Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Aeneid
Ferelden.
The most progressive kingdom on Thedas before my arrival by some considerable degree. A land where people value freedom as highly as they did in my own homeland, with all the implications and pride that brings.
A land that was unique among the major kingdoms in that its king or queen is chosen by its nobles, where the ruler is subject to law not above it and can be removed at any time. A land owned not by noble planters, but freehold farmers and urban workers, toiling away for their own benefit for the most part, paying dues to their liege-lords but not made slaves. This is how Ferelden had been for centuries.
The Fifth Blight seemed to change things for the better still further.
Under the enlightened rule of King Alistair and Queen Anora, themselves an aberration among monarchs for being a legitimised-bastard and common-born respectively, Ferelden gathered much strength. Yet the person most responsible for this was neither king nor queen, but Daylen Amell, the Warden Hero of Ferelden, the only man ever to slay an archdemon and live to tell of it.
Amell had been a Circle mage prior to his induction into the Wardens, and this made him rather dismissive of any authority other than his own. It is also probably the source of his ruthlessness in the face of opposition, of the sort a Templar would undoubtedly find familiar.
Wherever he walked, he changed things, tore down the old order and built up a new one that was more to his liking. We have that in common, I suppose. His changes have proven remarkably resilient, the credit for which has to go to Alistair and Anora, though some of them only survive today due to our own interventions in his country.
Armen was fond of speaking of Ferelden and its achievements, and what I knew of the place before arriving there came from him.
The most divergent difference between the land of the doglords and all other Southern realms is the legal status of mages. Amell, being a mage himself and taking a mage for his lover, naturally demanded the independence of the Circle of Magi in the country.
This was granted. The Chantry naturally resisted, which meant that the Fereldan Circle never saw the same freedoms as we established in Hearth. Alistair pressed as hard as he could regardless, and saw great success. Through his contacts in the Circle, abusive and zealous Templars were identified and expelled from the kingdom, which in turn allowed for improved conditions.
The Circle was turned from a closed prison into an open one, and continual pressure may have borne more fruit, if it wasn't for the events in Kirkwall.
Amell was no less important when it came to changes for the elves. No one particularly knows why he championed their causes, but I suspect he felt a need to punish those who trod on others by raising up those getting trod on in the first place. Like I said, we had quite a bit in common.
Under their new keeper, Lanaya, the Dalish of Ferelden were granted the lands on the edge of the Korcari Wilds, centred around the ruins of Ostagar. This sort of grant was not unusual in history, but it was unique in Ferelden history. Similarly, the city elves of Denerim were granted political autonomy under a bann of their own, Soris. The alienage was rebuilt at royal expense.
The arrangement with the Dalish lasted, Lanaya being able to smooth over conflicts with the southern banns with wit and charm. Armen had a crush on her from afar, evidently, considering those were his exact words to me on the subject. They'd remain pretty much untouched until Fen'Harel started his bullshit.
The city elves were not so lucky. A few years after the end of the Blight, Bann Soris' marriage to a wealthy human woman caused an anti-elven riot, which devolved into streetfighting. King Alistair was forced to put down the civil conflict by force. Soris moved to Highever in disgust that the crown would not defend the alienage. No bann was named to replace him, and most of Denerim's elves moved to Amaranthine under protection of the Grey Wardens, where we would find them.
The Warden Hero did not just touch Ferelden's internal policies, but its external ones too.
In Orzammar, he placed the similarly ruthless and similarly radical King Bhelen in power, rescued Paragon Branka, and gave the Kingdom of Orzammar the power to create golems once more. Orzammar and Ferelden cooperated to recapture many of the lost thaigs.
Although holding the routes underground between the thaigs was impossible, the cooperation of Ferelden meant that doing so wasn't necessary. This brought even more wealth to both kingdoms, and their alliance remained strong for many years.
Better still, this relationship inspired Queen Anora to establish strong relations with the Marcher city-states, turning Ferelden into a trade conduit both between dwarven thaigs but also between Orzammar and the rich Free Marches, benefiting all. Antivan merchant houses were more than eager to invest in the new arrangements, meaning that any Orlesian invasion attempt would also drag the Antivan fleets into the conflict.
All highly praiseworthy achievements, albeit tempered by certain realities.
To be exiled to such a country might very well be seen as a blessing in a poor disguise. The political system could be swayed towards our ideals with little effort, our mages would not be unduly discriminated against, the Chantry was neutered enough to be no threat, there was a larger degree of tolerance for elves from the crown, and the kingdom had already proved its willingness to work with foreign groups for the benefit of the kingdom. You might even go so far as to say that of all the nations of Thedas, we should have been safest in Ferelden. You would be catastrophically wrong.
The problem was that we were Orlesian.
Orlais had invaded the country and imposed a brutal occupation, one that remained within living memory for many. Fereldan children were and are taught of the evil of the Orlesian occupiers, how chevaliers went about killing and raping who they wished, how the mad King Meghren seized the land of free farmers to give to new barons, how bravely the rebels fought to preserve Fereldan independence and culture from a foreign power.
Even today, despite his horrible betrayals, his selling of elves to Tevinter blood mages, and his execution for treason during the Blight, Loghain Mac Tir is regarded as a hero among huge swaths of the Ferelden population. The ultimate fighter of chevaliers.
We were hated before we even arrived, and we would be hated even more for simply being upon Fereldan soil.
Worse, we were going to be regarded as an existential threat to everything Ferelden was. The kingdom had a population of about a million people, highly unusual for a country that produced food for maybe three or four times that many, but we shall not delve into the economics of that here. At the time we set out, the Free Army was twenty thousand strong and the population of Hearth and L'Ambassade not enrolled in the military was fifteen thousand total.
Thirty-five thousand people moving about Orlais was no great shock. Orlais was the most populous nation on Thedas, twenty million people calling it home, even excluding huge numbers of elves outside the reach of the taxmen. Hearth itself was built for maybe four times as many people as had lived in it when I arrived, and the population often followed where the work was.
Thirty-five thousand people moving into Ferelden however, that was beyond mere invasion, it was colonisation. Thirty-five thousand armed, well organised, highly motivated colonists, many of whom couldn't speak a word of the trade tongue and a majority of them elves.
If I was a Fereldan, I would want my country to resist. That we were refugees would not matter, we were armed elven refugees with mages. It would come very close to utter disaster and we knew it.
We needed a plan, and quickly, not least because we'd tear each other to pieces if one didn't materialise quickly.
Once the preparations for leaving were made over the course of the days after our surrender, and the militia had left to go home with their representatives, the wagons loaded up with food and the contents of our chateau's laboratory, the Free Army marched out of Hearth through the docks and over the bridge. I didn't trust Gaspard entirely, and so decided we should leave with the river as protection.
The civilians were escorted out with whatever parts of their lives they could carrying on their backs, for there was no room on the carts or on horses for anything other than food or cannonshot.
Merchants pulled their tools or produce on makeshift sleds, their wives outraged to have to walk anywhere, never mind to Ferelden. Dockers, both from Hearth and Jader, jostled each other, seemingly undisturbed by the defeat. Children balanced themselves on the tops of the grain sacks on the wagons, or among the smoked carcasses of recently slaughtered pigs.
Grand-Cleric Brandon stood at the end of the bridge on the opposite bank, blessing the soldiers and refugees as they passed, many breaking off from the march to kneel at her feet briefly. Lana clung to her robe, helping dispense moral boosts. Beside them stood the mages and Templars, sans Tevinters, guarding the bridge as the rear guard, all of our cannon in support, aimed at the general direction of the town.
I watched this scene from the docks with my companions, mounted up, waiting for Gaspard and Duval so that we could complete the stipulations of the deal.
Armen and Leha sat on our own wagon, the Earth weapons and books within carefully covered. Through the former's machinations, Lucky and Bob were the packhorses that would pull it. The rest of us were mounted on our own horses. Every single one of us silent, processing what was happened. My own mind was caught up with practical problems, and I'm sure Leha could sympathise.
I remember it being very cold. It was late September now. My nose quickly went numb in the breeze to the point I could not smell anything, the sunlight seeming too dim to warm my face up.
It didn't take Gaspard long to show up with his honour guard, chevaliers leading the way on horseback, yellow feathers fluttering from their masked helms as they came up the quay from behind us. They stopped, seeming to check that there was no threat to their Emperor, before parting and revealing the man himself, dressed pretty much exactly the same way as he had been when we had met, except he was now carrying swords at his waist. Duval and Lienne were missing.
That was wise, given our mood.
"Marquis, Marquise," he intoned, drawing up alongside me on his huge black horse. He said nothing more, and looked at the marching columns of troops exit the gate and move over the bridge, pointedly ignoring him. He was ignoring the reason he was here, for some reason I couldn't fathom.
"Your Radiance," I replied, with a hint of sarcasm. He didn't seem to react, preferring to keep his vigil over our departure for a few minutes before speaking again.
"Your people's resilience is remarkable," he said, "It truly is a pity that you would not join me."
A complaint with a tone that spoke of a renewed offer. I sighed deeply at his presumption.
"We value our freedom above all else," Julie replied, just barely containing the venom she had for the man, "Except that of the lives of our families."
"You have certainly demonstrated that," Gaspard replied, meaning it, "Where will you go?"
I paused, considering that answering that question might be a threat, but remembered that the would-be Emperor had bigger fish to fry now. "The Wolf's Lair," I replied finally, "We have more supplies and wagons waiting there, and we cannot leave the isolationist mages to the Templars."
"And then north along the foothills of the Frostbacks?" Gaspard continued, "Through de Villar's lands, past Jader and out into Ferelden?"
"We haven't decided yet," Julie replied, "But that seems to be the only way."
"Wise," Gaspard responded, "A route that stays in friendly territory."
"Until we get near Jader," Tam responded flatly, "I doubt Lady Seryl would welcome us marching through."
"All the better," Gaspard said, smiling, "She supports Celene. I'll be happy when she does something stupid and you give her army a good thrashing."
"Your concern for us is noted," Julie snapped, before turning back to the marching columns. Revas reared up a little at the sudden change in tone of her master, but a quick pat on the neck saw the horse settle. I felt fatigue creep into my bones. Speaking to and not killing the Grand-Duke was tiring work.
"Before we do what we came here to do..." Gaspard said, "I have news from Halamshiral."
"Good or bad?" I asked, having put the city out of my mind before.
"Both," Gaspard said, "Celene assaulted the walls with siege towers, and the elves repulsed her. It seems the officers you left in the city spent the whole time training and drilling them, and her troops got a nasty surprise."
"It wasn't just elves that gave us Halamshiral, you know?" Julie cut in, "The merchants were with us too, and they're still trapped in there."
"Halamshiral is and always was the elves' city, Marquise," Gaspard rebuked, "Anyway, your fellow rebels won a spectacular victory. It will be temporary. Unfortunately, Lady Vivienne and her followers managed to use the chaos to overpower the few Templars you left with them. They escaped custody and handed the Winter Palace over to Celene."
"Not sure why that's unfortunate," Tam growled, "It was barely defensible in the first place."
"It's unfortunate for me, not for you," Gaspard replied with amusement.
"So you will march against her," I said, "You might as well say so."
"If I must," Gaspard said. For all he knew, I might find some way to warn Celene out of spite. Not damned likely. As far as I was concerned, they could kill each other and the world would be better for it. Corypheus no doubt would have agreed.
The conversation was beginning to annoy me too much, so I pulled the parchment he was here for out from under my armour, and held it out for him to take.
"The formula for blackpowder and instructions on how to make it," I said, "But I must warn you; never use what is written on this paper. Burn it."
Gaspard turned his head towards me in surprise. "Why would I do that?" he asked.
"You'll unleash a tide of death unlike anything you've ever seen," I replied, "Your world isn't ready for this." Not by a long shot.
The firelance was a pretty big reason why nobles couldn't hold on to their power, on my world. All that aristocratic military training could be undone by a peasant with a musket in an instant. That would have consequences.
"So you use these weapons, but say I cannot?" Gaspard retorted, "Hypocrisy, nothing more. I am done here. I have already sent the order for your prisoners at Lydes to be released. Goodbye, Marquis."
He spurred his horse, coming around the front of us. "Chevaliers, destroy it all!" he shouted, riding back to join them.
Half of them dismounted, and went to what had been sitting on the edge of the quay since the first day of our capitulation; our printing presses and boxes of pamphlets. The masked chevaliers began pushing them into the river.
Each splash of a press going into the water made Julie blink and flinch, like she was the one being shoved into the freezing water, undergoing some sort of absurd test for witchcraft. I held out my hand for her to take, which she did. She was shaking, though whether it was sorrow or rage, I could not tell.
That was the last I would hear from Gaspard de Chalons until the Ball held in the Inquisition's honour at the Winter Palace in 9:41. He marched his army north, while I marched mine east to the mountains.
The journey to the Wolf's Lair took five days, two or three longer than it had the first time I marched with an army to the place, but it was hard going the whole way. The roads in that part of the Hearthlands weren't built to handle tens of thousands of boots, and I was forced to split up the army after the first day to take multiple routes. Soprano, McNulty, and Mike each took a share of the number and went more or less cross-country, the wagons stayed with us on the one 'good' road.
It was so exhausting for all involved, that no one had any time to talk about or fight about what we had done to get to this position. Days were spent on the move. Nights were spent briefly eating, washing, and then sleeping through our aches, mental and physical.
On the night of the fifth day, all four parts of the army rejoined outside our destination within two hours of each other.
Most impressively, the place had changed greatly since I had left it in the hands of Valeria Marable. The Isolationists had turned it into hybrid of a ringfort and a garden. Much of the forest below it had been cleared, and two rings of earthworks surrounded the walls I had once stormed. In the huge spaces between the rings and the wall were cropfields, as well as sections for herbal flowers. The mages we had left behind, both the isolationist elders and the children in their care, seemed genuinely glad to see us.
We were all greatly cheered by the people and the place, though that in itself got us into trouble.
I set the Army pitching camp tents, while Julie, Ciara and I went to formally greet Marable. We had barely sat down inside the former Templar barracks when a runner from Soprano came with a message. Verbal fights were breaking out all over the camp, and it would not have been long until fists flew. With some measure of comfort and safety now assured and utterly fatigued from the journey, the finger-pointing had begun.
With myself utterly burned out, Julie took the lead and got things under control.
The next day at noon, allowing for plenty of sleep for all involved, we assembled in the Templar barracks. Anyone with a claim to being a leader, anyone with weight, was invited. We didn't exactly have the time or patience for an actual election, so our new Assembly would have been totally offensive to our own principles at any other time, but you go to war with the army you have.
Regimental colonels or sergeant-majors made up about half of the number invited, far from the wisest course, but there it was. Filling out the rest were merchants, dock leaders, 'elders' of the former elven quarter of Hearth, senior workers from the factories of L'Ambassade, the mage leaders... I'm pretty sure a few were even gang leaders, given that they sported similar tattoos to Soprano. I didn't ask, but they sure fit the image.
Next thing I know, I'm sitting on a rickety chair in an out-of-the-way corner with Tam as a shouting match gets rolling. No sooner than Julie had thanked Marable and the Isolationists for not abandoning us and for letting us shelter at the Wolf's Lair, the argument began.
As you can imagine, it was the soldiers who started it.
A sergeant of grenadiers stood up and moving into the middle of the floor, all six foot five inches of him, and pointed a finger at a lady in a black half-mask and matching dress. I recognised him as one of the original recruits, he had been not three paces from me when we ambushed White Mask and his pillaging chevaliers.
"Marquise, what do you intend to do about the traitors among us?" he shouted, not looking at Julie at all, "All last night, me and my men had to listen to constant talk of defeat from certain people present here. We were not defeated, we were betrayed!"
There was a chorus of shouts in support of this from the uniformed men and women behind him, the soldiers rallying together.
The merchant woman stood up, hands on her hips. "The only reason we stand here today is because you soldiers dragged us into a war we could not win!" she retorted, drawing heckles, "All I wanted to do was to choose who ruled me and how I was taxed, not start an Exalted March!"
"How did you plan to do that with a chevalier's sword or an assassin's blade in your gut!" the grenadier scoffed, "Obey or die, those were your only choices without war!"
"Starting a war in anger without preparations was idiotic," the merchant replied, "If we had kept calm, we would have everything we desired. Instead, your kind beat their chest and thought yourselves invincible."
That last sentence was thrown at me personally, sending a twist of guilt through me once more. I rubbed my eyes, just to avoid the gaze. My first instinct was to lash out, but I knew that would have been a bad idea.
"She would have let Halamshiral die and Jader go unavenged!" came a shout from the soldiers, "She would abandon Lord Cloeut to fight alone!" This lit up the entire assembly. Everyone shouted themselves hoarse at each other. Lots of pointing and incoherent babble, clenched fists and red faces.
That was enough for Julie. She stood up, stormed between the merchant and the grenadier, and pointed for them to sit. The room grew quiet in seconds, as neither did what they were told.
"By the Maker, I'm telling you both to sit down," she growled, her hand coming to rest on her handcannon, the only one left with ammunition. The grenadier gave me one glance, and seeing the undoubtedly unamused expression on my face, complied.
The merchant refused point blank to budge until Valle and another two Lucrosian mages pulled her back, complaining that she wouldn't take the man's insult sitting down.
The room remained quiet, as they waited for Julie to speak. Her anger subsiding, she looked around the room to every bench and table where people were sat, an admonishment written in her wide eyes and frown.
"We are here to discuss our future together," she pleaded, "We are not here because we were betrayed, and we are not here because we went to war stupidly. The war was necessary, the high nobles wanted us dead. The war ended because most did not want to sacrifice the lives of their spouses and children so that they could continue to fight alone."
She turned to the soldier.
"What would you have us do, sergeant?" she asked.
The man looked to McNulty of all people. The colonel-turned-general stood up from his seat and moved a little into the middle. "Place the Marquis in command," he said, "March against Halamshiral through les-Grands-Collines. Celene and Gaspard will not see us coming if we go by that way. They made a fatal mistake in thinking we were finished, and we can defeat both of them."
A decent plan, I thought. If we disregarded the hell it would undoubtedly unleash on the country. The National Guard had gone home, but they had gone home without weapons. Alone, Gaspard's chevaliers could have retaliated but perhaps been contained. In conjunction with Celene's own, we would have faced exactly the nightmare scenario that the National Assembly had voted to avoid.
Not to mention defeating the two hundred thousand soldiers, every single man-at-arms that could be mustered at short notice for action on Orlesian soil, was far from certain. Especially with only twenty thousand to face them. We couldn't beat that in a single battle either. Soon after any victory of ours, the levying and conscriptions would begin to pad out the royalist ranks. That might ultimately help our political cause, but it would result in huge bloodshed, turning the entirety of Orlesian society against itself.
Julie said none of this, and turned to the civilians present.
"Anyone want to calmly inform our soldiers why that would not work?" she asked.
The merchant that had stood up before went to speak, but was restrained by a few of her fellows, allowing Valle to do so instead. The Lucrosian moved in front of McNulty with a friendly smile.
"I do not doubt for a minute your bravery and skill in battle, no one here does," he said, "Your wages are paid by the commerce of our merchants. The materials for your weapons come from our workers and our wagon drivers. The food that keeps you and the horses marching comes from our farms."
He paused, and began walking down the line of soldiers, parallel to their benches.
"Winter will be here soon, which will make getting all of these things more difficult," he said, "If the royal chevaliers disrupt our commerce, stop delivery of war material, and burn our farms and granaries, you will find continuing to do battle very difficult."
"You could still fight, but you would not win. If we turn back on our word, the chevaliers will almost certainly do all that. We don't have the troops to secure the entire region. We never did. But in order for you to fight the huge numbers against us, we would need every last grain, every shipment of ore, every last coin. And we could not have them."
With that, he gave a small bow to the soldiers and turned back to Julie. I felt my spirits lift slightly at the picture of a gentleman before me.
"My lady, was that sufficient?" he asked.
"That was perfect, Monsieur Valle," she replied sweetly, just as pleased as I was, "You may sit."
The Lucrosian bowed to her, more deeply than before, and instead of taking his former position, he sat down with Armen on the other side of the room. I smirked at his choice of seat. He had literally crossed the aisle. A better image of our coming together could not be contrived. I began to hope that we might actually get something done that day.
I didn't count on Tiberius.
"May I speak, Marquise?" boomed the magister's voice from his own corner of the room.
A groan escaped my lips before I could stop it, catching some attention. Julie gave me a warning look. I shook my head, trying to get Julie to refuse, but she didn't see me in time.
"By all means," she said, confused about what he was going to say.
The magister stood up from his table, still dressed in a Free Army uniform. Good for him, I thought, showing up in his mage outfit would have made him look like a jester. This way at least, he'd get heard, and I could publicly reject him. He left his small gathering of battlemages and walked to join Julie. Tam leaned over to me, conspiratorially in fact.
"What does he want?" she asked, like I was in cahoots with the man or something.
"What he always wants," I said, "My finely crafted American ass married to his granddaughter."
"So what's he doing here?" she said.
"Not sure," I replied, "I can't think of anything he could offer that we would agree to."
Tam grimaced, clearly not as sure about that as I was, but straightened up on her chair and crossed her arms to listen nonetheless. The magister was in the middle of a bout of bowing of his own to all sections of the audience when I returned my attention to him. At last, he bowed to Julie, and addressed the room.
"For those who are unaware, I am Titus Tiberius Pansa," Tiberius said, "Military attaché to the Tevinter ambassador to Orlais." That got a howl of offence. Aside from the Qun, Tevinter was perhaps the very antithesis of our ideals.
"Which means he's never done a hard day's work in his life!" Armen cried, and half the room had good chuckle. That was certainly untrue, but Tiberius was by far the highest ranked noble ever to step foot on soil we controlled barring Gaspard himself. Somewhat unfair on a man that had battled the Qunari on Seheron for twenty years, but Armen didn't know too much about that.
"I fought alongside your forces at Lydes and Vindargent," he continued with a smile, "As did my battlemages."
"Everyone here did their part, magister," Leha said from the side, "Get on with it."
"It's very simple," Tiberius said, "I wish to offer you all asylum in the Imperium, under the protection of my family. Safety and freedom along with land, employment, and opportunity for you, your children, and all others afterwards."
The room went as quiet as a crypt. Tiberius' smile widened. I got a warm feeling that the man was about to get rejected before I could even speak again.
Ciara leaned forward in her chair, balancing her elbow on her thigh.
"I don't like to point out the obvious to shems," she said, "But Tevinter has slavery. Where's the freedom going to come from?"
"You are entirely correct," Tiberius said, "I understand that would be a problem for you."
"You think?" Julie said flatly.
"The Magisterium would be perfectly willing to give you and your descendants full immunity from involuntary servitude," Tiberius replied, "And as citizens of the Imperium with huge military and commercial value, you would be able to institute change in due time." What he meant was that our mages would be able to. I didn't get the chance to point that out.
"What is your price then?" Armen stated, "Our technology? Our help against the Qunari?"
"If I wanted your technology, it wouldn't be too hard to steal it," Tiberius mused aloud, "And as for the Qunari, if you saw what they did to their own kind and what they did to ours, you would want to fight them."
To my horror, a murmur of agreement did a Mexican wave around the barracks. People remember the Qunari plot in Hearth even today, albeit with a great deal of previous encouragement due to the Dragon's Breath conspiracy. It was a whole lot more fresh in people's minds then. Executions of Chantry loyalists for being duped into killing their neighbours tended to be a big deal.
"Truly, I would demand only one thing," Tiberius continued, "In return for the protection and support of my family, your glorious marshal, Sam Hunt, Marquis de la Fayette, shall marry my granddaughter, Aurelia Tiberia Valentina."
I think the sound of my palm hitting my face was loud enough even for those in the back to hear, coupled with the descent of yet another stunned silence. The marriage proposal had been secret, and I really wanted to keep it that way. Given that Tiberius had insisted on it before, I thought he was on board with that idea.
"He's already married," Julie lied.
I suddenly cursed not relaying the full details of my last conversation with the magister to her, and thought Tiberius would reveal the fact that it was a sham. Which would have been bad news for morale. That wasn't his game at all.
"Grand-Cleric Brandon," he called into the crowd, "Are you present?"
The Grand-Cleric herself stood up from the small collection of Templars tucked into the opposite corner, straightened her robes, and made her way to Julie's side. Any chance of us being interrupted by the crowd around us disappeared. Many lowered their heads in respect as Brandon passed. Knight-Commander Barris joined her quickly, one hand holding his shield, the other on his sword pommel. Brandon's eyes narrowed to slits barely capable of letting her see when Tiberius smiled and bowed to her.
"Magister, I don't know what you wish of me," she said, "But I know it cannot be good."
"I would like you to explain something to the Marquis for me," Tiberius replied, "As I am sure he is unaware."
"And what is that?" Brandon asked.
"A primary difference between our two Chantries," said Tiberius before turning to me, "You see Sam, the Imperium's chantry split off over ideological differences with the Divine in Orlais, long ago."
"I'm aware," I said, "Magic was the main gripe, as I remember it." Lana had informed me of the difference in one of our 'lessons' and I had inquired further with the Grand-Cleric, just after the Battle of Sahrnia.
"Quite right," Tiberius said, "But also the position of Andraste. Grand-Cleric, if you would explain your perspective?"
Brandon shot a last dark look at the magister, before her face softened as she looked to me.
"We believe Andraste was a divine being, the Bride of the Maker," Brandon explained, "The Imperial Chantry believes she was a mortal prophet, a human. A mage, in fact."
"An unusual one, but yes, a mage," Tiberius replied, "My family was the first of the Altus to embrace the faith of Hessarian, and if anyone knew whether or not she was mortal, it was he who drove a sword through her. Drakon was a charlatan."
This was my first hint that Andraste might have been an Outlander, by the way. Aside from the fact she kicked seven shades out of a magocratic empire.
Tiberius' condemnation of the Orlesian founder of the Chantry raised hackles in the crowd to say the least, but not to the extent of words. No one wanted to interrupt the stinging rebuke about to be delivered by the firebrand cleric the magister had just insulted.
"Magister, recall where you are lest I have Ser Barris run you through," Brandon snarled, "If your purpose was to offend our faith in some vain attempt to convince the Marquis of your Chantry's legitimacy, let me assure you that you have failed. Andraste could have only driven your kind from most of Thedas if she was a divine being, that much is certain. And drive you off she did."
"Incompetence, arrogance, and the effects of a Blight," Tiberius replied calmly, "Those were of far greater consequence, though one cannot deny Andraste was the only one who could have stood victorious."
"I fail to see how any of this is relevant to the Marquis' marital status," Brandon continued, waving Barris forwards. The Templar drew his sword and took a single step. A signal that she was done with the stalling and one I appreciated heartily. Tam even broke out in a smile, undoubtedly pleased to see the saarebas have cause to squirm. Although squirm he did not.
"The only people who can become priests of the Maker in the southern Chantry are women," Tiberius said slowly.
"Of course," Brandon replied, "Andraste was a woman, male priests are a sacrilege. Women are uniquely capable of leading the Chant, appealing to the Maker through his Bride."
My eyebrow curled upwards. I had heard that argument in reverse, and it had never really convinced me. Lucky that the Grand-Cleric was concentrating on Tiberius, or else I think I would have gotten a lecture on the subject.
"And what happens when a Tevinter and a Southerner marry?" Tiberius asked, turning to the crowd, "It happens more than you think, no small number of noble Marcher families with mage children much prefer that they live in freedom in our glorious Imperium, rather than locked up in your ghastly Circles."
There was an audible grumble from many a throat.
"Don't worry," Armen interrupted, "We Southerner mages won't be living in Circles for much longer. Just as I doubt your slaves will remain in chains forever."
"Be that as it may," Tiberius said, "If the Grand-Cleric could answer me..."
The Grand-Cleric's impatience and anger seemed to evaporate, her expression that of deep thought.
"A Revered Mother of our chantry performs the ceremony," she said slowly, "So that both Chantries recognise the marriage as legal."
"Correct, because in the south, only a woman can be an anointed voice of the Maker and your chantry doesn't even recognise that ours exists," Tiberius said, "Which means..."
"You mean to marry Sam to your granddaughter with a male priest of the Imperial Chantry," Brandon completed, as she rubbed her face with disbelief.
"Exactly!" Tiberius said with a smile, "The marriage would be completely illegal in the South. It would not exist, and it could not be polygamy if it did not exist."
"You actually found a loophole," I said in Common, not believing my ears, "Anyone ever tell you you're a son of a bitch that ought to be a lawyer?"
"If I knew what a lawyer was, maybe," Tiberius replied, not getting my meaning.
"Un avocat," I replied, returning to Orlesian.
"Ahh, I see," Tiberius said, "Interesting. I did rule as a judge after I had completed my military service for a number of years..." Which explained his constantly condescending tone to a large degree. I had thought it to be the result of him being a grandfather or a noble. From the mumbled conversations around the room, it was confirming something in the minds of the crowd.
"Hey, wait a minute," came a shout from the crowd. We turned and saw it was the sergeant of grenadiers with the big mouth. "Wouldn't it still be polygamy in Tevinter?" He soon looked like he regretted flapping his jaw. The magister took to glaring.
"You know, you really should know when to shut up," Tiberius said, losing his patience, "The Imperium's laws are my problem to deal with."
"The man has a valid point," Leha said, "Don't think even you people are allowed to have multiple wives, right?"
"No one witnessed the marriage of the Marquis and Marquise to my knowledge," Tiberius quipped, "In the South, it isn't required by law, testimony before a Revered Mother is enough."
I grimaced. If that was true, then by Chantry law, Julie and I were in fact married. A fact undoubtedly not lost on Julie herself. Her eyes looked to the ceiling. It wasn't a problem she thought would come back to bite us, I guess.
"The Imperium is more legalistic," Tiberius concluded, "We require three witnesses in addition to the Chantry official, and it must be documented. I doubt you have the document, so the marriage doesn't exist under Tevene law."
Though nobles in Orlais typically did the same thing, so they could keep their bloodlines on paper too. Hardly a problem we had to deal with, what with Julie being a commoner and me being a commoner from another world. Not that any of the real nobles would have wedded without as many people seeing it as possible either.
Not hard to tell he was descended from Romans, the great inventors of paperwork in the West. Again, read A History of Earth if you want an explanation on that one.
"Great," I said flippantly, "While this wonderful diversion into the Chantry's history and the laws of the lands has been entertaining..."
"It brings us to the real question," Tiberius said at last, playing to the crowd, "Will you marry my granddaughter to save your people?"
I remained silent, staring at him.
"I would remind you, Marquis," Tiberius said, "That you were willing to stop fighting your mortal enemies to save your people. What I ask is nothing like as difficult or dangerous."
Which was true enough. Like a coward, I couldn't outright reject him knowing that.
"It's not my choice alone to make," I said, passing the buck as best I could.
I looked to Julie for an answer, for a negative answer to be specific.
To my utter shock, her brow raised itself once. She was seriously considering it. She was asking me to seriously consider it. A lump rose in my throat. My head swivelled to Tam for some help. She seemed to hold the magister in utter contempt, I could at least count on her to sink this mad plan. She said and did nothing. She would go along with it too.
My first personal encounter with another natural conclusion of Orlesian polyamory... you love who you want, but marry who you must. Especially if you are a noble.
I began to feel the eyes of the room pile up on me.
What else could I have done but say yes?
I certainly didn't see any alternative. Neither did Julie, or else the rejection of Tiberius' proposal would have been instant. Not to mention unanimous, as she could have swung the civilians.
Instead, the next seven hours were filled with rigorous, tedious debate on whether or not we could trust Tiberius, and the details of whatever moves we were going to make. None of which involved how the hell we were going to get to Ferelden and how the hell we were going to stay safe for long enough for Tiberius' promised fleet to arrive. Tevinter was no short journey, and certainly not one to be taken easily by ocean in winter.
I couldn't even get a word in edgewise over Armen and Ciara's fervent objections to the whole plot, voicing the opinion of at least half the assembled notable folks. Particularly the elves, who didn't trust the old magister's guarantees on slavery as far as they could throw him. That sounded an awful lot like wisdom to me either way.
Those more agreeable to the idea of us becoming a state within Tevinter were more measured in their responses. Barris soon boosted their cause by answering honestly about whether or not his Fereldan countrymen would look to kill us. Always was too honest for his own good. Tiberius was very quick to jump on the hatred that Ferelden had for Orlesians, and he swayed a chunk of soldiers over to his side with that, but not enough to settle the question.
Seven hours is seven hours.
I found my eyes getting heavy after about half that time, and swung my chair around so the back would support my weight from the front. Meanwhile, Tam listened intently to every speaker beside me. I slept between the sixth and seventh hour, and woke when I almost fell off the chair. No one had seemed to notice. Everyone wanted their say.
"Any progress?" I asked Tam, still attentive to the ruckus as she had been when I had drifted off.
"None whatsoever," Tam frowned, "They can't get over slavery or the distance from Orlais."
"The distance from Orlais?" I asked, "That's a new complaint. Why does that matter?"
"The soldiers would like to come back and fight one day," she replied, "Your generals can't accept the surrender."
I sighed, nodding. "Either can I, really," I said, "We need to do something about that."
I examined the room for someone who might have ideas about that, ideas that might defuse the tension over that question, but I couldn't find her.
My jaws opened wide in a colossal yawn. "Where is Lady Briala?" I said.
"Pacing the walls with that Dalish saarebas," Tam said, "She doesn't know what to do. I don't think her protector does either."
"Tallis?" I asked.
"Locked up in a cave with the Viddasala," Tam said, "But I don't think she'd help."
"Maybe the Viddasala would?" I asked, "She's had plenty of time to think about things."
"I would give her more," Tam said.
I tilted my head, conceding to her superior knowledge of her fellow Qunari. I rested my head on the top of the chair and regarded the continued debate, not really listening but watching the faces. The enthusiasm and energy I had seen at the start and had remained just an hour previously was gone. They were getting as tired as I was, and can you blame them? Arguing for hours is very hard work, despite what some might say. They weren't the only ones either.
Lana wandered into the barracks hall, rubbing her eyes.
My little teacher was dressed in her green dress, and seemed barely upright. She completely ignored the adults shouting around her, and they ignored her. Through the argument she walked, coming up to Brandon and giving her Chantry robes a tug. The Grand-Cleric knelt down and Lana whispered in her ear. Brandon seemed amused by something, and pointed our way.
Lana came over and climbed up onto Tam's lap, laying her head on a bare shoulder, wrapping her arms around Tam's body, and yawned at least as widely as I had been. Tam beamed a bright smile at me, while I looked on, glad of the distraction.
"Tired already?" Tam joked softly, "What were you doing?"
"Exploring," Lana said, her eyes closed, "With my new friends?"
"New friends?" I asked.
"They can make their hands go on fire," Lana explained.
I recalled that we had left all the mage children behind for safekeeping, and as the children of Hearth were very used to magic by this stage, no doubt both groups got on like a house on fire. Quite literally in the case on one unfortunate storage shed, which 'mysteriously' had went up in flames that morning. The culprit was not of the age of criminal responsibility.
"You know you weren't allowed to come in here," Tam said, "Look at all these big idiots shouting."
The racket had quieted some, but not by much.
Lana lifted her head off Tam's shoulder blew a fart out of her lips, pouting. "Then don't go here," she whined, before getting comfortable again. I breathed a laugh. Yes, even in those days, Lana Duquesne did whatever the hell she wanted.
"Why did you want to see me?" Tam asked the little girl.
"I want to hear a story," Lana said, "You're always good at telling stories."
"What story?" Tam said, "A new one or..."
"The one with the queen and the goddess," Lana insisted.
Tam hummed, not sure which story that was. "The queen?" she asked.
"Dido!" Lana said, her voice raising, "She let the people into the city and they lived happily ever after!" So it was an Earth story. One I recognised well.
"If you know the story, why do you want to hear it again?" I asked.
"Tama is good at telling it," Lana replied, "Like I am there too."
Couldn't fault that line of thought. Tam was good at telling a story, when the mood took her. Apparently, it took her often when it came to the younger children she taught.
"Well, looks like you have no choice," I said to Tam.
She didn't reply. My Qunari lover was still, except for her eyes, which moved from side to side. She bit her lip, falling deep into thought.
"Tam?" I asked, "Are you alright?"
She snapped out of it, and looked at me, eyes wide. It wasn't shock or horror on her face. It was revelation. A eureka moment. I waved, trying to get her attention, to no avail.
Lana noticed my gesture, and looked up at Tam. "What is it Tama?" she asked, "Is something the matter?"
Tam's trance broke. She began kissing the girl's forehead repeatedly, as a massive grin spread over her face. Lana began giggling.
"You are genius," she said to the kid, "You know that?"
"Yes?" Lana answered.
I snorted, not sure where it was going. My mind felt sluggish from the nap, and I hadn't put two and two together yet.
"I have the solution," Tam said, "Something to hold onto. Perhaps something to put the dathras over there down too."
"And it was her idea?" I asked, pointing at the girl on her lap.
Tam nodded. "She wants to hear the story of Aeneas going to Carthage," she explained. She began hugging Lana tight, getting more tired giggles.
Finally, it clicked.
I understood what she wanted to propose. I got up off the chair suddenly, with enough force that it tipped over. Why the hell I myself did not think of it was a complete mystery. I slapped myself upside the head. Of course that was the answer. The Pilgrims did it, and so did every other persecuted or ignored group from across my world. My homeland was founded on such stories as much as tales of resistance to tyranny.
"Tell them!" I said, "Now."
Tam picked up Lana and put her in the chair. Going as unnoticed as Lana had been, she paced to behind Julie and Leha's seats. As soon as I saw that she was in the midst of explaining the idea, I went and dropped myself down in between Armen and Ciara. They both looked like they needed cheering up, given that Tiberius was inching ever closer to getting agreement. Lana followed, and sat at my feet, laying her head on my leg.
"Hold on to your asses," I said in a low voice, "Tam has an idea."
"Will it stop us from going to Tevinter?" Armen asked, unamused.
"Most certainly," I replied.
"Good," Ciara said, "Because I was five minutes from killing the magister myself."
Julie's face beamed as Tam's words flowed into her ear, her eyes bright with hope for the first time since the surrender. I knew she was going to like the plan, but it was most interesting to Leha's frustration and anger disappear in favour of a deep, thoughtful expression.
With all my companions on board, and with the loyalty of my generals and officers assured, the plan was a lock. All that needed to be done was speak it.
Julie rose from her seat.
The gruff docker from Jader that had been talking about why not to trust Vinters, right to Tiberius' smirking face, ceased speaking. "My lady," he said, moving aside.
"We have a solution," Julie said, "One that should satisfy everyone."
"And what is that?" Tiberius asked, his smirk disappearing.
Julie returned to her seat, leaving the magister alone with Tam in the aisle. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable there too.
"We need to control our own destiny," Tam said, ignoring Tiberius entirely, "I have seen the Tevinter Imperium, how they behave to those they believe lesser than they are. It is no place to live. If you value freedom over slavery, if you believe that everyone should have an equal chance at life, we cannot go there."
"So says the Qunari," Tiberius replied coldly.
"The Qun is no better, it is true," Tam said, not losing her cool, "In truth, it is worse. But that is not a reason to go rushing north."
"What other option do you have?" Tiberius asked, "Ferelden will not accept you, and only Holy Tevinter would not kill you all for accepting mages and elves."
He was entirely correct there, and it made me sick to my stomach that it was the case.
"Simple," Tam replied, "We shall found our own realm. A city, unlike any other. A free city. The free city."
The representatives began speaking among themselves in quiet tones, more thinking aloud than engaging in conversation. It was a radical idea, one that no one had considered. Even Tiberius seemed taken aback by its ambition.
"You did something unique here," Tam continued, "Under Sam and Julie, you destroyed thousands of years of tradition and made yourselves into a new people. Why should you beg to Fereldans or magisters?!"
The soldiers got up on their feet and applauded. Through Julie's politics and my military training, we had turned them from serfs into citizen-soldiers. The idea of pleading to King Alistair or Archon Radonis was not only offensive to them, it was repulsive. Conversations I had during the following weeks gave me a strong impression that those who had intended to take Tiberius' offer would have tried to start a massive slave rebellion.
"The Mistress speaks right!" Mike shouted, living up to her nickname, "Before Free Orlais, I was nothing! I will not be nothing again!"
The soldiers roared, joined now by most of the civilians. McNulty and his grenadiers began stomping their feet in unison.
Julie rose once more. "It is our destiny," she declared, "Perhaps the Maker intended this from the beginning. The old realms are corrupt. A new one is required."
I felt my chest swell with pride, with purpose once more. A new nation upon the world. We would have to survive Ferelden, it was true, but now we would have a reason to want to survive. Better still, we would not have to manoeuvre and negotiate the intricacies of a country as ancient as Orlais. The Great Game was over. We weren't playing any longer.
Tiberius was utterly flabbergasted, throwing up his arms and shaking his head.
"Realms require land, do they not?" he said loudly, over the drumbeat of grenadier-boot, "Shall you take it from Ferelden?"
It was a good question, and not one I had an answer to. But Tam had already thought of it. She held her hand up for some quiet, and received it readily.
"The magister speaks correctly, we need land," Tam said, "We could take it from Ferelden, but we would be at war with them from now until the end of time. They have a strength that is not to be underestimated."
That got a nod from Barris, a man no doubt glad to hear we weren't going to dismember his nation of birth.
"There are less difficult paths," Tam continued, "The Free Marches are divided, and Rivain is weak. We do not need an empire, only a city. There are many places we can settle in either, I saw much good land on my journey to Orlais."
In fact, outside of their cities' walls, most 'realms' of the Free Marches weren't really controlled at all. Starkhaven being the singular exemption from that rule. Rivain was even worse, having no coherent government to speak of. This was well known to even the poorest Orlesian; the Emperors had pointed to the barely contained chaos of the Marchers for centuries as proof of the superiority of their own rule.
A new town of tens of thousands would not bother them. Not until it was too late for them to do anything about it.
Tiberius looked to me with a sly smile. Tam had just played into his hands, as it turned out.
"The Free Marches and Rivain are across the sea," he said, "There are too many obstacles to march there, and not enough time until your agreement with the Grand-Duke expires. If you wish to do this, you must still go to Ferelden and sail from there. I have ships, and I can hire many more. My offer of help stands. I will take you to the Free Marches, every soul, at my own expense. Tevinter will consider you allies."
The magister turned to me.
"The price remains the same," he said, "Aurelia for your new nation's birth."
One promised birth for another.
I threaded both my hands behind my head. I would need to talk to Julie and Tam about the marriage in a more private setting, but it seemed so distant. Too distant to worry about. What we needed right there and then was the purpose that Tam had laid out. Not everyone in our army of rebels would agree to it, of course, but most required the direction and drive it would give them.
I rose up and approached Tiberius. I held out my hand for him, and he took it.
"We accept," I said, as I shook magister's hand.
Thus began our Aeneid.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: And we're back after a month!
I think it's fair to say that the last chapter was the most controversial thus far. Long, long foreshadowed, yet it caught many off balance. Very pleasing for me, because I do enjoy answering reader reviews.
This chapter has been in my head since day one of writing, before Tiberius was even fully formed as an idea. The state of Ferelden more generally after the events of the Fifth Blight has been asked about before, this answers many of those questions. I've had to drawn conclusions on certain things, like marriage laws, from the base canon.
The Outlanders poll results were very interesting. Lots of love for the First Outlander, the centurion. A lot less for Keijiro, though that'll change once Aurelia enters the scene, I suspect. Most pleasing however is that the two guys who haven't had any mention in the main story got a good amount of votes.
It was perhaps stupid to put the First Outlander on the poll, so a new one is going up with a new option for whose story will be published after his.
Also, we've passed 350 followers and are approaching 300 favourites on this story. Which makes me pretty damn proud, particularly as this is quite a niche story, I think.
Thanks for reading!
FluffySnake: Fereldans hate Orlesians. Gaspard isn't giving them gunpowder, he's sending a group they hate to stir some shit. Needless to say, shit will be stirred.
Katkiller-V: I hadn't actually decided the exact arrangements of Ferelden until I wrote this chapter, except that Alistair and Anora ruled jointly and the Circle was granted independence. The rest I had to figure out from the personality of the Hero of Ferelden that I've constructed. Dragon Age has three personality types, Noblebright, Grimdark and Snark-Cynic.
Amell is the Grimdark player character for this story, so I thought of him going about, sleeping with Morrigan a lot and screwing with people he hates, being generally ruthless and yet smart enough to keep on the good side of most of his companions. For the record, Hawke will be the Snark-Cynic and the Inquisitor will be Noblebright, with similar twists to Amell not being outright evil.
The old rules are indeed a bitch.
Mireczek: We had a great conversation about this by PM, but I'll summarise my points here for others.
Gaspard absolutely would kill his own peasants to preserve the Empire, both his chances of ruling it and the system of government that it exists under. Particularly when most of them are elves.
The prisoners weren't brought on the march with him, they can't be rescued. Orlais is more than capable of feeding them, and doesn't exactly have to feed them all that well either. In fact, Orlais can feed huge numbers of people in general, as long as it is on their own soil. Hence the huge numbers brought against the Free Army, and how the prisoners can be kept as leverage.
5 Coloured Walker: This story will continue, there won't be other published stories except for side projects like the story of the other Outlanders.
Politics mostly dictated Orlesian tactics against the Free Army up until Vindargent. It wasn't enough to simply burn the farms, the rebels had to be crushed. Eventually, that got far too costly.
Jarjaxle: Just because Gaspard now has the formula for gunpowder doesn't mean he'll be constructing cannon and firelances any time soon. Pretty much all the experts at building them are being exiled, but that's part of the point. If they're in Orlais, Celene can backchannel her way into stealing their expertise. He gets to keep the formula to himself, and there are more simple applications of the tech that are almost as devastating.
Julie's pamphlet has spread there, yes. They'll know who she is, and who Sam is. Whether or not makes a difference, you'll have to see.
OnkelJo: I'm looking forward to the chapters in Ferelden itself.
ImperatorRex: You may kill the revolutionary, but never the revolution.
Ioialoha: Merci
Suna Chunin: That's a pretty accurate reaction to have.
Transcendant: Gaspard had tens of thousands of troops, and as many as one hundred thousand total over the course of the campaign. Not all of them were peasant levies, there were the professional household guard of his many chevaliers too. Aside from that, the crossbow and longbow are still viable weapons. Sam only have seven thousand firelancers, and his supply of blackpowder and ammunition is not unlimited.
Even so, Sam's forces showed their superiority in every confrontation, but it simply wasn't enough. Gaspard had numbers, Duval used them to avoid battle and push the Free Army back to Hearth, and they both saw an opportunity to exploit the political leadership of the rebellion to end the conflict. Sure, Sam could have broken out of the siege, but he couldn't have done it fast enough to stop thousands upon thousands being murdered, raped and robbed. Even if he could have, the guys voting on it wouldn't have taken the chance. It was their families and homes they were gambling on, after all. They were willing to play when it seemed like Sam was winning, or when Gaspard seemed to be acting in a civilised manner, but all bets were off when the brutality starts and there's no army between their families and the scythe of destruction.
Okiro Benihime: I hope this chapter gives you plenty of reason to keep reading!
Paxuss: It wasn't a stalemate, it was a defeat by political means. America won almost every battle in Vietnam, but lost the will to fight. The same thing happened here, albeit in a different manner.
Bruto22: Hope this gives you reason to keep going as well.
OBSERVER01: He has indeed learned his lesson.
Dac13: That is very high praise indeed.
As for the Hero of Ferelden, yeah, they'll make a brief appearance. In a way I don't think people are going to expect, but that's a long way off. And yes, Morrigan will meet Leha.
Thepkrmgc: Thank you very much for reviewing every chapter! I'm glad you took the time to do that, and for your appreciation of the story.