone was propositioning the Guildsmen to give their members individual pay, reduced work hours, and a work week that was more in line with what most craft and guildsmen applied to themselves.
The second and third pages were about enshrining care for the infirm and the aging members of the guild- they cautioned against withholding food and medicine from those unable to complete a quota of work?
"Are these your ideas, Guildmaster?" Soren finally looked up from the pages scattered over his lap and the arms of his chair. Owain was still standing, his hands hanging limp at his sides, the Guild Charter open on the desk between them.
"No, your grace."
"Who wrote this?"
"A guild member of specific affluence." Soren meant to chase him for a better answer but Owain blinked sharply and reconsidered himself first. "The draft before you was indeed penned by my hand, but only as a means of providing proper and clear presentation of the guild member's ideas and concerns. The contents of the document did not originate with me."
"Then with whom? I would like to meet this one." If only just to marvel at how a Tranquil was supposedly motivated enough to go writing a treatise about their own guild. An affluent Tranquil was unheard of. It was like calling Soren's chair charismatic. Owain did not give him the name however, he merely stood there with that blank nothing. "Guildmaster, I will not ask again: who wrote this?"
"Jylan Ansera, Second Level Compounder and Tranquil of nine years tenure." Fuck. "I remain in possession of his original letters on this subject."
"Bring them out," Soren grumbled, and Owain moved from his desk to another wall bricked in books, withdrawing another ledger in similar style to the book housing the guild charter. When he opened this book Soren noted how each page was slightly wrinkled from glue and wax that had sealed the letters inside the book. "Do you… keep all your correspondence in this manner?" He could not.
"Yes." He wasn't serious.
"You and I exchange letters and notices several times a month, Owain."
"The top shelf contains my correspondences with you, Arl Surana." Maker's Breath, it had to be the most boring catalogue in all of Thedas! "Before my promotion to Formari Quartermaster of Kinloch Hold, I was employed as an Archivist. Under such employment I gained an appreciation for properly preserved texts."
Soren dropped the subject. He didn't understand Tranquil and he did not like them enough to go any further down this nug hole. He was presented with Ansera's letters to and from his guild over the last year, and held back a groan.
He should have known; Owain did the same thing to him. Rather than read a letter and pen a reply, the Tranquil were compelled by some unseen force to re-write the entire letter before addressing any of it or continuing the conversation. Supposedly it meant that both writers ended up with a complete copy of the entire discourse, but in reality it wasted an obscene amount of ink, paper, and Soren's patience when he was forever opening letters from the Guild only to hear his own words being echoed back at him for the first page and a half.
Every letter in the book started with an address to Ansera, Owain's letter, and then Ansera's reply. Soren wasn't going to sit here and read a year's worth of correspondence; he could already see that too much of it was about reagents, but what kept him actually looking was the math.
Equations, variables, fractions, percentages. Soren recognized most of the formulas for weight, time, transport, and division as things the Guild would need its member to be aware of when he requisitioned items for the Vigil, but Ansera apparently did the budgeting not just for Vigil's Keep, but the guild as well? How much items cost the guild to produce was checked against how much the Vigil agreed to spend on requisitions, and Ansera's arguments always fell somewhere in the middle. Some of Owain's replies were corrections to Ansera's numbers. One of Ansera's rebuttals was a single line:
"Incorrect. The price is 0.3 per unit as-per your reply dated Cloudreach 16th 9:44 Dragon. No."
Finally, Soren came to a series of stiff pages that was just… numbers. And numbers. And more and more numbers covering several sheets of parchment. There were alchemical marks that denoted materials, Soren's eyes only immediately familiar with the marks for silver, gold, copper, and lyrium, but it was enough. The equations were broken up by a single line each time: Compounder Third Rank. Compounder Second Rank. Compounder First Rank. Chemist. Archivist. Carpenter. Formari Third Rank. Formari Second Rank. Formari First Rank. Guildmaster. There were many, many more…
Ansera had worked out and then proposed the calculations for how much each rank in the guild should be paid… This was… Soren was looking at several weeks' worth of work here. And- yes. He double-checked the wage of Ansera's own rank as a Second Level Compounder: he'd halved his wages at Vigil's Keep and used that number as the base for all of his calculations. Owain had replied with the same mind-boggling list of numbers and then additional corrections.
Soren closed the volume. He didn't like how unsettled this left him feeling. Owain let him have his silence. Finally, Soren had to speak.
"Present the proposals to your guild members." He didn't know what else he had to say after that, but he found words just the same. "Present me with a copy of what you decide and we'll ratify the changes together." Owain reminded silent until Soren placed the pages back in order and held them up, speaking as he took the document back.
"You do not object to the proposals?"
"I object to the idea of anyone labouring in this city without payment." He answered, muddling through the strange unease in his gut. "Every other guild manages to give its workers leisure and time off without running into trouble. And I'm a healer, Owain: tell me those provisions for care and protection of the ill aren't responding to a crisis in your hall."
"They are not," Owain told him. And then out came the unnecessary spiel of: "Our intentions are only to enshrine current practices undertaken by members of the guild. Consideration for those who arrived in Amaranthine in a state disagreeable to long hours of focus and work prevented us from following practices previously observed within the Circle tower at the inception of our guild. At no point since the founding has returning to the Circles' method of measuring permitted rations against labouring output been considered appealing to the guild members, and thus the working practice of adequate nutrition for all members has remained an unofficial aspect of life within the hall. With this proposal, such allowances and insurance of adequate care will be formally recognized." Soren raised a hand to make sure Owain stopped. He understood well enough and had already given the Tranquil his permission or his blessing or whatever it was he needed to proceed with the changes. Soren's problem now was that he was still bothered by something, and it was hard to try and put it into words.
He didn't like this growing habit of his thoughts getting muddled before reaching his mouth. He forced the issue out over his tongue: speak.
"You respect Ansera, don't you, Owain?" Owain didn't bluntly hit him with 'I don't understand the question' so apparently respect was something a Tranquil could still comprehend. "That you're taking his suggestions and not just brushing them aside, or telling him to stay in his place."
"The Compounder's arguments hold merit." The Guildmaster answered in that detached, airy voice his kind had. "There is much I could say on the matter, but I will settle for the most direct matter: yes, I respect him."
"Why?"
"Before being forced to submit to the Rite of Tranquility, Compounder Ansera communed frequently with a Spirit of Loyalty from the Fade." Soren… felt like he should have known this. It resonated with him like something he'd known but then forgotten, or disregarded.
Connor. Connor had told him this. Connor who had forged a friendship with two Spirits in the Fade: his own Kindness and Ansera's Loyalty.
"I believe that contact affected his present ability to forge and maintain a sense of trust with other people," Owain continued, coming around to his own answer. "Although tranquility is often synonymous for many people with obedience, when given the choice many of us choose to remain among our own. Ansera instead chose and made strong arguments in favour of his posting to Vigil's Keep despite my certainty that he was placing himself in harm's way by going. I did not trust his judgement, but my caution was proven unnecessary. His decisions concerning other people and their habits have rarely proven unwise." Now wasn't that just the strangest thing to…
"What harm did you see befalling him, exactly?" Soren was very aware of the storm still dumping water down outside the guildhall, of Our Lady Redeemer's shadow over the city.
"Abuse at the hands of Warden Guerrin, the former Circle Mage who removed him from the guild." Soren reeled.
"I- excuse me?" That was- actually rather funny? Owain had thought Connor of all living breathing people would-? That he would actually..? "Owain, that's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me."
"Archmage Surana you forget yourself on a subject which does you no credit." Soren stopped smiling, he no longer found the matter funny. Had he just been reprimanded? "Jylan Ansera is an elven tranquil I permitted to leave the guild in the company of a human mage I did not know except that he once lived within Kinloch Hold and currently resides under your command as a Grey Warden and magical protégé. Upon reflection it may come to pass that I was not as thorough about communicating my expectations to you as was intended via our correspondence."
"Guildmaster-" Owain ignored him? Spoke over him? Soren had never-
"It was my understanding that any instances of exploitation or abuse of a Formari Guildsman within your own keep would be met with swift and unmistaken censure from your office." The Formari was speaking over him, voice toneless and hollow but certainly loud enough to make his interruption both intentional and heard. "If this assumption has been made in error then you will permit me to revoke Compounder Ansera's posting to Vigil's Keep and see to his immediate return to Amaranthine City."
Owain stopped speaking and Soren was too shocked to say anything back. They'd come full circle without the Tranquil realizing it and he didn't like the sense of cold, empty void that filled the space between them. He should have been angry, it would have been so easy to change the mood by letting anger be his voice and reprimand Owain right back for his behaviour.
The problem was that Owain had already stopped speaking and Soren still wasn't angry. Anger would be an obvious front at this point. He would not be perceived as hiding something again.
"Your assumption was not made in error, Guildmaster Owain," Soren told him, speaking smoothly from his seat across from the standing Tranquil. Soren had one elbow down on the arm of his chair, and he wasn't sitting straight up or rigidly. He had nothing to fear or be cautious of coming from Owain, but that didn't mean he had to antagonize him either. "I'm going to forgive you for your tone with me just this once because this is a sensitive matter among the Tranquil, and I respect that. Do recall that I am here today to ensure that your people have a charter which protects them."
He opened a hand to the desk, indicating the very document he'd just named.
"May I inquire as to what prompted this need for verification, your grace?" Here it was.
"Suspected abuse of Compounder Ansera." Owain's eyes lifted from him. He was not capable of feeling anger but Soren made a fist with his raised hand anyways, trying to command his attention back down. "Which has already been met with my swift and unmistakeable censure. Owain, focus please."
"I would know the details of this incident." Soren mediated his own response to this… strongly worded request.
"The storm caused a blow to Compounder Ansera's health yesterday and he fell ill." He made certain to omit any mention of the chantry: that was for Garevel to handle. "Before I arrived, he was alone with one of my Wardens who was tending to his fever. It remains to be seen if he was speaking from delirium or in earnest, but he was insisting on his lack of right to resist her."
"I would know the traits of this Grey Warden." Of course he would.
"A Dalish warrior, elven like Ansera," Soren reported. He didn't have to, but it was enough to bring Owain's gaze back down to him. Yesterday would have gone very differently if Ansera had been alone in that room with a former Templar, or any other human really. "Ignorant of the Tranquil and until yesterday her interest in him seemed harmless enough. She knows better now, but if she gives me cause to act then hear me, Owain: I shall."
"This remains an undesireable blow to my confidence in Compounder Ansera's safety."
"Can we not proceed with the matter at hand?" Soren tried to push him to the real meat of the matter. "Guildmaster, I want to know in no uncertain terms what the Guild Charter has to say regarding this kind of abuse against its members. How are these things handled? Has it even come up since the guild was founded? Will you go to the city guard, to the Bann, or to myself? I am not always in residence at Vigil's Keep and cannot ride into the city to bring down judgement every time something happens, but I want you and I to be clear on what steps should be taken."
"It has come up." Somehow that was not what he'd expected to hear. "During the period of caution wherein many of the Tranquil were vanishing off the city streets on minor errands, we brought in measures restricting the need to leave the complex. After the rise of the Inquisition, several former Templars made their way to Amaranthine City seeking out their previous… charges."
Soren's mind filled in the word Owain disregarded. The Templars had come looking for their possessions.
"As I said, I am not always present in Amaranthine." It was the Lady Inquisitor who had finally told him that it was the Tevinter Venatori behind the abductions of the Tranquil abandoned by the broken Circles. He knew what had become of them as well, and had even held one of the ocularum while visiting Skyhold. The evil thing had made his skin crawl… "How were the Templars handled?"
"One by the city guard who arrested and had him ordered from the city. Another by a patron of the workshop who disagreed with the scene unfolding in the front room and killed her. A third was killed by another guild member, who was promptly handed over to the Bann of Amaranthine on charges of murder. Bann Talbind granted a pardon." Good, Soren didn't want that brand of justice on his hands. "Several others were encouraged to depart after the Tranquil they came to collect swallowed deathroot as an acceptable alternative."
"Maker's Breath, Owain!" No! That was exactly what Soren wanted to prevent! "Answer me directly this time: does your Charter cover these matters?" It didn't sound like it did, not if-
"No, your grace." Andraste's Mercy, he was supposed to be their patron! Whether or not he liked the Tranquil didn't matter: he'd said he would protect them, that meant he would protect them.
"Then I'm not leaving until it does." He wouldn't break his word over something this simple!
"Yes, your grace."
And Soren did not leave until it was done.
