Outlander

by GreaterGoodIreland

A United Nations Peacekeeper without knowledge of the games is transported to Thedas. Unsure if he will ever be able to return, he is sucked into the conflicts of Thedas as he tries to survive with his new companions and build a new world.

26. Chapter 26: Those Who Solve

Chapter Twenty-Six: Those Who Solve

The day after our party, hungover as high hell, we came together one last time to decide on leadership and make a general statement as to our intentions. The conversation was long and tedious, concerning many technical matters. As such, I feel it is best to explore the decisions we made in order of the actual consequences.

The statement has survived the years, and although written in stone in our new home, many reading this may not be familiar with it. It was written in Orlesian of course, a language I have spoken far more by this stage than my own mother tongue, but I shall produce it in Common here.

A Proclamation from the Dales.

Occasionally, during the course of the life of the Empire, it becomes necessary for people both common and noble to take up arms in opposition to laws and personages intending to do them harm. Many such occasions have arrived over the course of our proud history, and for better or worse, have shaped the present circumstances in which we find ourselves.

Another such moment has come, in which the events that were until recently tolerable have become intolerable, the nobles and commons awoken alike to the dangers and miseries piled upon them.

However, it is still with great reluctance and great purpose that any such use of arms must be undertaken. To spill the blood of a fellow Orlesian without due cause is an affront both to the natural laws granted us by the Maker, and to the honour which is due to Orlais herself.

When usurpers and child-murderers threaten to sink the whole Empire beneath a rising tide of blood, all the while demanding the people kneel before the culprits, it is the right and duty of the people, both great and small, to refuse such audacity, and seek comfort in armed force.

The crimes against us are numerous.

An absolute tyranny has been imposed upon us. Laws have been passed to the effect of making the pillaging of our property, the murder and rape of our loved ones, and the degradation of our persons before mere mortals not only legal, but commonplace. Yet no matter how dreadful and tragic the results of these legislations, we have been left with no road to overturning them, except to go begging to uncaring dukes and counts for our relief.

Taxes have been levied to our ruin and not for our benefit, for the glorification and beautification of others, forcing the commoner into starvation, turning the noble into a thief among his vassals. When payment of these dues has been refused, armed bands of chevaliers and foreign mercenaries have been sent to sow the works of death and destruction throughout the land.

Courts of law, supposedly established for the provision of objective justice, have been subverted, the judges and officers made slaves to the very highest authorities, evidence thrown away in favour of hearsay, sentences levied harshly.

The strength of the Empire has been sapped with numerous bloody wars and skirmishes, none of which have produced victory or longlasting peace. The cost in coin and of empty chairs at our hearthsides means nothing to many of the warmongers among us, yet these same men and women refuse to allow our elven and mage subjects the opportunity to add their strength to any efforts, even though they worship the same Maker and owe the same allegiance to the Throne of Val Royeaux.

The threat of civil war now hangs above us; a war that would remove the rightful ruler of this Empire, with all the hope of redemption and change that she represents; a war without benefit even in victory and certain to cost yet more blood, yet more gold, and yet more precious rights, none of which shall be taken from the benefactors. Our sovereign, held hostage by the whims of a violent band of traitors, seems almost powerless to stop it, for fear of igniting the worst of man's excesses.

Therefore, unable to seek redress through the normal means, We, the People and Nobles of the Dales, do declare that a state of war exists within the borders of our territories and those of our enemies, that we have the sole right and power to levy taxes and create commerce, that our affairs shall be governed for the People by a viceroy until such time as an assembly of notable lords and commons can be gathered, under the guidance of her Radiance, Celene I, Empress of Orlais.

We place our endeavour under the most high protection of the Maker, with full confidence in our arms, our fortunes, and our honour. We pledge to make all efforts necessary for the inevitable victory, that shall bring freedom, justice and peace at last.

Proclaimed, the sixteenth day of Nubulis, in the Thirty-Ninth Year of the Dragon Age

Signed,

Samuel Hunt, Viceroy of the Dales, Marquis de la Fayette.

Julie Hunt, Marquise de la Fayette

Camille Doucy, Baronne des Nouveaux-Landes

Cécile des Arbes, Baronne du Hearth et de la Montevillain.

Pierre des Arbes, Baron du Hearth

Maurice de Villars, Baron des Grandes-Collines

Louise de Villars, Baronne des Grandes-Collines

Henri Clouet, Baron du Midi

As you can see, and as you probably already knew, the gathering of nobles chose me to lead this little insurrection.

By rights, it should have been Baroness Doucy's job, as the largest landowner, or Skull-Mask as the most experienced military commander. Some have suggested that Julie, as the instigator of the whole insurrection, would have been more appropriate, even as a common-born Orlesian. This particular decision has caused some level of confusion among historians, at least among foreign ones.

Of course, the reason why Lady Doucy couldn't have been our leader was fairly obvious; she was perhaps the least military of us all. She could manoeuvre at court better than any of us, she could have an individual poisoned or stabbed to death, but if confronted with an army, she would have had to rely on the experience of others. We were going to war, we needed a marshal.

Skull-Mask, for all his virtues and experience, was the guard of the old order, a way of war that my very arrival had made obsolete, and one rooted in chevalier honour. The war to come would not be a matter of honour, regardless of our very fine words. He knew nothing about the deployment and use of firearms, their advantages and disadvantages. Not that he would have lost. He had fought in Ferelden, after all. No, his ways would have resulted in too much loss, ultimately.

Pierre des Arbes, Hearth's own son, was hardly much better in that respect either, but most of the spare productive population in his lands was now in my employ, either as soldiers or labourers. Most of his strength was derived from my own by this stage, although by no means all of it.

Julie had the moral force of an inspired politician, inventor and philosopher, as well as the popularity of a commoner-making-good, but she was no general. Not to mention she wanted the job badly, and much of the group were not inclined to give the position to any common-born person. I was very glad when she was outright ruled out for it. It would have painted a target on her back. I was used to having one there.

Ultimately, despite all the good objections to the other candidates, I got the job because I wanted it. Having been led into the situation without much choice, I was hell-bent on determining the course of events by my own hand. Not that I said as much, that would have disqualified me as much as Julie's enthusiasm had. I simply pointed out the flaws in the other potential candidates quickly and firmly, once Julie had been put out of the race.

The others seized the idea of my leadership swiftly, my cause boosted by one other convenient idea; that if we failed, the barons could quite rightly claim that they were coerced into armed revolt by the power of the mob, armed to the teeth with gunpowder weapons and supported by apostate battlemages. All of whom owed their allegiance to me. Funnily enough, that is how it would have went had they opted for peace at any rate.

And so, that is how I was chosen to be the rebel Viceroy of the Dales.

Julie put together the proclamation, deriving its structure heavily from a few famous Earth documents, and the real leaders all signed it in order of precedence. I was quite reluctant to have the thing sent all over Orlais, and it eventually went as far as Ferelden and Rivain, but apparently declarations of intent were commonplace when a military dispute between nobles flared up. The whole thing was greeted with nothing more than shrugs in Val Royeaux and Halamshiral, at least in public. It's entirely possible that almost no one there believed it would come to anything, although we know the Empress did read it at least. The barons and baronesses went home to what I thought was a very uncertain future. At the time, I was still pretty worried about it.

I was worried about the wrong thing.

While we were planning and putting our revolt into practice, so was another power, utterly determined to see us fail and see me dead.

It was just our luck that they had fertile ground to blow on the embers of religious revolt, and only frantic stamping on the resulting flames managed to save us from falling at the first hurdle. It was perhaps better than leaving things be while we marched off, letting the conflagration spring up in our absence with no one to stop the violence, but only just so.

---

The next day, March 17th, started off as pleasantly as it possibly could.

Élodie had gone into labour in the night, and by the time we had awoken, had given birth to her twins. Apparently, because of the security measures we had put in place, no one had been able to get a message through to us until then.

So, when we heard the news at breakfast the next morning, we made our way from the château to Élodie's home in the merchant quarter. Julie, Tam, Leha and I, the dwarf riding side-saddle behind me on Bellona, far less grumpy than usual. She knew Élodie quite well too, having worked with the woman's husband for a number of years. They shared a taste for profit between them, which was the real reason behind their mutual appreciation, I suspect.

Alas, we rode through the bustling streets wordlessly, with high anticipation.

Tying up our horses outside, we half-ran into the clean and respectable townhouse. It had everything one would expect to find in a middle-class house, at least according to the level of technology then enjoyed. Three soft red fabric covered couches arranged around the soot-stained brick fireplace. A coffee table in the middle. A stylised painting of Andraste in a corner, another table with candles on it propped against the wall directly below. Smooth wooden flooring, varnished darkly. Walls painted white. A steer stairway and a door to the kitchen at the back of the room. A window facing onto the street, the panes opened inwards with shutters half-closed over the space. In short, I would have had no problem living there myself. If I didn't have a château.

Élodie and her husband in the front room on the couch facing the front door, cradling a bundle of infant a piece, the mother red-faced but glowing with 'new mother' thing. She barely moved her eyes to acknowledge us even as she spoke a greeting, they were too busy glued to the sight of her children. I knew it well, my own sister had the same thing going when my namesake-niece was born. I felt a brief but painful pang of homesickness in my chest.

Julie moved into the room swiftly, and knelt down in front of the couch. I held back by the door, still affected by my regret that I'd never see my own family again. Tam stood with me, most likely out of a sense that she wasn't familiar enough to enter comfortably. Leha had no such scruples. She waltzed right in.

"They're beautiful," Julie said to Élodie, looking at the babies, "How are you?"

"Tired. Hurting all over," Élodie rasped with a smile, "But very happy. A girl and a boy, just so it's fair." Julie chuckled at that, and rubbed the side of the baby in her sister's arms. I crossed my arms, wondering whether I'd ever get to hold my own child. And whether or not things were too complicated to even contemplate it. Politically and personally. I glanced at Tam, who was almost succeeding in suppressing her urge to go over.

Claire appeared at the door from the kitchen with a tray of steaming cups, embrium tea from the smell, and approached.

"Are you two going to keep standing by the front door?" the youngest Marteau sister asked, "You're making me nervous." Not surprising, considering we were both armed. Tam and I looked at each other, and moved inside anyway, as Élodie waved us over.

"Come in, have a look," she said proudly, "Don't be shy."

So I approached where the couple were sitting, and stood by Julie, dodging Leha in the process. Tam leaned over my shoulder, and together, we looked down at the newcomers. Two pairs of deep brown eyes looked back up at us, widening slightly as they took note of our presence. A swirl of reddish-brown hair on the tops of their heads. Beautiful little kids, in other words. I withdrew quickly, sitting down on the opposite seating, utterly homesick now.

Tam and Julie both noticed, but said nothing. They knew I needed a little time. Tam sat down close beside me, which helped me rally a little. To think, I was to plunge the town into a war...

Claire interrupted with the tea, and both her sisters took one of the plain cups each, as did the new father. A quiet man, looking pleased with himself. As he had every right to be.

"What shall you call them?" Julie asked, shifting her weight on her knees to get more comfortable.

"We agreed that I would name girls, and Leodor would name boys," Élodie replied, "So the boy is called Patrice." I remembered the man's name after all. Hard to recall after all these years. Like I said, he was quiet.

"After my father," Leodor himself added, "I always thought it a good name."

As if fate were attempting to cheer me up, I remembered the date and grinned widely, forgetting my troubles for a moment. I must have made some audible sound too, as the others turned to me.

"It's funny because it's Saint Patrick's Day," I said in Common, knowing full well no one would know what the hell I was talking about, "Or Saint Patrice's Day." Or so I thought. Tam let out a chuckle, and Julie smirked. Sorta hard to keep track of just what they knew, short of reading every book that I had brought through with me.

"You're right Leodor," Julie said, with a light slap on the shoulder, "It is a very good name." No doubt dreaming of driving out snakes herself. My part of Ulster-Scots heritage guaranteed my agreement, at the very least.

All the more so in that Patrice became a devoted follower of Mother Brandon, and was very much at the forefront of Chantry efforts against the Qun until very recently. Irony upon irony. The Maker is a humorous son of a bitch sometimes.

"What about the girl?" Leha asked, interrupting our little in-joke, "Am I going to be embarrassed?" That joke got the new parents smiling, and the rest of us rolling our eyes.

"Pay for her tutors and we'll see," Élodie replied in jest, "I was going to name her for our mother, but then my dear sister decided to try her hand at politics." The two younger sisters stared at the eldest.

"And now I'm a Marquise," Julie responded with a shrug, "You have to play to win." Summing up the attitude of almost every Orlesian in history, in any age or place.

"So, with everything that is going on, I chose another name," continued Élodie, before looking at the baby in her arms again, "This is Victoire."

Julie nodded, understanding the intent immediately.

Her sister's statement was pretty clear. She expected us to win, and gave her blessing by naming her precious daughter Victory. It was also a warning: Do not fail. It was a good name regardless, I thought. I was sent back into a melancholy, as I watched the sisters coo over the babies again. Tam didn't help, staring like a starved cat at a saucer of milk she can't reach.

Tamassrans were built for this sort of thing, after all. Or bred. Julie noted the look and waved our Qunari lover over, who padded over in an equally feline manner, kneeling down beside Leodor, a broad and soft smile across her face. A far cry from the sharp, canine-led grin I had seen on her the first time she had smiled in eyeshot of me.

A loud knocking on the door split the trance of admiration and idle chatter about the kids, causing a round of groans. No one coming to see the babies would have knocked. It was business.

Claire went to the door and checked who it was, before standing aside to let them in.

It was one of Soprano's Rangers, one of the new elven sergeants. She was dressed in green tunics and high boots, dress that we cobbled together as the closest thing to a standard uniform we could make, long firelance slung over her shoulder, cartridge belt around her waist, round cloth-covered helmet on her head. Knowing it was important but reluctant nonetheless, I stood up and left the space enclosed by the couches to meet her.

She stood to attention before me. "Marquis."

"It's viceroy now. Perhaps 'general' would be best... whatever," I replied, adding a sigh to the end, "Where is your salute, soldier?"

The woman looked eternally embarrassed. She had been distracted by the scene beyond, obviously, and made to correct herself. "Sorry sir, no excuse," she said, saluting perfectly. The familial scene before her, involving a group of famous and wealthy individuals, had startled her. Discipline starts with the small things, but I opted to ignore the slip, so I could get to the point. She got the picture.

"The Baron and Baroness of Grandes-Collines have arrived at L'Ambassade with a force of two hundred heavy cavalry," the sergeant reported, "I was ordered by the Colonel to bring you back as quickly as possible." The colonel meaning Soprano herself, of course.

I think my eyebrow could have made a moonshot attempt at that news. Just what the hell was Skull-Mask playing at? I was aware he had a personal guard that had been dispatched to escort him back home, but I couldn't believe that his intentions were hostile. The mages alone would have eaten him alive, never mind Soprano's sharpshooters or McNulty's bruisers. Hell, Mike could have shouted them off their horses before giving them the sharp end of the pikes.

That meant one thing of course; there was some news that I had to hear directly from him.

"What the hell are they playing at," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, "Very well, lead on sergeant."

Tam and Julie got up to follow me, dutiful idiots that they are, but I held my hand up. "No, you can stay," I said quickly, "No point in all of us going home just so old Skull-Mask can show off his chevaliers. I'll be back as soon as I can get away from them." The pair accepted it, Julie's eyes thanking me wordlessly. She would have parked on that couch for a month if she could have gotten away with it.

I walked over to take another look at the babies. They were startled by my entering their vision again, and let out a loud, short protest, calming again with a rock or two from their parents. "Congratulations," I said to Élodie, "They're beautiful."

"Thank you," she replied softly.

And with that, I paced out of the room, the sergeant following behind. Her squad awaited outside, mounted up on ponies. Not wanting to wait around, I quickly untied Bellona, climbed up onto her and we were off.

---

As we rode onto the main thoroughfare, there was some commotion about the place, people milling about looking more worried than usual. Children were being grabbed by their parents and dragged off home, merchants with carts were turning about and moving towards the same gate we were heading for. The whole affair was getting in the way of our transit. I immediately became suspicious, scratching my chin as I watched the throng move.

"Sergeant, do you know what's going on?" I asked.

"Bar fight got out of hand down by the docks, is what I heard at the gate," she replied, with a shrug, "Sometimes these things spill into the street, and everyone's friend shows up to join the fun."

I let out a laugh. I knew how that worked. Sometimes, people just have nothing better to do, an effect that increases with alcohol in enclosed spaces and a larger number of males than females. We're all just monkeys when you get right down to it, a matter of some contention in Thedas now, but one I have never had any doubts about. Still, I couldn't have such things disrupting my plans. We were mere days away from a march.

"Should I be worried?" I asked.

"Don't think so," the sergeant said, "The Baron's guards usually nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand." Her pony dodged a cart a little too late, the alarmed driver waved and shouted back, getting a rude gesture from the soldier in return. The man was about to do something rash, until his eyes fell on me. Bored and annoyed as I was being dragged away from Tam and Julie, I jumped a little in the saddle towards him. He flinched, and all of us laughed at him. He definitely wasn't from Hearth, or he wouldn't have continued spouting insults.

"Well then, I guess we'll ride on," I said through my amusement, "Best collect Barris from the clinic, we'll stop there."

"The Knight-Commander is away on business, my lord," the sergeant told me. Already swamped with preparations for war, I blanched at that.

"Which means Mother Brandon is as well," I said, "Great." It was no time for vacations. The war was about to really begin. I cheered myself up that perhaps Lana had gone too, so there wouldn't have been any question of her wanting to come along on the campaign 'to make sure I completed my lessons' in Chantry lore.

I fell back into my homesickness, reminded again of my niece, riding silently.

---

We rode out of the gate, through the Smith quarter, and out onto the road for the mile or so to our home.

L'Ambassade now had half as many people as Hearth itself, the thick forest surrounding it now considerably thinned out by construction work, new fields for cows and the bizarre druffulo, and the need to clear firing lines. The rolling farmlands beyond were now visible from the upper floors of the château, but on the ground, trunks had been replaced with buildings to obscure it. We kept the lines of trees to either side of the road though. As we approached, I was taken aback by just how much our actions had changed the place as we approached the guard picket half way down the road.

The four troopers on watch saluted as we passed, their pony neighed, and we continued on.

The sight that greeted us was certainly magnificent.

Two hundred chevaliers were lined up across the parade ground in one long rank. They were standing dismounted, holding the reins of their heavy armoured warhorses. The horses were clothed in the grey and black of the Villars family, the chevaliers in their own colours of which there was a startling variety. Yellow feathers swayed in the light breeze from the crests of masked helmets. Sabres with jewel encrusted scabbards, gleaming cuirasses enveloping the bodies of the riders, black horses and black banners with a silver skull on them.

Opposite were my own elite, a sea of green uniforms. The officers had their own blue berets by this stage. The Rangers were mounted too, although only the lancers were on warhorses. We couldn't afford that many big animals. Yet. The Grenadiers, selected from the start for their physicality and being the largest men and women available, hardly needed horses to be intimidating. They weren't armed save for the sergeants, but they were armoured; a statement that they were welcoming friends rather than saluting superiors or preparing for battle. Their deep blue flags hung limp on the staff, the wind not enough to catch them, the star visible only as a sliver.

Perhaps the most obvious and interesting difference between the two bodies was that most of ours were elves, reflecting the general makeup of Hearth and its surrounding settlements, as well as the Dales more generally. You can be sure there wasn't even an elf-blooded human among the chevaliers. I wondered what the chevaliers thought of that. I would find out soon enough.

Between the two groups was another clump of people. Armen and Ciara, the former in his robes, the latter in Earth panoply. They eyed the chevaliers, ignoring the others. Soprano and McNulty, both in 'uniform', though they had earned their Earth kevlar too and were wearing it with pieces of plate armour attached. The two colonels were speaking to the last two guests, amiably enough as far as I could tell. Maurice and Louise de Villars, uncle and niece, Skull-Mask and Blondie. Their faces covered, their motives hidden. I had little choice than to simply ride up to them, dismount and ask why they'd park their personal guard on my doorstep.

So, I did.

Soprano's sergeant rode off to rejoin the ranks with her squad, the ponies' shoes tapping loudly against the cobblestones to the point that it jarred my ear a little. I nudged Bellona into the middle of the parade ground to escape. There were few spectators this time, to my relief. I dismounted half way to Skull-Mask.

"Viceroy," said both de Villars at once, bowing slightly at the waist. Making me feel bloody awkward. I would have preferred a real salute. Armen and Ciara stopped staring at the yellow feathers, and turned to me. I cocked an eyebrow at them for a hint, but none was forthcoming. Both seemed particularly unhappy. The colonels stood to attention, their faces blank, no help there. I set them at ease and turned to the nobles.

Frustrated, I was less polite than perhaps I should have been. "Villars One and Two," I replied, "I would have expected you to have returned to your own holdings to raise the troops I asked for by now."

Which had to happen quickly if we were going to get into the Emprise before the enemy could raise their own. Marching up there with my own plus the Baron's personal guard meant I could have left immediately, but even with all the new weapons and good luck, we would have lost.

The pair of masks looked back at me like statues. Taken aback by my strange reply to their proper manners, I guess.

"A message has been dispatched, and the small number you asked for will be ready soon," Louise de Villars replied, before her uncle could, "As you requested, they will have horses or ponies, all five hundred of them." There was some trouble about mounting them all, so I was pleased to hear that had been overcome. My mood lightened a little, I relaxed my stance and shook the woman's hand.

"That is very good to hear," I said, "But I'm guessing you are not here to give me that news."

"You guess correctly, Lord Hunt," Skull-Mask started, before continuing slowly and deliberate, "First of all, I would like to repeat my previous concerns about the size of the force you have asked us to raise. Ten thousand is not enough." I could tell that this was largely the soft reason for our little chat. More interested in the harder questions, I licked my lips and exaggerated a tad.

"I could take Val Royeaux with ten thousand," I replied, getting a cough of disbelief from the old man. Time to give the conceptual pitch.

"The Free Army will be able to run rings around any opposing force, bring more force to bear on a single point, will not need to siege castles for more than a few days because of our mages and artillery, and most importantly, it will be more motivated and disciplined than any army ever seen on this world." I wasn't exaggerating too much, but at this point the only part of the new army resembling my vision were the troops behind me, only about a third of my own troops.

"We can raise at least twenty times that number of fit men and women of age," Armen added, "The problem is we'd have to feed them if we did put swords in their hands."

"Not to mention paying them," Ciara cut in, "Leha would kill us if we tried to spend 'her' money on soldiers drinking, whoring, and eating." The irony being heavy in that Leha loved nothing more than to do those things herself, the cheeky wench.

Lady Louise crossed her arms, her head held up slightly higher in aristocratic contempt. She might have been insulted that the Dalish and the Circle mage had dared to lecture her about war. She was a chevalier, after all. "I am glad to see you are confident," she said flatly, "But the lords of the Emprise can call on thirty thousand soldiers of some experience, to say nothing of our enemies in the Emerald Graves or the Exalted Plains. Those are not good odds, even for the best soldiers."

"No one is suggesting we should pay all of the soldiers," Skull-Mask interjected, before I could respond, "They are vassals, most of them owe us some amount of military service by right. Add to that the cause for which we are fighting; their own lives will improve if we win. Food is something we can buy or forage with ease. Why deny ourselves the advantage of numbers?"

It was a good point, if you were a primitive. It was born of the assumptions of the pre-industrial age. Numbers were the primary thing that decided wars, honour in war was at all relevant, armies could subsist on whatever was growing in fields, stashed in barns, or was running about to be hunted. There really is no other way to describe these views except primitive. I felt as if I was trying to explain a complex subject to children. Never let it be said that I am a modest one, I guess. Groaning inwardly, I rubbed my eyes as I figured out how to put it.

Thankfully, my own officers intervened to give me some time.

"Our forces are not vassals undertaking compulsory service," Soprano cut in, "They are professional soldiers, fighting both for payment and for the Marquise's cause. If they are forced to fight with peasants forced to take up spears and shields, they will be unhappy. Your vassals will be unhappy that we are being paid and they are not."

"Not to mention that levied peasants make crap soldiers," said McNulty, spitting off to the side before resuming, "We can't train more than we've called, never mind making them real comrades. Difficult to claim we're any different to Gaspard's people if we're just throwing untrained people at swords."

Skull-Mask hummed at that point, clearly having considered it before. Lady Louise regarded Soprano coolly, her eyes visibly narrowed through the slits in her mask.

"It would be dishonourable to run away or complain about pay when you are fighting for your freedom," Blondie said, with rising venom, "What is a few coins compared with saving our rightful Empress and defending our natural rights?" Julie's message had thoroughly soaked into this one's brain, I mused to myself. Her perspective was skewed for good reason, however.

Peasants in the foothills of the Frostbacks didn't run away or complain about pay, but that's because the Avvars and darkspawn were a constant threat. Running away or refusing to fight for free meant losing the protection of your community. The baronial lands of les Grandes-Collines were a different place to much of Orlais in that respect. No wonder Blondie was scandalised.

"That's very easy to say, for someone that has never been hungry," Soprano snapped.

"You presume too much, elf," Louise spat back.

Already pissed off at having to be there in the first place, I had reached my limit. "Enough," I growled, "There shall be no insults between allies over a simple disagreement. Or shall I arrange for iron chains for both of you? Undermining the unity of this army for your personal satisfaction is treason to my mind." Utterly absurd and over the top, but it got their attention.

Both heads swivelled first to me, eyes wide and mouths chewing with words that would not escape their lips, before moving to their neighbours. Skull-Mask said nothing, indicating his agreement with me. No doubt he had executed or imprisoned malcontents himself plenty of times. McNulty clenched his teeth and tilted his head at Soprano, just in time to stop her from finally saying something brash.

"No need, Sam," grinned Armen, "I can take care of them both right here." Ciara was standing right beside him, and Louise had just used elf as an insult. His own pride demanded he make the offer, visibly so.

A flame akin to that of a blowtorch erupted from the spear-point at the top of his staff, except it was six feet tall. An oppressive heat rolled off it, so much so that I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead almost as soon as he started it. Soprano took a step back, and McNulty interposed himself between the mage and his comrade. Louise stepped forward, hand on her cavalry sabre, before an arm from her uncle was flung across to stop her advance. Which stopped a general charge by the chevaliers behind them, I might add.

This grand alliance was looking like more work every second, I thought.

"You've made your point," I said, wiping my forehead, "Armen, stop it."

The mage complied immediately, the flame disappeared with a hiss, his exercise in self-aggrandizement complete. Everyone calmed down, hands moving away from blades, foot placement returning to normal from fighting stances. I was beginning to regret that I was armed with a handcannon alone, and that I was in a blue silk shirt rather than armour. The whole thing sharpened the mind wonderfully.

"Bottom line is that we can't forage in the Emprise, or anywhere else, and we would almost certainly have to if we took more than ten thousand," I explained, "If we want the Joe the Plumbers up there to like us, we can't go stealing their food to feed our army."

Twitches of confusion rippled around the circle of talkers. Doubt even Julie would have gotten that one. "Peasants need to eat too, taking their food will anger them," I added. They got it at last.

"It is not the only thing that will anger them," said Skull-Mask, "Another reason I have come here today." He turned to Louise, indicating to me that it was clearly an issue she wished to raise. She made a small physical deference to her uncle, before opening her mouth. The words that came out were incendiary.

"The population of the Emprise is human, for the most part," she said, "If they see an army of elves invading, it doesn't matter whether or not we steal their food, they will oppose us."

I rolled my eyes, thinking that her complaint was that I had elves in my forces at all. It was ridiculous. I was sure that Skull-Mask had elves in his forces, and I was right in that. Ciara and Soprano bristled at the suggestion. Armen's grin disappeared. However, calling the woman out on her discrimination would have thrown away all the good work I had done so far, so I turned to the obvious practical argument.

"There aren't enough human volunteers to fill out the ranks, and volunteers are vastly superior soldiers," I said, "Besides, lords elsewhere in the Dales arm elves when they have to, all the time. Elves carrying blades longer than their palms may be against the law, but at least this far out of Halamshiral, it's a necessity." The law in Orlais forbade it, but as I said, there were too few humans to forego using elven manpower during wartime.

"The problem is not the presence of elves, the lords of the Emprise have elven soldiers," Louise replied with a flick of her hand, "The problem is visibility. Today was the first time I had ever seen an elf sergeant, never mind one in charge of a démi-legion." The chevalier was ignoring Soprano, but her reference was clearly to the Colonel of the Rangers.

"Best start getting used to it now, then," Soprano growled, "You'll be seeing it a lot more." Suddenly, I was glad that Mike wasn't present. Mike would have killed Louise on the spot. Or asked me to allow her to, which would have been awkward.

"I will not remove any elf from a command that they have earned," I said firmly, nipping the argument in the bud, "If that is what you are asking."

The sound of an inhaled breath from Louise indicated she was about to speak, but her uncle interrupted. Good Ol' Maurice saved the day.

"Of course not, Marquis," he said in a casual tone, "Who you promote is your business as Viceroy. We simply ask that we chevaliers be given pride of place during any ceremonial and formal occasions, at least in the Emprise, to soothe the prejudices of the ignorant peasants."

My suspicions that this complaint was not only coming from Louise rose sharply. Those were far too diplomatic word-choices or Skull-Mask, who had appeared to me to be a brash, overly honest man. No, he was acting as the messenger for others that I liked less. Most likely Baroness Doucy and Baron Clouet. The fucking Game had sent me its first test, the first golden bowl of fruit laced with venom and a note to start eating. Mmm, tasty.

Rather than kick the table over and not play, I decided on a riposte.

"If you chevaliers can keep up with my elves, then you're welcome to that," I smirked, "There is a saying in my country, 'to the victors go the spoils.' Victors have to be there to fight in order to be victors, don't you think?" Anger on the side of my elf-ish friends defused immediately, and flared up among the chevaliers. McNulty let out a snort of amusement for good measure, which had gratifying effects on my mood.

Putting their honour on the line was risky, as it could be interpreted by less generous souls as an insult. Aside from my wish to upset chevaliers, never forgetting that my first encounter with the inhabitants of Thedas was at the hands of one of their number, I had essentially issued a challenge. They would have to pull their weight and prove themselves for our cause now, lest they find dishonour for it. I'm sure Lady Doucy would have applauded that manoeuvre.

"That won't be a question," said Louise, tone ice-cold now, "We are the finest warriors in all of Thedas."

"A boast we shall prove," Skull-Mask added, a little more amused than insulted, "It shall be a fine competition."

I smiled, glad the tensions were broken at last and the issues resolved. "I'm sure Colonel Soprano is looking forward to it," I said.

"She is," chimed in the colonel herself. The two chevalier nobles looked between each other for a moment, as if catching on to something only just at that moment. I really wish I could have seen their faces at that moment.

"I don't mean to be rude, but that name, Soprano..." said Skull-Mask suddenly, addressing the colonel directly now, "Are you from Antiva? A Marcher perhaps?"

"Soprano is the name that the Marquis calls me by," Soprano replied, "He said that it was the title of a famous leader on his world, one both cunning and ruthless." That the leader was in fact fictional was neither here nor there.

"Your actual name?" Blondie inquired.

"Lydia Moreau," replied Soprano.

"How curious," Skull-Mask said, with a glance to me, "Does he ever use your real names?"

Soprano shrugged. "Not since the first day, but I like mine."

"At least you have ruthless and cunning going for you," said McNulty, "The man McNulty I'm supposedly named for is best known for debauchery." And for being the sharpest knife in the set, as well as a relentless bastard.

"You are debauched," Soprano said immediately. We all had a good chuckle at that.

"He really is," said Ciara, "Two months back, he was in the stables with..."

"Ciara..." Armen warned. The Dalish teenager pouted a little at the intervention. I pat her on the head, and she stopped.

"McNulty... it sounds Fereldan," said Blondie, "Uncle, did you not fight a 'Mac Nualtaigh' in single combat once during the war with the doglords?"

"A peasant farmer who wouldn't let us pass on the Imperial Highway near Highever, and challenged me," Skull-Mask nodded, "Introduced himself with absolute propriety, laid down the gauntlet. There was no way I could refuse him and maintain my honour. Brave man. Not a warrior, but very brave." I was impressed. I doubt Goldie or any number of chevaliers would have treated such a challenge with anything other than contempt. I was suddenly glad to have a man of Maurice de Villars' calibre in our army.

The conversation continued as the pleasant diversion it was, the ire from before forgotten. It was a good first sign that I had passed the Game's test, at least for now. I breathed slightly easier, the troubles of the day finished to my mind. With the orders preparations for the march already issued, being seen to by Velarana and Mike, I was certain I could soon rejoin Julie and Tam.

A rider soon broke our little party up, shouting as he came on. I recognised him as one of the pickets on the road. "Rioters! Rioters!" he was saying, "They're coming up the road! The outpost needs assistance!"

My throat tightened with apprehension.

"How many?" I asked.

"Hundreds!" the picketman replied.

An hour of reckoning had crept up on me without so much as a whisper of warning.

A mob had come for my head at last. Once I realised that, I understood the reason why. My thoughts immediately turned to Julie and Tam. There was no way a mob could won against the people I had at L'Ambassade. Élodie's home had no such protection. The fear of seeing their heads displayed on pikes as a mob looted the town shot through my chest like a cannonball, ripping everything out. That Élodie, Claire, Leodor and the newborn twins would probably end up dead too added guilt to the equation.

I began barking orders.

---

Minutes later, I rode back down the road, armour and weapons quickly retrieved, the Villars and their chevaliers at my back. My mace in hand.

We heard the mob before we saw them, shouting and screaming bloody murder at first, followed by jeering and cheering. The reason for the change in tone became obvious as we rounded a long corner, exiting the hedge-lined section that marked where my lands ended and the Baron of Hearth's began. We ended up almost right on top of a group of peasants, probably less than a hundred strong. All of them human, most importantly. They had actual torches and pitchforks, God help them.

They stood shocked at our sudden arrival. Probably because they had beaten one of my guards to death, had seared another and clapped him in irons, and were in the process of stripping the only elf off in order to violate her.

Most ominously, they had three Chantry banners, white silk with orange and yellow flames as a motif. Yet these were clearly not true sigils of the faith; they were home-stitched, and by people who clearly did not do stitchwork art for a living.

I was filled with unutterable loathing as soon as I could comprehend what I was seeing, my fears for my loved ones given form in my presence in the shape of murderers and rapists.

"Chevaliers!" I roared with all my might, "NO QUARTER!"

There was a pause pregnant with menace. Heads turned to Skull-Mask. They wanted to attack, but didn't want to do so entirely on my word. The delay was allowing the rioters in the back to move away slowly, and my face must have communicated my displeasure with that, or perhaps the man himself thought it an admission of guilt on the crowd's part. He gave one sharp nod to his people.

"NO MERCY!" the chevaliers roared back, drawing their swords as one, "GLORY TO ORLAIS!" Their discipline and unwavering confidence in their commander was not to be underestimated.

The startled peasants bolted and ran at once, throwing aside their prisoners. My heart sang at the sight. They had thrown away any chance of surviving the encounter.

We charged, the road's usual quiet annihilated with the grunting of horses, the thumping of hooves and the terrified shouts of our quarries. The rumbling tide of armoured flesh and sharpened metal consumed the first few almost immediately, slowing the charge's advance for a dozen or two yards. The rioters ran away like men possessed, they were exclusively male to my eye, but not even demon possession could have saved them.

The stragglers were cut down with sabres, coming apart at the shoulders, losing heads and arms, being squashed like fruit under-hoof. My victims didn't get to see the business end of my mace slamming into the back of their heads, turning around would have meant slowing down, but Bellona was far too fast for them anyway. The road would be stained red until the next rainstorm a week later. I wish it could have stayed red forever, even now, decades later. That was just how obscenely, murderously angry I was.

Despite our best efforts, fully half the rioters made it alive to the palisade wall around the Smith quarter, but they didn't last long there.

Bolts of lightning enveloped them, Armen's handiwork. It trapped the bastards like mice caught in a cage, herding them in place for Soprano's move. I had sent her around the wooded road to secure the entrance to Hearth, knowing that her unarmoured horse troops would move faster than Skull-Mask and Blondie's heavily armoured cuirassers. Now, the elven lancers charged home, their weapons levelled. The last forty or so of the rioters were impaled or trampled to death, screaming before the impact or simply giving up.

Yet I was unsatisfied. My face was still warm, my stomach still sour. The sounds of fighting spilled over Hearth's walls, mere echoes in the distance, the stonework blocking all but the loudest of clashes. There were more of these interlopers to kill.

The two groups of cavalry met just outside the short wooden gate towers. I noted that the guards were missing both from those, and from the larger stone ones on the real walls. Probably withdrawn to help inside the walls, I guessed, meaning it was as bad as I thought. Armen and Ciara came alongside me, staring. I was splattered with gore, but hadn't yet realised it. I greeted them as if nothing was wrong, before returning to my mission to kill every traitor like a good soldier would.

"Soprano, leave your lancers to secure the Smith quarter and the clinic. When the firelancers and bowmen arrive, secure the elves' quarter," I said, "Inform McNulty when he gets here with the grenadiers that he's to do the same with the merchant quarter. When both parts are clear of rioters, converge on the town square."

The colonel nodded. "Rules of engagement?"

"Shoot anyone who is hostile or is looting," I said, "Let runners go. Anyone carrying one of those Chantry banners, take them alive if you can. I want to talk to them." I pointed at the bloodstained cloth attached to an old scythe handle on the ground. Soprano looked at it, and ordered one of her lancers to dismount and retrieve it. Fake or not, it would not do to have the Maker's own sigil lying in the filth.

"Armen, Ciara, we're going into town," I said, "Stick close by me." Ciara bit her lip, and Armen grimaced slightly. They both knew we were going for Tam and Julie, and that we'd probably have to do that part alone.

"What about us?" asked Louise de Villars. Her sword and armour was bloody, as was the side of her horse, both slick with the gore of her victims. I paused, only now noticing that I was the same. For a brief moment, I thought to clean myself. It seemed unsightly to appear like this. However, the dark thoughts I had been having crushed that notion. I wanted to scare the living shit out of the enemy, not just kill them.

"You're coming with me," I replied to Louise and her uncle, "If you will."

---

They would.

The Smith quarter was entirely a ghost town as we rode through, the activity I had seen less than a half hour earlier stopped, shutters on all the buildings closed. All except the clinic, Julie's former home. Bizarrely, the mob had entirely failed to take notice of it. That struck me as odd, and I scratched my chin as I stopped by as I pondered the question.

The healer who had kept Julie alive during the Templar attack on the château appeared from a doorway, peeking out to make sure there weren't any rioters about, before seeing the chevaliers riding by at a casual pace as well as Blondie, Skull-Mask, Armen and myself sitting atop our horses in the courtyard.

"They're gone?" he asked, "Where are they now?"

"Dead on the road," I answered with a scowl, "What happened? They were coming for us at the château, why didn't they attack here? They didn't seem like the kind to spare anyone, sick or not." Although admittedly, the clinic was better protected than most places.

"Perhaps they were afraid of the mages," Skull-Mask said, "Even I would have hesitated to attack this place, if I knew I would be facing magic. Or at least, I would have tried to use surprise." His niece shook her head.

"If they knew about it but feared it, would they come marching past it noisily?" Blondie said, turning her horse about, "The rest of the quarter is locked up, they were loud and angry enough to cause that."

"They might not have cared," Skull-Mask said, "They're rioters, not rational people."

"Mages scare irrational people more than rational people," Armen cut in, leaning back in the saddle, "Trust me."

"I defer to your experience, Enchanter," said Skull-Mask sarcastically, "What is your name, healer?"

The man stepped out of the doorway, staff tapping off the flagstones as he moved. Once he was directly in front of us, he bowed deeply to us at the waist. "Tobias Markham, esquire," he said with a complete lack of irony. He was showing a whole lot more deference than he had before, but then as a skilled healer, he probably dealt with nobles in formal settings a whole lot more than most mages.

"You are Nevarran?" Skull-Mask mused, "Well, Monsieur Markham, prepare this place to receive the wounded. There will likely be many."

The healer looked to me for confirmation, with a cocked eyebrow no less. It took me aback a little that he wanted my opinion. I had thought his opinion of me to be abysmally low, after I had pointed a handcannon at him. So much so that I never bothered to seek him out after the battle with the Templars, largely out of shame. There was no time to dwell on that. I gave my consent.

"It shall be done, my lords," Markham said, "May the Maker watch over you."

He paced back into the doorway, where several other faces had appeared to gawk. He shouted to them to get back inside, and to break out the supplies prepared for our march on the Emprise. I grimaced, realising that this whole affair could delay our attack. I cursed under my breath and turned Bellona about.

Ciara rode into the courtyard quickly on her small horse, the noise of faster-beating hooves announcing her arrival over the slow taps from the chevaliers. She was red-faced from something.

"We have a problem," she said in a fluster, "Come see."

We went after her, through the rest of the Smith quarter and past the gatehouse, until we were forced to overtake what was becoming a traffic jam of chevaliers on horseback. Relieved looking citizens appeared at second and third floor windows, not quite confident enough to cheer. The noise of fighting was louder now. More people to disappoint if we failed, I thought.

When we got to the front of the line, a chevalier on foot got in our way. A horse lay on its side, making loud and pained noises in the gutter. I winced as I saw the blood.

"Wait!" the chevalier shouted, hands up, "Don't come any further."

Behind her, seemingly half the furniture of the surrounding houses blocked our way. It had been dragged into the street, more of the faux-Chantry banners hoisted on top of the pile. Nothing unusual about that to my mind, barricades of that sort were ten for a dollar when it came to riots. What was much more strange, and disturbing, was that the approach to the small ragged wall of wood was mined with caltrops. A good thirty feet worth of road was covered with them, and they were just the right colour to go unnoticed if you weren't paying attention.

A spike trap to deter cavalry from charging the rioters down. We all realised what that meant, but it was Maurice de Villars who put it to words.

"Rioters with pre-prepared traps? This is no riot," Skull-Mask said, "This is sabotage."

"But by who?" his niece replied, "There is no way our declarations could have made it to Val Royeaux or Gaspard yet. Most of his barons and allies could not have received it yet either, and those who close enough could not have organised this in a matter of days."

"Perhaps they intended this from the beginning," I said half-heartedly, before glancing at Armen. He stared back, well aware that we had more enemies than Gaspard's partisans. The whole thing sniffed of a plot by fringe Chantry elements to me.

"Well, it'll take too long to clear this up for the horses," Ciara said with a frown, "Do we wait or go on foot?"

We had to go on foot or we wouldn't be able to save much of the town. My gut curled as another thought occurred to me; maybe this was the point, to get us off the horses. While horses were more vulnerable in enclosed streets, on the main avenues they were essentially unstoppable. Without these sorts of barriers, we would have reached the town square in no time at all. I sighed, knowing that we were probably playing into the hands of those responsible.

"I presume your chevaliers can fight on foot too?" I asked Skull-Mask.

"Of course," Louise replied in his stead, "As I said, we are the finest warriors in all Thedas."

"Then you're going to get the chance to prove it," I replied, "We're going in on foot."

The order to dismount was given, with one chevalier remaining for every three that dismounted so that the horses could be brought back to the stables in the Smith quarter. I let Bellona be taken by the nearest rider, and loaded my firelance.

Rather than their cavalry sabres, the dismounted knights now drew longswords, daggers and small round buckler shields. Not exactly the best for a shock attack, but the sight of yellow feathers, cuirasses and armoured masks would terrify anyway. I was confident we could best any Templars hiding to ambush us. They weren't to be the only people in the fight either, I thought.

My earpiece crackled to life.

"Marquis, McNulty and Mike have just arrived at the Smith quarter," said Soprano over the radio, "We can see the chevaliers' horses being taken out, is there a problem?" My heartbeat died down a little, the reinforcements calming some of my nerves.

"Yes, there are caltrops on the streets," I said, "Expect heavier resistance, but it shouldn't be a problem if Mike has her troops too. Same rules of engagement. Any sign of Colonel Velarana?" If Mike's troops had been able to assemble and arm, that meant the preparation work for the march had been completely abandoned.

"She's gathering the battlemages from the outer markers, they were gathering supplies for the artillery," McNulty cut in, "The Tranquil are ready to move if you want them up here." I stuck out my tongue at that. The idea of shelling my new hometown and the people who had begun to believe in me rankled, and it perhaps was even part of the enemy's plan.

"Leave them to defend L'Ambassade," I ordered, "I'm going in now with the chevaliers."

"Copy," said Soprano in common, sounding bizarrely American all of a sudden. My own mannerisms had begun to rub off on her, I noted. The familiarity was pleasing, and strangely boosted my confidence.

So, with time running even shorter than it had been before, we picked our way through the spikes on the ground, kicked over the tables, ladders and chairs making up the barricade and marched down the avenue towards the town square as planned. Louise de Villars and I were in front, followed closely behind by Skull-Mask, Armen, Ciara and the dozen or so chevaliers with shields larger than a dinner plate. The rest followed behind.

Almost immediately, we could see part of the fighting going on down the street. The Baron's guards in their blue tabards, red masked helmets and chainmail were holding the streets leading towards his end of town, getting battered with cobblestones ripped from the ground as well as fending off the occasional attack. No sign of the man himself, but he might not have even been in the town at that point. He was levying his own troops for the march after all.

The guards themselves couldn't advance, as braziers usually arranged around the space had been moved to block the advance. If the guards moved forwards, the lights would have been kicked over and turned into fire wall. It was still more evidence of some forethought, albeit rushed. If there had been any real time, the rioters would have been armed with spears at the very least. I couldn't help but nod a compliment at their ingenuity, nonetheless.

We were getting ever closer to the fighting, as well as to the junction closest to Élodie's home, and my breath caught as I realised the rioters had not even bothered to further barricade the way. The hundred or so that had come charging towards the château were clearly supposed to hold off anyone coming from there, and now, we might catch their brothers by surprise. Or so I had hoped.

Just as we reached the intersection leading to Julie and Tam, the way looking tantalisingly clear, another mob of rioters came storming out of side streets and alleys on the other side. About two hundred of them, their faces were happy, carrying things under their arms that clearly didn't belong to them. Small jewellery boxes, candlesticks and silver mugs, and most disgustingly, one had made a chain of ears and thrown it around their neck. Elven ears. I felt utterly numb for a moment. More had suffered for my presence.

By reflex, I knelt down, taking aim with my firelance. The chevaliers closed ranks, a fact I only noticed by the sound of their feet behind me. The rioters went from happy through scared to enraged in the space of a few seconds. Every single one of the bastards was looking straight at me. I hated them too much to fear them.

"It's HIM!" shouted the man with the ear-necklace, "The Deceiver! The demon!"

"KILL THE APOSTATE!" shouted a particularly large man with him.

All their lives forfeit in my mind to begin with, I shot the ear-flayer dead, taking him with two rounds in the chest. He flopped to the ground like a wet towel, limbs flailing.

The crowd charged, utterly unafraid of death in the way that only those powered by sheer ideological zeal can be. I lit up a couple of more, aided by Ciara's bow whizzing a few arrows past my head and into the throng. The effect was less than I would have liked. The tide rolled forward, shouting so hard that they seemed diseased with rabies, all spittle and rage.

They were advancing too quickly. Quite sure I would be unable to shock them into submission and incapable of killing them all before they reached us, I waved the chevaliers forward and withdrew quickly behind.

"Chevaliers, Trap the Bull!" said Skull-Mask. The nobles did not so much as advance as spread out in a forward direction, leaving plentiful gaps between them in the centre. The mob charged headlong into these gaps, the shieldbearing chevaliers taking the brunt of those who were smart enough not to. Spaced evenly apart, the chevaliers were able to hack into the rioters from multiple directions. The insane animals were sliced to pieces, lacking any sort of protection except for tunics and pants.

The chevaliers were beginning to look like they had waded through a river of blood, but showed no signs of slowing. One or two fell to blows from five or six of the mob at once, but that was not enough to stop a ripple of doubt spreading. The sight of decapitated, throat-split and disembowelled bodies will do that, particularly to civilians.

This was the chance I needed, and I sought out Skull-Mask and Blondie as they rotated out of the fight for a moment.

"Lord Villars, the Marquise and Tam are this way," I said, pointing to the side road, "I believe their lives are in danger. Can you take command here and push this rabble to the square?" He paused, considering the problem. Fear closed my throat over as I realised he might think it a foolish endeavour, but I need not have worried.

"Marquis, I intend to slaughter every single one of these traitors," Skull-Mask replied, wiping his sword on his leg, "Without the Marquise, the common people will not be with us, and it would be utterly shameful if a woman as beautiful as that Tam were to die because of this plot. Go save them." His Qunari fetish aside, I was pleased to hear he held both of them in such high regard. With a grin, I slapped him on the shoulder and checked my weapon.

"Chevalier, send them to the Void," Armen said, his face the picture of anger as he made a bow. He had seen the ears too. Thankfully, he had the good sense not to attack. Furious, his magic would have manifested as fire... and he probably would have burned down the whole town.

"We shall," Skull-Mask said, before moving off to join his troops in battle once more.

"Let's go," I said, ready at last. I took off at a steady pace towards Élodie's house.

Ciara and Armen followed, joined very shortly by Blondie herself. What the hell Louise was doing following us, I do not know, but I didn't bother to question it. We might have needed the extra sword-arm, so I just waved her on.

---

Mercifully, there were no signs of rioting in the merchant quarter once we passed the first alley. That put serious spring in my step, as it meant the treacherous bastards hadn't made it this far yet. The streets were still empty though, which should have given me a clue. Even more encouraging, no Templars popped out of any windows to say hi before stabbing me to death by the time we got into eyeshot of our objective.

The shutters of Élodie's townhouse were closed over the windows and the front door, much like its neighbours. My jog slowed to a walk, my shoulders relaxed. They hadn't been attacked, I thought, thank God, the Maker, the Lord, whatever you want to call him. Ciara, Armen and Louise took my slowing down as something else.

"What is it?" Louise asked, her sword still out and bloody, "Is the enemy here?"

A smile beamed off my face like a spotlight, my cheeks feeling it.

"They're safe," I said to no one in particular, "Julie, Tam, Élodie, Claire, the babies... even Leodor."

"They'll be safer once we move them to the château," said Armen firmly.

"How are we going to do that?" Ciara asked, bow at the ready, "I mean, there's four of us. Maybe the enemy is trying to get us all in one place without all our warriors."

It was possible, but it didn't matter. McNulty and his people would be arriving soon. All we had to do was hold out inside the house, something we could easily do now that I was armed as well as I was.

"So we wait in the house and have a cup of coffee," I said, moving ahead again, "With any luck, the rioters won't show up before the Grenadiers do." I should have really learned to shut up at moments like these.

"Rioters aren't your problem," said a cheery voice loudly from in front. We stopped dead. Ciara and I raised our weapons slightly, ready to shoot with minimal extra effort. It was like breathing to us both by this stage. War paranoia had set in long ago.

A woman appeared from an alley. A cloaked red-headed elf, in leather padded armour, holding two daggers that had to be akin to Tam's curved one, although these weren't curved. She stepped lightly into the middle of the street, reminding me distinctly of a tiger. One that ate men alive. Except I wasn't merely a man, I was a soldier.

"Are you my problem?" I smirked, sarcasm dripping off my voice like honey, "If so, I'm intrigued." I was hoping to get information about who she was working for out in the open, before any gratuitous violence. The villains are usually oh-so helpful with that.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the woman said, in a strange unknown accent, "I am Tallis. One who solves."

"And I am Baroness Louise de Villars," said Blondie loudly, drawing her sword, "One who carves people who get in my way into little pieces. Stand aside." The rest of us chuckled, most ill-advisedly. Ciara even lowered her bow. No way the newcomer would best a chevalier in single combat. No way she could survive gunshot wounds, magic or Ciara's deadeye aim either.

"The Baroness is not a level-headed person, Tallis," Armen said, eyes gleaming at Louise, "Perhaps we should save you from yourself." His staff glowed for a moment, and he looked to me to give the order. I shook my head. We needed to keep 'the problem' talking.

"Sam Hunt, Marquis de la Fayette," Tallis continued, completely nonchalant about being chopped up or frozen to death, "Our agent identified you some months ago, and invited you to join us. Unfortunately, you declined, and now we have to do things the hard way."

I blew a noise out my lips, very much doubting she had anything that constituted 'the hard way'. That said, my mind rushed trying to figure out who she could possibly have meant by me being invited to join someone. The only possibility that sprung to mind immediately was Leliana. It fit the Chantry's general MO, but then why wasn't the Nightingale herself bringing me in? I was actually afraid of her capabilities, for a start. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, as my brain was making nasty conclusions I hadn't consciously clicked together yet.

Tallis raised a hand, breaking me from my thoughts.

"The hard way ends with you having so many holes, we could use you as a pasta strainer," I retorted quickly, "This conversation is over."

"Not exactly," Tallis replied, "Place your weapons on the ground."

She dropped her hand, and a cacophony of doors slamming open against their frames filled the air. First, more cloaked people appeared holding crossbows and curved shortswords from the doorways. Many were elves, which made no sense to me at all, at least until the next lot revealed themselves.

Fifteen damned Qunari walked out onto the street behind us. No Tamassrans either, these were armed with huge two-handed longswords, naked from the waist up except for their unique patterned vitaar warpaint and chainmail gauntlets, horns curling. They were easily bigger than Tam herself, although most were not quite the size of the Iron Bull. All except one.

From the same alleyway that Tallis had emerged from, a large female Qunari emerged pulling a chain, which was attached to a neckbrace around the collar of the largest man of any species I had ever seen. His face was encased in an blank, iron mask. More of a box really. There was no way he could see anything, at least not with his eyes. I understood what he was almost immediately.

The Qunari surrounded us on both sides, weapons at the ready.

"The Qun," gasped Louise, "But... how... why!"

"The Marquis has been a very naughty boy," Tallis continued, "Couldn't have him wandering around, showing off his powers and giving away secrets to you Chantry-slaves. It's a good thing we arrived when we did. He belongs with us."

My body felt heavy, not through fear but through what can only be described as inevitability. The time had come at last for the Qunari. Of course, I had expected them to want to kill me, not capture me, which was entirely to my advantage. Another such edge I had on them was that in expecting them, I had prepared repeatedly for assassination attempts. No matter how heavy I felt, I could go through the motions of the plan.

"Armen!" I shouted.

The mage turned to the rear, as the Qunari began to react, spinning his staff. I returned my attention to the front, seeing creases of frustration crop up on the faces of the Qunari. Followed quickly by lethal anger.

Time slowed, in the way it does when one is most definitely facing Death herself.

'Tallis' started to draw her blades and move forward, while the barrel of my firelance drifted to frame the chained person ahead of us. The air grew colder, and an ear-splitting crack boomed through the air. I smiled. Armen had carried the first part of his role; erecting a wall of ice between us at the great majority of our enemy to the rear. Now it was our turn.

The air split again, this time with the crack of my firelance. There is not a more glorious sound when facing an enemy to the death, when you can see their faces. My blood rushed with the joy of it, all other fears and excitements put aside.

The flash-crack was joined by the hiss of white-fletched arrows passing over Ciara's glove. My bullets made their mark, blue flashes sparking and spinning away with every hit. Of course the giant chained man was a mage, a saarebas as Tam would have put it. There was no other reason for the Qunari to chain and tame a person in that way. My object was not to kill, but to suppress the mage's magic, to concentrate all his efforts on saving himself from me.

Ciara's job, as well as that of Julie and Tam had they been there, was to kill everyone else. Her first arrow struck the saarebas' minder just under the collar at an awkward angle, piercing deep. She fell to the ground, breathing heavily, struggling to stay alive.

Tallis padded towards us quickly, much more quickly than I would have thought possible. Straight towards me, no less. For a moment, I thought that I would have to switch my aim from the mage to her, which might have been suicidal. The elf's eyes had concentrated on me with the precision of a laser. I was the only person worth anything to her. I hesitated.

Louise de Villars stepped up beside me, throwing aside her mask, revealing pale skin and ice-blue eyes, her sword in one hand and a buckler in the other. Ciara let loose an arrow at Tallis quickly, barely aiming, but the Qunari agent danced aside just in time, and used the momentum to bring both of her blades whirling around. Blondie caught the first with her sword, the second with her buckler, and began trading blows with the smaller woman. Satisfied that she could hold, I returned my full attention to the mage.

The monster's magical barrier failed, popping like a soap bubble, but with the faint sound of glass shattering. My next two rounds, the last in the magazine of thirty I had fired at him, glanced into his iron mask, shattering parts of it. He recoiled, stunning by the force of the impacts. That was a good start, but he wasn't dead yet.

I released the empty box, grabbed the next thirty round magazine and slotted it into place. Something I had done a thousand times, to the point it was as easy as scratching my nose. When I went to draw back the bolt, to ready the firelance to fire, a screech erupted from ahead of us. Louise and Tallis paused their fight. Ciara stopped trying to get a bead on Tallis. Armen glanced back from the job of maintaining the wall of ice and stopping the Qunari from climbing up onto it.

Without its keeper's guidance, the saarebas' pain drove it mad. Worse, my own actions weakened its mask, and the monster ripped it off, revealing strange runes carved on the inside. It was definitely a Qunari, or kossith, the remains of its clipped horns poking out of the sides of its forehead. Its lips were sewn shut, but its eyes were open, wild reddish-purple irises full of hate. I could not help but think that the Chantry's solution to the mage problems were bloody humanitarian by comparison to how the Qun treated those with magic. It was a living torture exhibit.

We had enough time to think, because the thing began thrashing from side to side, slamming into the walls of the houses, shouts of terror coming from the occupants inside.

"It's becoming an abomination!" Armen shouted over his shoulder, "Kill it, quickly!"

Thinking that my firelance wouldn't be much good on its own, and remembering the demon-trees I had fought the summer before, I slung it and picked my mace off my belt. I was still utterly high on adrenaline, and utterly fearless as a result.

I charged, my small kite shield shouldered and mace raised. The saarebas seemed to grow by half, both in height and bulk, flames licking out from his noses, eyes and mouth, tracing along his skin. I am told that anyone less than a Seeker, or a very brave Templar, would not have contemplated attacking such a beast alone. Witnesses attested to me doing just that over the course of the weeks afterwards.

The mage sent a torrent of fire at me, and I walked through it like Moses through the Red Sea, completely unharmed. I sneered at the beast, every step taking me closer and making it more mad. The thing hadn't become completely demonic yet, and slammed huge fists towards me as we finally met. Rather than take the impact on, I sidestepped, the left fist glancing off my shield.

It had put its full weight into the action, and haunched over as it lost its balance. I slapped the side of its head with my mace for good measure, almost losing my own feet as its arm whipped out and caught me in the chest. That left a pretty nasty bruise. Cursing, I took two steps back, shield raised to receive the next blow.

Instead, there was a final screech, and the saarebas' body dissolved. In its place floated a tall, thin demon, robed with the faces of corpses.

The demon mage growled at me, and floated towards me, a hand outstretched. I stood my ground, letting it come. It was a magical creature now. I could take it apart with ease, I thought.

Until Ciara did something stupid.

A white arrow thumped into the side of the demon's head, passing halfway through and sticking, creating a sight like something from a comedic farce. The thing moaned and turned towards my Dalish comrade, a hand clasping out in front of it, glowing with a yellow-green tinge. It was going to kill Ciara. With the same animalistic roar I had heard from the rioters, I charged home, swinging the mace about like a madman.

I took that mage apart like it was a block of butter, liquidified chunks floating away as I hacked and hacked from the bottom of its robes upwards. The pieces faded away in green hues, as if they had never existed. Cold and hot sensations creeped up my arm with every hit, no more harmful to me than bodyheat or a frosty breeze, even though they were supposed to be attacks to burn me alive or cover me in ice. A final swipe at the head finally killed it, the whole remaining body disappearing like the rest of it. I inhaled the air greedily, calming down a little, the worst of my enemy dead.

Tallis stared in confusion as I stepped back. "Well, that was amazing," she said. I grunted, unslinging my firelance once again. I had almost forgotten about her.

Blondie hadn't. The chevalier slammed the side of her buckler against the side of the elf's head in a vicious punch, taking advantage of the distraction I had provided, and knocking the Qunari agent clean out. 'Honour doesn't preclude tactics' being one of the mottos of the chevaliers. I snorted my amusement at the fate of Tallis, and looked forward for a moment to debriefing the spy fully.

Unfortunately, her colleagues were not so distracted.

"Eh, Sam," Armen called from behind, "A little help?!"

We all turned to find the bulky Qunari warriors and their lithe elven confederates combined, smashing the ice and climbing over the broken chunks, all the while taking the cold head on. There were too many to kill, but that hardly stopped me trying. We killed a good number as they moved, but they weren't idiots. The ice was thick, and they ducked to avoid my firelance, sending quarrels at my general direction to no avail.

A big two handed sword almost bisected Armen, his barrier holding only just. He took that as the sign to get back, and Fade-stepped away quickly, leaving a trail of snow behind him. We took that as the sign to start shooting. Louise grabbed the unconscious Tallis by the arm and pulled her away, while Ciara and I rattled off a few more bullets and arrows to slow the passage of the Qunari through the ice. The man who had tried to kill Armen was first, taking an arrow in the throat and two rounds in the collar, bleeding all over the white ice, turning it a strange red-pink where he fell.

Armen joined in, switching to his favoured lightning. The skin of the Qunari warriors crackled, but they kept advancing. They angled their blades in a strange manner, deflecting some of the magical forces. I could not help but be impressed at that little technique.

Louise rejoined the line, and got into a much more difficult melee with the biggest of the remaining three kossith fighters as they closed in on us. The elves brought their crossbows to bear on the rest of us, twanging bolts our way in a less speculative manner than before.

"COVER!" I shouted. Ciara and Armen obeyed immediately, stopping what they were doing and ducking into doorway arches. I followed suit and reached for a grenade, that would have settled the matter very quickly indeed. I prepared to prime the device, and looked out to see that Blondie was still out there, trading blows with one Qunari as the other two closed in. Her blue eyes flashed with each traded attack, but she did not notice the others approaching.

With no way I could use the grenade if she was still out there, I brought my firelance up to stop them. I cracked off five rounds at the nearest one, before my gun clicked dry again. Ciara put an arrow into my target, finishing him off. Armen was too busy holding off the elven crossbowmen. The last one was home free to stick his blade in Blondie's back. I scrambled for my handcannon, bringing the weapon up, cocking it, aiming, my stomach sick.

I knew I wasn't going to make it.

A black fletched arrow hummed down from above, catching the second Qunari behind the knee, sending him flying to the ground. His back soon sprouted bloody holes, the sound of a handcannon popping off a half dozen shots echoing off the stonework around us. I looked up. Julie, Tam and Leha were on the tiled rooftops, their weapons ready.

Louise finally noticed and realised the danger was immediate. She took a huge swing at the last grey warrior, and took the space created to run away. Julie emptied her clip into the newly exposed target, as Tam and Leha topped off two of the crossbowmen behind him. Madame Beretta was very displeased, I joked in my head. I holstered my handcannon, reloaded my firelance and stood out of the doorway I was in.

"We have Tallis," I said, "Kill the rest."

"Of course," said Armen with his usual sarcasm.

The Ben Hassrath agents bolted and ran, back down the way we had come, trying to make it to the corner where we couldn't shoot them. They almost made it too. Well, most of them. We killed almost half before they could reach it. When they did, it ceased to matter.

McNulty and three dozen grenadiers came rushing around the corner in formation, curved rectangular shields raised, swords pointed over them. The elves threw down their weapon and raised their hands. They were shoved to the ground and tied up. I sighed, my battlelust draining away. Our rooftop party climbed down through a window, and out the door of the house they were on top of, and joined us.

I went over and hugged Julie and Tam tight, my knees weak with relief. They looked at each other. They hadn't known what was going on, or the danger of it.

"What's going on?" asked Julie, "Where'd the Qunari come from?"

"Oh nothing, Ben-Hassrath agents fomented a riot so they could capture me and kill you," I said, with a hand wave, "I'm just glad to see you're okay." The pair of them flinched at the news.

"The Ben-Hassrath did what?!" asked Tam, checking me with no regard for propriety, searching for wounds furiously, "Please tell me you took one of their leaders alive." I shrugged, not sure if Tallis was actually alive from the blow she had received. Tam pulled off my kevlar and got handsy under my shirt, pulling her palms out and looking for blood. It was a pleasant sensation, but I slapped her hand away regardless with a grin. Some of McNulty's people were having a good chuckle at us.

Julie on the other hand was lost in thought.

"We took this one alive. Or rather, I did," said Louise wearily, appearing with Tallis over her shoulder, "I think that mage-handler back there is still alive too." McNulty himself shouted to his men to retrieve her from the street, and a quick glance confirmed the mage's guard was indeed breathing.

"They wanted me alive," I added, with no small degree of shame, "I was the objective. This is all my fault." I should have annihilated the Iron Bull and his entire party in the summer, I thought.

Julie shook her head. "It might have been one of the reasons, but I think it's obvious the Qun would lose out if we succeeded," she said, finger wagging, "They meant to cut the head off the snake, cripple our movement before we can win any victories."

"Makes sense," said Armen, leaning on his staff for support, "Without Julie or Sam, the support of the mages and the commoners would likely disappear."

"We would have protected them," said Louise, depositing Tallis into the arms of McNulty's troops.

"You would have failed," said Tam with complete certainty, "The mages cannot possibly trust your kind, you have not earned their respect." Implying that Julie and I had earned such trust. Which was true. There was no way Velarana or Armen was going to bow and scrape for Skull-Mask, the Baron or any of the other nobles. Only reason Velarana did it for me was because I saved her life and the lives of her people, and then provided them a home at great risk to myself.

"Not yet," Louise conceded loudly, picking up her mask.

"Marquis, we've pushed them back to the square, but there's a problem," reported Soprano over the radio, "You might want to come down here." Jesus Tapdancing Christ, I thought, how hard is it to put down surrounded, poorly armed civilians?

"We're on the way with the Grenadiers," I responded, "McNulty, have the Qunari bodies collected, and get the rest of your people moving."

"Yes sir!"

---

The town square was a ring of fire by the time we reached it.

Overturned carts and market stalls had been drawn back in a semi circle around the entrance of the town chantry. The rioters had occupied it. The braziers had been moved with clear intent towards burning the whole building down if any moves were made to force them out. I suppose I understand now the reluctance of the Baron and Skull-Mask to storm the place. Aside from it being a religious site, which would not have stopped me, the entirety of the town's archives were there too. Births, deaths and marriages, and all the associated legal paperwork that those things entail about property and the like.

The Rangers were up on the roofs, trying to get a bead on stray heads popping out of the upper windows, though the shutters were partially shut to prevent the occupiers from being seen observing the square. Mike's pike and crossbow troops had sealed off the exits around the space. The Baron's guards and personal retinue were with Skull-Mask's chevaliers encircling the barricades itself. Who seemed to be having a good time exchanging cobblestones with the imbeciles manning them. I shook my head. What in the hell was the delay for?

Julie, Tam and I approached the Barons of Hearth and les Grandes-Collines, with Louise de Villars. The others had agreed to remain at Élodie's home, to protect it.

The younger red-masked baron was standing on top of a small platform, trying to see what the rioters were doing to the small part of his town that they possessed. The older sat on one chair with his feet up on another, turned to the side away from the action, his mask off as he tucked into a rather plump pear. The same ice-blue eyes possessed by his niece concentrating on the task, a heavily scarred face retaining the core structure of what must have been quite a handsome visage once upon a time.

"What the hell is going on?" I said to them. They both shifted attention to us at once, although Pierre soon returned his gaze to the chantry.

"Nothing to do now but wait them out," Skull-Mask pronounced with boredom, before noticing his niece was covering in blood, "Louise, are you alright?"

"She fought off Qunari," I said approvingly, "Including a very quick assassin."

"Really," replied the uncle, his hands falling to his lap, pear and knife remaining in place, "Qunari you say." He didn't seem particularly perturbed by that, but Pierre's head moved back on a quick swivel to pay attention to the conversation again.

"They're responsible for all of this, uncle," Blondie said, "We have the corpses to prove it, and some prisoners."

"They fought ferociously, but were no match for your niece's blade or the ability of the Marquis and Marquise," Tam explained, "They even brought a mage, which quickly lost control and would have consumed us all had Sam not been present to kill it." Particularly true as the only Templar we had, demon-slayer that he was, was notably absent. I winced as I imagined at the damage that might have been done.

"We'll have to think about some sort of honour for you, Lady Louise," Julie nodded, "But for the moment, why are you not liberating the chantry, my lords?"

Blondie smiled widely. "Personal guard to the Viceroy would be acceptable," she grinned with a sly look at me, taking us off track.

Tam cocked an eyebrow, and Julie laughed. Louise de Villars wasn't exactly beautiful, but she was good looking in an athletic sort of way, having no small degree of aristocratic refinement. Similarly built to Tam too, albeit shorter. I thought her suggestion somewhat provocative. Orlesians, I swear... Evidently Julie and Tam regarded her as no threat. Quite correctly. I had far too much affection for both of them, and had been through too much, to stray by this stage.

Hence why other measures had to be taken by people who had requirements of me, but the plots of Tevinter magisters need not concern us at this juncture.

"I think that would be appropriate," Julie said, before turning , "But again, why are you not putting these dogs to the sword? That they are Qunari dupes is all the more reason why their lives are forfeit." Her Orlesian accent greatly rose when stressing a point in Common, and this time was no exception. Of course, she was speaking it as that was what the nobles spoke in public, so the peasants couldn't follow along as easily.

"Cleansing the chantry in their blood might appeal to you, Julie," said Pierre softly, "But the Divine and the Grand Clerics may not approve of it. Almost certainly, they will not. We must tread carefully, especially as we have declared war just now."

"So you will wait until they get hungry and surrender?" asked Tam, crossing her arms, "Looks to me like they'll destroy the place before that." The braziers were arranged just so for that conclusion.

"In which case the Chantry will be on our side," Pierre replied, "It may even buy us more support with them, to hear that the Qunari want to destroy us. They know how that feels, especially among the zealots."

"They cannot last long in there either," Louise said, with a tilt of the head, "It is not well-stocked."

"If only that were true," said Julie, burying her face in her hand for a moment, "The Marquis and I have been engaged in food relief efforts, and the stores are in the Chantry basement."

"Food relief?" asked Maurice de Villars, his head cocked, "What do you mean?"

"Feeding the poor of the town out of our own pocket," I explained, "A PR thing." The abbreviation through them off. I explained it meant 'public relations'.

"They have enough food down there to last for weeks, given that there's only a couple of hundred of them," Julie added.

"If they know about it," Pierre retorted, "Either way, we can bottle them up with a similar number and wait them out while we march."

That was very true, though I wouldn't be committing a single soldier to that even if they wanted me to. Of course, they couldn't have asked it. I was in command now. Of course, it was less than ideal, leaving this whole problem behind us rather than resolving it that day. We remained silent for a moment, probably because we didn't disagree with the Baron's point.

Thankfully, I had an idea.

"Did you take any prisoners?" I asked Pierre directly, "I ordered my own soldiers to give... some quarter."

"A dozen," the Baron replied, "They fought like madmen, kept screaming about the Whore of Hearth and how she had summoned a war demon to do her work to bring down the Chantry, and some nonsense about the Qunari being in on it. Ironic, now that I think about it. Not much use to us." The 'Whore of Hearth' being Julie, featuring Tam as the Qunari agent and my fine self as the unspeaking war demon. I was less than impressed with their branding of my lovers as a traitor and a power hungry slut to say the least. Though I thought the unspeaking war demon part to be appropriate, because that was all they were going to get from me.

"Oh, they'll be useful," I said, "They've been duped once, why not a second time?"

---

We threw the corpses of the dead Qunari warriors at the feet of the captured rioters, and dragged a newly conscious Tallis in front of them. Explaining that they had been tricked into acting in the interests of the greatest enemy of their faith was extremely easy with such excellent visual aids. I had them released into the chantry, but not before Tam had cut off the head of the largest Qunari male, a four-horned beast of a man, so they could show their fellows.

The dozen men strolled into the chantry under the impression that if they succeeded, they would be spared. However, no such promise had been explicitly made.

They did succeed in convincing their fellows that they had been tricked. They did succeed in getting the whole group to exit the chantry itself through the front door. They did succeed in putting their entire, imbecilic, zealous band into a killing zone. Traitors die in shame, as Julie would proclaim.

McNulty's Grenadiers started the bloodshed with a combat weapons test, igniting the powder-matches sticking out of the bases of their stick-grenades with hand-flints, before tossing them together in a high arc amongst the rioters. The explosions tore ragged holes in the clump of two hundred or so, as well as in individual men, killing a good few, crippling many more. Soprano's Rangers opened up from the rooftops, making their marks with near-perfect accuracy. Men were taken by minié balls from two or three directions, falling apart at the chest or half-losing arms. Blackpowder and blood filled the air with their scents, as the last of those to exit the chantry fell dead or cowered in fear, adding their own filth to the ichor. Mike's billmen moved in to finish the job, and successfully cleared out the chantry with a minimum of fuss and zero damage to the building or its contents.

To an Earth reader, this may strike you as a very bloody, possibly criminal act. I describe it in brief terms only precisely because I share that belief. However, the laws of Orlais are far removed from the international laws of the United Nations. Orlesian readers, as well as Orlesian people at the time, will no doubt agree that such a fate was too lenient. Indeed, the punishment for rebellion involved torture followed up with death by strangulation. By massacring the rioters, I was in fact performing a mercy in the eyes of many of the Orlesians. However, I do not like to think about it too much. Their ghosts don't haunt me, they were too full of hate for people I regarded as among the best on Thedas for that, but rather that it was the moment I knew the war to come would require similar brutality on a larger scale.

Regardless, thanks to the Qun's plot, our enemies had time enough to raise their armies.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Huge chapter this time.

There could be future delays on this story as I finish up Battlefield 2183, hoping to get that done in a blitz. I won't stop writing this, I will be devoting more time to the other story is all... because frankly it has double the followers and I've been neglecting it, which isn't fair on people wanting to read that. Writing this is far easier, as I'm in far more expansive non-canon territory.

Drgyen: Indeed it is. Was even considering outright calling Skull-Mask and Blondie by the surname de la Valliere, but that's a little too much.

JaegarCryptic: Hope you enjoyed this one as much as the last one.

Asahar4: A single gunshot to the chest probably wouldn't be effective. Mages can resist firearms for a time.

Technically, the Venatori are running around at this time. We'll run into them eventually.

Joseph shark pusher: She does have more grandoise ideas. She just understands that laying out her cards in the open is a quick way to lose. She's had the benefit of reading Machiavelli, after all.

Tactus501st: Well, apparently, we're going to find out. I originally said there wouldn't be too much technological development, but Julie's character bloomed too much for that to be the case.

Azariah Kyras: I addressed your point by PM.

Cyner2u: Thank you for both the compliments and the nicely constructive criticism.

I think some of the character development feels like it is told rather than shown because it is part of the nature of the autobiographical format I'm using, with a single imperfect narrator. That said, there have been parts where I've edited badly or failed to edit after writing, so yeah, there is some telling going on where there shouldn't be. I tend to write, then rewrite, then rewrite again, but getting caught up with other things, that process tends to get uneven. All I can do is pledge to do better in future.

As for 'UN values', I'm not sure such a thing exists. The UN is a seriously mixed bag, and peacekeepers are not UN troops, but rather national soldiers seconded to the UN. He remains as thoroughly American as any other American. There is also no shortage of frustration among peacekeepers as to the complex and restrictive rules of engagement imposed upon them. More to the point, Julie and Tam have been the real reason he abandons any pretence of following UN Peacekeeper rules more than any internal process. Julie's political radicalism and Tam's determination to create a sort of Anti-Qun can't benefit from military restraint, and he loves them both.

I'm very glad someone has finally made the Franklin comparison, as Julie was modelled heavily on the good doctor, in terms of her interests and sexual morality. Though she isn't a female Franklin expy either.

The British model is what she's fighting for at a minimum at the moment, but who knows whether that is her final goal? It's funny you should bring up that though, for other reasons that you'll see.

In Defilade: I've only seen the TV series, unfortunately, but you're right in saying Farscape has inspired a certain... disrespect for the literal meaning of the word 'Peacekeeper'. And it will continue to do so. This chapter featured the first Thedosian soldiers wearing blue berets, after all.