Summary: Marquise Briala's business is done but the Game's not finished with her yet, as it turns out actions have consequences. Fortunately, it seems she has an ally in another of Skyhold's elves, one with status in her own right. Meanwhile Cicero's got to Montsimmard, but no one could be prepared for the reunion of the two Ciceros... including both Di Rosso men.
A/N: THE CICEROS MEET! Gods, there's two of them. The world is not ready. Also there's a new ship sailing (not anyone in the Di Rosso Murder Clan). Enjoy!
Marquise Briala had settled into her quarters and rested, feeling pleased to have the mask off and the weight off her feet and tea being brought for her, even if the elven servants were staring at her a bit too much. Still, Briala both thanked and tipped them. Even if the Inquisition was rather more generous than most employers pay-wise, it was still prudent to keep the servants on side.
And then after an hour or so resting, it was time to go for a wander. Was this allowed? Last time had been an official visit with diplomatic meetings and her entire schedule planned. This time was an unplanned visit with no official duties now she'd met with Elisif and therefore a lot of time to herself.
She didn't know if she had freedom of the castle or not, but then she remembered she was the ruler of Orlais in all but name now, and a guest in Skyhold. She could certainly have a look around if she wished. Two guards falling into step behind her, the less ornate version of her new Marquise mask on for once, and Briala ventured into the Great Hall.
"My dear Marquise. How are you finding Skyhold? I regret we never got a chance to speak at the Winter Palace."
There had been a reason for that. But you didn't just snub a powerful mage like Vivienne De Fer, not lightly.
"Enchanter Vivienne. Your reputation precedes you, of course," Briala purred, slipping into the dance of the Game. "My condolences on your recent loss. Duc Bastien's passing has left us all the poorer."
Particularly you, Vivienne. Don't tell me being on good terms with his relatives is as good as sharing a pillow with the leader of the Council.
A shadow over Vivienne's face, and Briala recalled perhaps she really had loved her duke. Well, hadn't she loved Celene once. And none of these masked vultures had ever offered her any sympathy over that.
Game face, Briala. The mask is all.
"His loss is a heavy one, but he is with the Maker now," Vivienne said, shielding her emotions as soon as they'd arisen. "We who are left will go on. I have responsibilities to occupy myself with in the meantime. Montsimmard Circle still requires its First Enchanter, after all."
Vivienne's eyes narrowed as she produced a letter with a Circle seal on it, the real purpose of this conversation coming to the fore.
"Perhaps you would be so good as to inform me why you felt it necessary to turn up unannounced there? I realise you of course play a key role in the mundane affairs of Orlais, but you must know that Circles are governed by Chantry law? Your remit doesn't extend there. Surely you are aware that requests for magical aid are normally made in writing to the First Enchanter, or one of the Senior Enchanters in my absence? I would also like to know just why a rebel mage and a defrocked Templar are harassing one of my most skilled Formari craftsmen. I promised aid to the Inquisition, as did you, and I cannot afford to fail in my duty to them because one of my Formari has been compromised. Master LaRose is an old man, Marquise. I don't see how he's of any interest to you beyond his alchemy skills, and we'd be more than happy to fulfil any alchemical requirements you have if an order is placed via the proper channels."
Briala should perhaps have seen this coming. Now, did she play her hand? Tell Vivienne the Inquisitor knew about this? Pull rank?
She didn't have a lot of rank to pull on this one – Circles were indeed subject to Chantry law not mundane law, and Vivienne was the authority in that Circle.
It was a surprise then to hear another elven voice speak from behind her, with an Orlesian accent and an authority that matched Vivienne's.
"With no Divine to enforce it, Chantry law's all but worthless and you know it, Vivienne. You could send orders to the Templars there to expel them… but you know full well the Inquisition could have forces there within days if not hours to take over, and no one would stop them or even question them."
Grand Enchanter Fiona emerged from the stairway entrance, letting the door close behind her, and Briala felt her heart skip. An older elf, to be sure… but not an unattractive one, and she had all the composure of Celene without the lack of self-awareness privilege gifted you with. Fiona had lived in an alienage. Been a servant. Been a Circle mage. Been a Warden. Lived, not to put too fine a point on it. Suffered. Survived, and gone on to lead a rebellion that had shaken the world and successfully defied the Chantry.
Briala could wish to do as much for elves as Fiona already had for mages, and mentally thanked Auriel for the mask, because she must be blushing.
Vivienne turned the coldest of stares on Fiona, who barely even reacted. Briala imagined being the Herald of Andraste's mother-in-law had that effect.
"Be that as it may, it is still my Circle and I would expect the Inquisitor to respect that. Now, the Marquise was explaining the Imperial Court's interest in an elderly Tranquil?"
Something about Fiona being there as backup helped reassure Briala, and Vivienne's own words reminded her she led the Imperial Court now, didn't she, and the Orlesian empire didn't have to explain itself to anyone. Save the Divine they didn't have, and the Inquisitor who was already involved.
"Perhaps that's classified," Briala said smoothly. "If I were to reveal all, I'd have to reveal several state secrets, and a few of the Chantry's, known only to the Divine and her inner circle. What did they tell you? That he was an apostate mage, found late in life, made Tranquil because his magic couldn't be controlled?"
Vivienne was narrowing her eyes, but the silence said yes, that was exactly what she'd been told.
"Divine Justinia told me in her letter that the mage rebellion had seen little use for an old man, and that she felt he'd be safest with us," Vivienne said tersely. "You'll forgive me if I wish to enforce that request?"
"Divine Justinia is dead, Enchanter," Briala said, folding her arms and standing firm, drawing strength from Fiona looking on and appearing to very much approve. "And the Chantry is still very much debating her successor. Without Her Holiness here to express an opinion, Monsieur LaRose's protection should perhaps be dictated by need, not by slavish adherence to her last words. If I have knowledge you don't and see a need for protection that perhaps you aren't even aware of, should I not take steps to provide it? I apologise if the presence of supporters of the rebellion is upsetting Loyalists, but I needed people with no agendas, whose loyalties were known and who were known to both have principles and be willing to defend both them and an old man in need."
"The Templars already there were quite capable of doing that!" Vivienne finally snapped. "If you're aware of a Venatori threat to my Circle, I'd appreciate it if you shared that knowledge! Otherwise, the most he's in danger from is an exploding still! Marquise, do I need to involve the Herald in this?"
Vivienne was probably expecting the immediate caving that threat usually invoked. No doubt most people she used that on gave her what she wanted immediately. Perhaps Briala might have done once.
It was really too bad that Briala was at least as skilled at the Game as Vivienne was… and immune to that particular threat, at least where this was concerned.
"Oh, she's already aware," Briala said smoothly. "I explained the situation to her and she understood the need immediately. I can't tell you the details, Enchanter, but suffice it to say I'd be very surprised if Inquisition soldiers didn't arrive within a fortnight to bring him to Skyhold. His Circle days are numbered, I'm afraid."
Vivienne's expression was a picture and Briala would treasure this forever. She was absolutely certain Fiona would too, and for some reason Briala was not remotely ready to admit to herself yet, the Grand Enchanter's approval mattered to her.
"Oh, it's true, Vivienne," Fiona purred from behind her. "I have just had a very enlightening conversation with my son on the subject. It'll be common knowledge eventually, I'm sure, but some of those involved wish privacy on this matter. I'm sorry, but that's all I'm at liberty to say."
Vivienne wasn't saying a word, only just managing to conceal the shock of her go-to threat not working, not to mention the slow realisation that she might not be as key a member of Inquisition personnel as she thought.
"I see," was all Vivienne said in response. "In that case, I will take this up with the Herald herself. Good day, Marquise."
She barely even acknowledged Fiona. Fortunately, Fiona didn't seem to care, just smiling rather triumphantly as she approached Briala.
"Well handled, Marquise," Fiona said, amused. "Don't worry about having caused trouble. Elisif is more than capable of handling Vivienne. My son told me all. He was mostly worried he'd lost himself a dear friend. I told him she just needed time to come to terms with it all. So. Madame la Marquise. Welcome back to Skyhold. We never got the chance to really talk properly last time you visited."
Because their last meeting had been a formal introduction with Josephine supervising it, mages and elves everywhere, Orlesian soldiers who'd no doubt tell Gaspard everything that transpired, and Briala hadn't been able to be as direct as she liked. Still, they'd established common ground as elven rebellion leaders, established that elves among the Ambassadors with Circle connections and elven mages among the rebels all spoke highly of Fiona and Briala both… and without going into detail, they'd both agreed that relationships with human nobles were only ever going to disappoint you.
Briala had desperately wanted to get Fiona alone and bombard her with more questions ever since.
"No, we didn't," Briala said, moving closer, pulse racing as she realised she finally had her chance.
"But things seem to have calmed down for at least the next five minutes and my formal business here is largely at an end, so perhaps we might have that conversation after all. I met your son briefly at the Winter Palace, after all the… excitement. He seems like a good man. Very charming and polite. I know you didn't raise him but… you have much to be proud of, regardless."
Fiona inclined her head, her turn to look a little embarrassed.
"My thanks, Marquise. I can't claim responsibility for how he turned out… but I am happy for him, and very proud. I only hope this latest situation isn't getting to him too much. None of it is his fault, but he cares very deeply about his loved ones and he worries. Still, I believe he will be well, and he's with his wife. She will look after him, which leaves me free to talk to you. You know, you continue to impress me, Madame. I initially thought we might have little in common but our ears… but it appears you have managed to slight Enchanter Vivienne within five minutes of meeting her, which means you and I now have that in common too."
Briala couldn't help but find that funny, and hearing that she was impressing Fiona just made it even better.
"My sources tell me Vivienne claims that far from resolving matters, your horrendously ill-timed vote only served to split the Circle in two," Briala admitted. "I won't repeat what she said about your mental state."
"Oh, I can make a guess," Fiona said, shrugging. "It doesn't bother me. Yes, technically the Circle is split in two, but not two equal halves. Eight out of ten mages followed me. Did your sources also tell you about the part where she claimed the whole thing was down to an inability of mages to take anyone's perspective but their own? That living in a world composed solely of mages and Templars made them forget the common people of Thedas? Perhaps if she spent a little less time enjoying herself at the Winter Palace and her duke's gilded estate, and a little more time listening to her fellow mages, she might have realised the whole point of the rebellion was that we wanted to actually live in that outside world. Did she forget I grew up in an alienage and later served as a Warden? The free mages all flocked to me precisely because I'd lived a life outside a Circle tower."
Fiona looked up, smile on her face and knowing glance at Briala.
"Is that partly why the elves desiring freedom flocked to you too, Marquise? Because you'd had a taste of it?"
"They would have flocked to any making the same promises," Briala said, wishing her own life was half as heroic. "But I had the skills to back them up. You're leading trained mages, I had to organise kitchen staff and stablehands. But they were quick to learn."
Fiona glanced at Briala's guards, who looked more like Dalish hunters in elegant armour than former servants anywhere.
"I can see that, Madame. You've done well."
"Oh, call me Briala," Briala said, finding it far too stiflingly warm in here and suddenly wanting formality over with and this damn mask off her face. "Now, I could ask the Ambassador this, but she'd organise some formal dinner or tea party where we all have to sit round a table sipping our drinks and making polite conversation, and I don't think I can bear any more meetings today. Where does an elf go to get a drink around here? Ideally with no humans around."
Fiona had raised her eyebrows, then nodded, smile on her face as she glanced over Briala's shoulder to where Varric Tethras was battling paperwork.
"You're in luck. Varric organises regular get-togethers for the elves, dwarves and Qunari of Skyhold. I wasn't sure about going at first, but half the elven mages were already there, and then Cicero of all people persuaded me. He's a regular attendee. No, he's not remotely elf-blooded or anything else as far as we know, but he livens things up, has a marvellous ability to acquire the most interesting varieties of alcohol, and no one wants to be the one to tell him to leave. But if he needs a volunteer for a knife-throwing display, say no. No one's died yet but, well..."
Having had the unforgettable experience of partying with Cicero at the Winter Palace, Briala found it hard to say no to that.
"And Varric just happens to have organised one for tonight?"
"No, but I'm sure he'll be happy to pull something together for a distinguished guest such as yourself," Fiona told her. "What do you say? Want to take part in an impromptu Otherkin Night?"
She could honestly say she'd never been to one of those before. Holding out an arm for Fiona to take, Briala smiled and indicated for her to lead the way. Playing the humans' Game was all very well… but the real fun and games clearly lay elsewhere.
The morning after, and with Briala having officially signed off the trial by combat, everyone was preparing to leave for the Western Approach to get this over with. Marquise Briala herself seemed to be sleeping in after what had been by all accounts quite the get-together even by Otherkin Nights standards, but she'd left instructions regarding sending observers along for the Orlesian Army to arrange, so she wasn't really needed in person. Mornay had been released, been accepted into the Inquisition on probation and was being assigned to guarding the old elven temple in the Forbidden Oasis.
Elisif was busy overseeing travelling arrangements, which were being complicated by Maia wailing and clinging and refusing to be left behind. The bargain had eventually been Maia could go but wasn't going to be allowed to leave the keep on her own, and needed to behave, also she needed to wear sun salve and a hat.
Alistair had left them to it and gone in search of Leliana. He couldn't just disappear out of Skyhold and leave things as they were.
She was back at her post, reviewing documents and seeming utterly unbothered by yesterday's revelations.
"Um," Alistair said, coughing to get her attention. "Leliana? I'm off to Griffon Wing Keep for the trial in a bit. Going to be out there for a few days, I think. Are you… I mean, you're probably fine, what was I thinking, but… I'm sorry. For yesterday. I keep forgetting you're you and not me and your childhood was happier than mine, and maybe things that mean the world to me might not be as big a deal for you and… well. We're still friends, right?"
Leliana hadn't looked at him throughout and Alistair began to wonder if the answer to that question wasn't even no but more like 'we were never friends'… but then she did glance up and smiled.
"We're still friends. Honestly, I should have known I'd have to deal with this eventually. They tell me Cicero left yesterday afternoon. Such a pity. They also tell me he missed an amazing Otherkin party. Marquise Briala was doing shots and losing at cards and… well. Your mother was there. She can tell you more. But as for me… I am better this morning. It was a shock but… Cicero has always been a friend to me. Knowing he is kin is… well, it is a connection I can make good use of, shall we say that?"
Alistair tried to smile at that, but what sort of sociopath saw even her own kin as a resource to be used?
"He cares about you, Leli," Alistair said softly. "He said to Madanach that he'd take care of your father for you. I know he's a crazy little weirdo but he does have feelings. You've got some for him too, right?"
"Of course I have!" Leliana protested, surprised. "I just also appreciate the usefulness in having him around. And… I spoke with Eola earlier. She gave me a hug. Said if I needed anything to just say the word, and that the kids were going to want to meet me at some point. Andraste, they have children. I never thought… that will take some getting used to. Do they even speak any Thedosian language? Maker, they do not. And I know very little Tamrielic. Alistair, I think they're going to want me to at least visit their homeland."
Alistair started to relax, at least a little.
"I know. Scary, isn't it? I'm moving there though! You can visit and we'll be clueless tourists mangling the language together."
That did make Leliana laugh.
"Perhaps! That bit, I am looking forward to. But… Cicero will be bringing my father here, Eola says. They will be trying out the Tranquil cure. I don't… Alistair, having spoken to Eola, I don't begrudge Cicero some happiness. He is older than me. He remembers the uncle who spoiled him rotten as a boy, stood in as a father figure and influenced many of his career choices. I can't let my own feelings deny a dear friend that. But… this is hard for me. I cannot afford an emotional weakness like this. Safer for him as an anonymous Tranquil. And I was angry enough at the Chantry for a time! He will likely be furious once healed. And he is a follower of the Eight, and I an Andrastian who is a candidate for Divine. I cannot be anything but an Orlesian Andrastian, Alistair. We may share blood but I fear that is all. Cicero is his true family, a son of Cyrodiil like him. What am I but a piece of his cover story. No, it is best if I do not get involved. Let him go back to Tamriel with his nephew."
Weariness and sadness in her eyes and Alistair felt his heart go out to her. He wanted to cry out and tell her that wouldn't matter, he'd take one look and love his little girl and be proud of her. He was a former agent himself, he'd be proud of her career choice, and even if angry at the Chantry, Alistair was fairly certain he'd more than cope if his little girl ended up running it. From what he'd heard from Eola, Cicero's memories of the man were of someone who doted on and loved his little nephew. How much more his own child? But he resisted. She wasn't ready to hear it. Let her think this, if this was what she needed. Instead, Alistair moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms round her in a hug.
"Alistair!" Leliana gasped. "Do you mind!"
Alistair let her go.
"You might be wrong about him," Alistair said softly. "I mean, I know not all parents are any good at it. Look at my dad. Everyone says he was this great king who freed Ferelden, but he just abandoned me. Never even visited. Hero, my arse. I only ever spoke to him once in my life and that was in the Fade. Maybe he felt something but he was a bloody useless parent, and he could have been a damn sight better. At least Mum didn't really have a choice in leaving me, and she is making up for it now. Yours didn't have a choice either, but he might make up for it. But, if he turns out to be more like mine… well, regardless, I'm still here for you, mate."
Leliana nodded, face softening a little, the spymaster mask slipping just a little.
"Thank you, my friend. I suppose I will see. If, after the cure, he asks for me… I may talk to him. If not, I will know where I stand. Thank you. In return… you should really check on your mother. She had quite the night last night."
Quite possibly, and she was supposed to be assisting with the trial. Best to go have a look for her. Thanking Leliana, he went to track her down.
First sign of a problem was the two guards outside his mother's quarters. Elven guards. Hungover and knackered elven guards, but guards nonetheless, in fine green and silver armour, and masks that owed more to Dalish imagery than Orlesian.
"Er… is my mum – um, is Grand Enchanter Fiona around?" Alistair asked, acutely aware of feeling overlarge and ungainly next to the two elves.
Wordlessly, one of the elves knocked and when Fiona could be heard asking who it was, the elf replied it was her son asking for her.
Scuffling, and eventually the door opened with Fiona in a wraparound robe, looking a little the worse for wear and blinking in the light.
"Son? Is everything – Maker. The trial, we leave today, don't we?"
"Yes," Alistair said, eyeing the guards. "Yes, but don't worry, it's not for a few hours, Maia's coming as far as the keep, it'll delay the packing now they've got to sort her stuff out as well. Er, why have you got two of Briala's guards on your door..."
Alistair's voice trailed off as he glanced over her shoulder and saw that the bed wasn't empty, and huddled under the blankets was a sleeping elven woman… with an ornate mask hanging off the bedpost.
Fiona couldn't help but notice his gaze and straightened up, staring back at him, unashamed.
"Don't judge me, Alistair. I am entitled to have company now and then."
"I know, but… Marquise Bria- do you know what you're doing?"
Alistair lowered his voice, glancing around in case anyone had seen then realising the guards on the door rather gave it away to anyone with eyes. Fucking hell, Leliana had to have known.
"She certainly seemed to think so," Fiona said, amused, and Alistair felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. No. No. Not ready for this. Definitely not. Not ready for his mother having a sex life, or a love life, and definitely not a step-parent.
"What happened?" Alistair whispered, and Fiona looked thoughtful.
"Well, the drink was flowing and so was the conversation, and then the Marquise's luck turned bad in Wicked Grace, and next thing I knew, I'd won her mask off her. We ended up back here after I suggested a few ways she could earn it back."
"Maker's breath," Alistair whispered, wanting to know no more of this. "Is this, er, likely to be happening again?"
Fiona did seem to be pondering this one, looking very thoughtful indeed.
"Maybe. It is a very expensive mask, after all."
Alistair really couldn't handle any more of this.
"She's in charge of Orlais! Bloody hell, Mum. First the King of Ferelden, now the power behind the throne in Orlais. Is your type rulers of nations or something?"
A raised eyebrow, and Alistair realised perhaps he'd overstepped the mark just a bit.
"You are hardly one to judge me for that, husband of the future Empress of Tamriel and the King of the Reach," Fiona said calmly. "Listen, I need to get dressed and then see my guest on her way. You will manage without me for a few hours? I promise I will be there for the trial with you."
"I'll manage," Alistair said, guessing he was forgiven. "And… I suppose if you one day set up your College of Enchanters, being the ruler of Orlais's lady friend might be handy? Gods, listen to me, I'm starting to sound like Leliana. Look, it's fine, just… take care, OK? Orlesians are ruthless sometimes."
"I'll keep that in mind, cheri," Fiona said dryly, accent serving to remind Alistair that his mother probably understood Orlais far, far better than he did. "But you might be right about the human nobles. I'll speak with Leliana. I'm not too worried about someone sending assassins after me, but you never know."
Leliana would likely be only too keen to hear the gossip confirmed from Fiona herself, so Alistair agreed and took his leave. Mara's mercy, his mother and Marquise Briala. He'd wondered if she'd ever start seeing someone, and secretly hoped she might one day. He'd just not expected that day to happen quite so fast.
First stop, by the alchemy labs and grab the latest requisition orders for Montsimmard. Next, swipe Agent Jim's spare uniform. Then gear up and provision up, and on Arvak, riding for Montsimmard.
Arvak didn't need sleep and nor did Cicero. Beast blood was useful for much, even if no one in the land could stomach the sight of glory before them. Certainly not in Orlais anyway.
But the demon horse could outride most things and Cicero didn't stop. He rode all the remaining afternoon, and through the night, hitting the Imperial Highway just after sunset. It was very smooth going after that, and it was midmorning by the time he reached Montsimmard.
Few others could have managed that, and Cicero knew his muscles were going to give him hell for this later, but what choice did he have? He couldn't just leave his poor uncle all alone.
Arvak he left just out of sight of the tower, and dressed in standard issue Inquisition gear, he made his way to the Circle tower. And a very fancy one it was too, all gleaming marble and gilt furnishings, velvet drapes and leather furnishings. And those tacky lions everywhere.
Cicero presented the Inquisition paperwork for the attention of the Enchanter, excused himself to make use of their facilities before heading on his way… and then slipped into the shadows, exploring carefully, following the smell of alchemical substances to the labs. Eavesdropping on two Tranquil mentioning Master LaRose's office put him in the right direction soon enough.
Of course, how to get rid of the Templar on duty at the door. That must be Evangeline. Which meant a discreet stabbing was out of the question.
Charm and seduction also likely wouldn't work, and she wasn't just going to let some random Inquisition agent walk in either. The thought of just telling her the truth never crossed Cicero's mind for a second.
"Nine years old, waiting for a present that never came, lost, lonely, family torn apart… maybe I can put it back together?"
How in Sithis' name had Cole got here.
"Spirit boy," Cicero murmured, turning to glare at him. "What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be in the Western Approach?"
"This is more important," Cole said, lowering his eyes, hat concealing his face. "You want to see him. He… isn't real any more. But you know that. You want answers instead. Are you offering him mercy?"
"No!" Cicero hissed. "Cicero is rescuing his uncle. Or… at least making sure he's all right. No stabbing! Not Uncle anyway. Cicero does what he must with the others. Only Cicero supposes Evangeline is your friend?"
"Yes! And Rhys. They used to be. Don't hurt them!"
"Is someone there?" Evangeline approaching and Cicero knew his time was short.
"Spirit Boy, if you have any..." Cole had disappeared. Cicero sighed, deciding things were probably better that way, and retreated into the shadows, preparing to rethink things.
And then Cole appeared in the corridor, in full view of Evangeline.
"Evangeline," Cole gasped. "Evangeline, you shouldn't be here."
And then he faded into invisibility, but Cicero could smell him, retreating in the other direction.
"What the- RHYS! RHYS, GET OUT HERE!"
The door opened and a bearded mage ran out, rushing to Evangeline's side.
"Cole was here," Evangeline gasped. "Why would Cole be here, now, of all places? Rhys, you have to find him, you're the only one who doesn't forget him."
Rhys nodded and ran off after Cole, Evangeline staring after him… and the office door was left unguarded. Cicero didn't need telling twice. He made for the door, left open by Rhys, and slipped inside.
The smell of alchemical reagents nearly made him gag, but Cicero controlled himself. Books, apparatus, supplies, notes – it looked for all the world like any other alchemical lab. Apart from the workbench in the middle where an old man was working – or had been. Brown eyes just like Cicero's stared back at him from a light-brown face like Cicero's beloved mama had had once.
Cicero's hood had fallen back, red hair on show. Red hair just like his mama's. The elderly Tranquil hadn't taken his eyes off him.
"Take cover," the Tranquil said softly in Tamrielic.
Cicero didn't know what might be about to explode, boil over or start shrieking, and he didn't want to find out. Slipping behind a filing cabinet, Cicero concealed himself in a corner. Not a moment too soon. Evangeline had returned.
"Master LaRose. Is everything all right in here?"
"Of course, of course!" Master LaRose said, blinking rapidly and doing a creditable job of sounding surprised. Every emotion was fake, had to be… but he could still fake them. Cicero felt rather proud. "All is well here. Everything under control. No explosions, boiling over, incidents or anything else. Knight-Captain does not need to worry."
"But there's been no intruders. No assassins," Evangeline pressed. "And… was there a boy here? Looks about sixteen, pale, blonde, wide-brimmed hat and talks in riddles."
Blinking from LaRose.
"No, Knight-Captain. I have seen no one like that."
Back to the more Tranquil monotone.
"They tell me Tranquil can't lie, but whenever I talk to you, I have to wonder," Evangeline said softly. "Ugh, never mind. If anyone breaks in here, get me at once. Especially if you see that boy. I don't think he's dangerous but for him to turn up now, after disappearing for years… can't be a coincidence."
LaRose said nothing, just staring at her, arms folded on his desk.
"Is there anything else, Knight-Captain?" LaRose asked.
"No," Evangeline sighed. "Just… Rhys and I are here for your protection, you know? You can trust us!"
"Many Templars have said the same," LaRose said, voice still in that emotionless monotone. "It has not stopped those self-same warriors for Andraste killing and making Tranquil in their god's name. When I have decided I can trust you, I will inform you both."
"I… I see," Evangeline said, and even a woman who'd had long experience of Tranquil couldn't be happy on hearing that. Still, there was little she could do about it. "In that case, I will leave you be. I'll be outside if you need anything."
"Thank you, Knight-Captain," LaRose said, returning to his work. He did a credible impression of having forgotten Cicero was there… until the door closed. At that point, he got up, went to one of the machines, poured some ingredients into it, pressed a button and stood back once the noise started up. Then he padded over to where Cicero was hiding.
"The noise from the grinder will hide our conversation," he said calmly, lapsing into Tamrielic. "Rhys and Evangeline mean well, but I do not know them. You though… nipote. It is you, isn't it. I knew you were with the Inquisition. I did not think to see you here. So they told you."
Cicero nodded, looking up into his uncle's eyes and seeing… nothing. No emotions, no tears, nothing. But it was him. Much older. Silver hair, wizened face… but it was him.
Cicero got to his feet, unsteady as he realised his eyes were starting to well up, and more so once he realised he was taller than his uncle. Oh by Sithis, Cicero couldn't…
Cicero pulled his uncle into his arms, muffling his tears in his uncle's shoulder as he held his long-lost blood kin in his arms. And to his surprise, Uncle Cicero reached up and put his arms round him, one rubbing his back, providing comfort even though he surely couldn't do empathy any more.
"I am sorry, dolcetto," Uncle Cicero said, something of gentleness creeping into that monotone. "I would have preferred you not to see me like this… but you were always persistent. And very creative at overcoming obstacles. I see that has not changed."
Cicero shook his head, letting his uncle go and drying his eyes.
"You remember me," Cicero whispered. "And you are trying to comfort me."
"Yes," Uncle Cicero said, taking his hand and leading him to sit down on a bench by the wall. It mostly seemed to be used for storing books, but his uncle moved some of the piles to allow space for them to sit.
"Forgive me," Uncle Cicero said, taking Cicero's hand. "I would offer small talk and pleasantries but we both know I can no longer offer genuine good wishes. Still, we Tranquil retain free will. We retain opinions. It is my opinion that we cannot trust the Chantry hierarchy. But it is also my opinion that you should not come to any harm. I cannot feel grief but I have lost too many. You, dolcetto, are still my kin."
Cicero wiped a tear away, knowing he was going to end up crying again.
"Come to Skyhold with me," Cicero whispered. "The Inquisitor, she knows of you now. She wants to help! You can trust her!"
"The Dragonborn High Queen," Uncle Cicero said, nodding. "Yes, I know now, I read the book. You did not infiltrate as an Executor, did you. You followed her from Tamriel. You were… you joined the Dark Brotherhood, saw the light, sold them to her in return for a pardon. And you have served her ever since."
"Yes," Cicero whispered, rather glad he didn't have to explain that. "I'm sorry, uncle."
"Do not apologise, we do what we must," Uncle Cicero said, shrugging. "You survived and are free. That is what matters. Mages are becoming free too. That is good. But not Tranquil."
"No, not Tra- uncle, where is this going," Cicero said, frowning. Retrieve uncle, return him to Skyhold, cure uncle, cope with what happened next. That had been Cicero's plan. Quite how to retrieve him, Cicero had been less sure of. But he'd thought maybe that could wait. There'd be a delivery to go to Skyhold soon enough. Easy enough to appear in his motley and insist the Inquisitor's orders were for Master LaRose to come in person.
"You have Tranquil working at Skyhold. The rebellion took many," Uncle Cicero said calmly. "Cicero knows this, many were ones I'd trained. I hope they made it to the Inquisition and are serving you well. Tell me, what are their working conditions. Their hours. Shift patterns. Pay – you are paying them, yes?"
"Ye-es," Cicero said, uncertain of where this was going. "They are on forty hours per week, no shift longer than eight hours, mandatory breaks. They require frequent reminding to clock off and take breaks, but they get them. Also we give them personal protective equipment for working with lyrium and other things, and their quarters are warm and comfortable. Inquisition guards provide personal security and the Inquisitor takes the safety of her people very seriously, particularly vulnerable Tranquil. No one has tried to abuse them. Of course, it helps the Blight Witch has many working for her. Few others will touch darkspawn blood and body parts. The work is not always pleasant but Eola is very protective of them. They receive pay commensurate with the other research staff. Cicero isn't sure what they spend it on. Personal research projects in their spare time, I think. Either that or Wicked Grace. Some of them are getting very good at it. They have no tells, you see. They are aware the rest of Skyhold thinks they are strange, but they seem… content? I don't know, I can't tell! But sometimes one of them will stop me and tell me this is preferable to being in a Circle."
"Yes it is," Uncle Cicero said, seeming to approve. "Few Tranquil live to my age. They are worked to death. They are exposed to dangerous fumes and lyrium which poisons them. Fifty is considered an advanced age. Working twelve hour days is the norm, sixteen is not unheard of. Breaks are to eat and relieve oneself, no more. Days off do not happen, but we get to sit in Chantry services on a Sunday. And we have no recourse. Niposito, I tire of this. I do not feel emotions, but I have held the hand of too many on their deathbed and felt the waste. I spend time training them, teaching them what I can, and then blood lotus fumes kill them. I do what I can, I requisition extra supplies to craft protective equipment for them, but there are limits. And quotas to fill. Always the quotas. We are being exploited. And it is time it stopped."
Yes it was, the question was how had Uncle Cicero not succumbed years ago.
"I do not know entirely, but I was able to craft personal protective equipment for myself, and also brew antidotes to many reactants, which I dose myself with. Also… I believe I am allowed leeway the others are not. All this to myself. Well-lit. Well-ventilated. If my workrate is too low, I am not punished. Someone wishes me to be kept alive. Useless to speculate as to who. But it is a privilege I am grateful for… and others do not have. You must understand, nipote. The others were all made Tranquil young, or after going half-mad due to uncontrolled magic. They do not question. They think of nothing but the work. But I was a bard before. They took my emotions but not my cunning nor my sense of self-preservation. I wish to live. I have a homeland I may yet see again. In my current state I would not appreciate it, but I felt it a vision worth not giving up on somehow. And so I think and so I plan. I have been planning ever since they told us we were providing supplies to the Inquisition. An Inquisition run by a Tamrielic queen known to be mage-friendly and progressive… and not obliged by faith to serve the Chantry. And it turns out you are her personal Harlequin. This is good, dolcetto. Were I to go it alone, it would be repressed. Hushed up. Punishments would follow, we would be forced back to work, all would be as before, or worse. But with you here, you cannot be simply made to disappear. This is a Circle nominally loyal to the Inquisition. They will have to respond."
Cicero wasn't sure if he liked the sound of this or not. On the one hand, he was always up for a cunning plan, and he felt sure Madanach if not Elisif would approve of fair working conditions for the Tranquil. On the other, it seemed… risky, and Cicero wouldn't be the one at risk.
"We had best make sure word gets to the Inquisition then," Cicero said thoughtfully. "Do not worry, Uncle. I can help with that!"
Uncle Cicero responded by pushing Cicero's hands to his lap and shaking his head, nodding at the grinder. It had finished its cycle, and outside the door, Rhys and Evangeline could be heard talking.
"No sign of him, Evie," Rhys sighed. "Disappeared into thin air. Well, not really a surprise. You're sure it was him?"
"Definitely, and he called me by name! Dammit, Rhys, what in the Void is going on in this place?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to check on Cicero. Make sure he's all..."
The door opened and Rhys stopped on seeing not one Cicero but two, one old, one younger, one pale, one more olive skinned. But both had the same faux-innocent facial expression.
"Hello Rhys," Cicero the Elder said, forcing brightness to his voice. "My little nephew has come to visit, all the way from Skyhold! Dolcetto, this is Senior Enchanter Rhys. He is a mage who does spirit magic and helped start the mage rebellion. He is trustworthy. And that is his Templar lady friend Knight-Captain Evangeline. I suppose she is as well."
Evangeline was staring frostily at the pair of them, suspicions Master LaRose was up to something confirmed.
"How did he get in here?"
"I'm not sure, he just appeared!" Uncle Cicero said, shoulders shrugging slightly. "But it is very good that he is here. It has been a long time."
Younger Cicero promptly rested his head on his uncle's shoulder, cooing as he held his hand and sighing 'uncle!'
Cicero Senior patted his nephew's cheek and stroked his hair, eyes never leaving Evangeline, who was still staring daggers at the pair of them. And then Rhys broke the tension by bursting out laughing, closing the door behind him.
"Come on, Evie, you can't expect the legendary Red Cicero to just turn up like a normal person. And this is good, isn't it? Means the Herald knows about him."
"Means our security arrangements need reviewing if he can just sneak in!" Evangeline snapped. "Ugh. Fine. You look enough like each other. But any funny business and you're out!"
"Yes, Knight-Captain!" Cicero cooed. "Cicero shall be on his best behaviour." And then he rather ruined it by sitting up, turning to his uncle and asking if he'd let them in on the plan yet.
"Not yet!" Uncle Cicero said brightly. "We are tired of being exploited when the free mages' Tranquil are at Skyhold with better pay and working conditions. I wish to organise a strike. And to send word to Skyhold of our demands and news they will receive no more potions and runes until either the Herald or the Deputy Inquisitor have arrived to negotiate. We insist on one of them being present or no deal."
"Maker's breath, are you serious?" Evangeline cried. "The Inquisition are planning this massive siege on Adamant Fortress, they'll need all the potions they can get! There was a new order come in only this morning! If they don't get these potions, lives are at stake!"
"I know about the siege and order both, I delivered it," Cicero growled, friendliness vanishing. "What was not known to the Herald is that her potions and items from Montsimmard are being produced by slave labour. Do you think it will please her when she finds out? As one who has known her for years, I assure you, it will trouble her. Perhaps she and Madanach might be willing to take what they can get for the battle ahead. But after… oh, after, there shall be a reckoning. So Cicero has decided he will be staying for the time being, and assisting with the strike. Just in case any of the Templars here get… ideas about strike breaking. Or Enchanter Vivienne takes matters into her own hands and arrives with a force of her own. Seeing me on the other side will give her pause. Is she ruthless enough to kill me? Perhaps! But if I survive the attack, I will not forget or forgive, and if I do not, the Blight Witch will want revenge. She will certainly know that. Easier all round if she simply does as we wish in the first place and brings Their Worships. Either one will do. Madanach in particular will have a strong opinion on an economy whose wealth is based on making political prisoners do slave labour."
Rhys was nodding along but it was Evangeline who spoke, clearly recalling something from Rise of the Dragonborn.
"Cidhna Mine," she said thoughtfully. "I never thought of it that way, not as referring to the Tranquil. But… he'd sympathise, wouldn't he."
"I need to read this book, don't I," Rhys sighed. "All right. We'll help. What do you need, monsieur?"
He'd addressed this to Cicero the Younger, who cackled on hearing this.
"He's very polite, isn't he, Uncle? Cicero will do, sympathetic mage. But you are asking the wrong person. This strike is my uncle's idea, and the plans have been in the works for a while now. Only finding out his nephew can get Their Worships down here personally has brought things forward."
Both Rhys and Evangeline turned to the elder Cicero, who wasn't denying any of this, in fact if Tranquil could look smug, he would be. He was managing to convey it, anyway.
"Do not look so surprised, either of you. I was no mere teenager still growing into their identity, nor was I some wild mage tormented by demons. I was a trained mage and trained bard, and I successfully survived the Game for years. Alas, I never took the religion seriously and it tripped me up. But I still have my skills. I am quite capable of organising a strike. And I intend to do it. The other Tranquil agree in principle, and respect my opinion. And as to the siege… there will always be another battle. After this, there will be another. And another. Or smaller operations in between times. The great and glorious Inquisition has a way of claiming the moral high ground on every venture it undertakes, I know this. I believe the Inquisitor will know the moral high ground on this one too. Especially if she wishes to keep my nephew's loyalty."
Uncle Cicero took his nephew's hand, glancing at the surprised man's face.
"Cicero is very loyal!" Cicero protested. "Elisif will do the right thing, I swear it!"
"That is my hope too, niposito," Uncle Cicero said, nodding and turning back to Rhys and Evangeline. "Well, are you in?"
"Give me a moment, Master LaRose," Evangeline said faintly. "I need a little time to realise that everything they ever told us about Tranquil was wrong."
"No doubt it was," Uncle Cicero said quietly, before turning to Rhys. "Well, Enchanter?"
Rhys had been staring at the floor, looking shattered himself, but when he looked up, there was no argument.
"We did you all a huge disservice by not making Tranquil rights a bigger part of the rebellion," Rhys said, sombre. "Whether you take the cure or not, you're still people. And you deserve better. Yes, of course I'm in. I think Evie will be too, just give her a little time."
"Of course I'm in, someone has to protect idealistic mages from themselves," Evangeline said wearily, shooting a glance at Rhys indicating that someone should be grateful they were attractive. "Just don't expect me to fight off an entire battalion of Templars by myself."
"I don't," Uncle Cicero said, getting to his feet. "Hopefully it will not come to that, but if it does… it will be hard for them to attack you when they are busy picking shards from their skin or choking on poison gas. We have maps of the tower layout. Help identify likely lines of attack and suitable choke points and we can arrange assistance."
Cicero was already squeaking with delight at the prospect, and Evangeline whispered a quiet prayer to the Maker as it belatedly occurred to her that Tranquil weren't harmless, not at all. They'd just never had a reason to fight or a chance to learn.
Cicero the Elder, it turned out, had both of those things. And when a Tranquil did decide action was required… Evangeline had a feeling the world wasn't ready for this.
A/N: Writing the two Ciceros is harder than it appears! Not the interactions and dialogue, but making it clear which one is talking, as they both have similar vocal tics too. I guess Cicero Senior is getting called that or Uncle Cicero in more informal situations.
Next chapter is Blackwall's trial by combat. It's also largely written and I'm rather proud of that too, but all in time.
