There was no time that the mask of the Inquisitor felt more natural to Sylvanni than when she was sitting in judgment over prisoners. The Herald of Andraste, sitting on her throne of flames, flanked by guards on the dais in the very center of the main hall of her fortress of Skyhold. She felt powerful here. The part she needed to play was simpler to adopt when she was in this role, surrounded by its trappings.
Despite the early hour, the hall was filled with people, anticipatory whispers causing a low hum of conversation. Everyone wanted to see what would happen it seemed. The word had gotten out. Today was the day. The Inquisitor would here judge the man who had killed her clan. No one wanted to miss out on that. Sylvanni's judgments of prisoners were always popular events around Skyhold, but this one was especially personal to the Inquisitor, and therefore even more likely to draw a crowd.
Sylvanni gave a small nod, crossing one leg atop the other as she signaled that it was time to begin. The heavy doors at the other end swung open, effecting a silence across the hall as conversations fell away. Antoine's hands were bound before him, and two guards kept careful hold on his arms as he was walked into the hall, down the long corridor of gawkers to stand before the throne of the Inquisitor. He did not look up to meet Sylvanni's eyes as he was brought forward.
When the guards stopped, he stumbled, falling to his knees. There was an air of defeated apathy in the motion, and on his own, Sylvanni thought he might have chosen to remain on the floor rather than summon the energy to pick himself back up. That was reason enough for her to deny him it.
"The prisoner faces judgement on his feet," she said firmly. The guards quickly complied, pulling him back up.
Josephine stepped forward, off to one side of the dias, her candlelit clipboard held firmly in her hand. Cullen had offered to preside over the hearing, knowing that this decision had a personal element to it for Sylvanni, but Josephine had wished to be the one to officiate. She still felt that what had happened had partially been her fault, though Sylvanni did not hold her to blame. Reaching out to Antoine for help had been her idea, and she wanted to be a part of the proceedings to make things right again.
"My Lady Inquisitor," Josephine began, accented voice carrying clearly over the crowd. "Before you today is Antoine, former Duke of Wycome. Suspected of involvement in a conspiracy against your clan, he was arrested by your hand and brought to Skyhold for judgment. The Inquisition has since discovered that his crimes are more numerous than we would have previously imagined.
"Today, he stands accused of genocide, conspiracy, and treason as an ally of Corypheus and the Red Templars. He was the leader of a plot to poison the wells of Wycome with red lyrium, causing the entire human population of the town to be corrupted and harvested. To cover his crimes, Antoine disguised the effects as an epidemic, claiming that his people were struck by a plague carried by the elves. With this rationale, he purged Wycome's alienage, killing all of the elves who lived within. Dalish Clan Lavellan, camped nearby, were blamed as the original source, and were wiped out by mercenaries in Antoine's employ, under the guise of bandit attacks.
"All this, he has himself confessed to our agents, in the presence of multiple witnesses. He has claimed full responsibility for his actions, and has even given what little information he has on the movements and plans of our enemies since he was captured. Whether this cooperation is a mitigating factor in his sentence falls to you to decide, Inquisitor."
Josephine's professional tone throughout the speech was to her credit. Despite hearing the atrocities that Antoine had committed all lined up like this, Sylvanni felt calm, composed. The knot was straightened out within her, and she knew what she planned to do. She had no purpose for her burning anger from before. It would only cloud judgment at this point.
"Does the prisoner have anything to say in his defense?" Sylvanni asked, though the question was more a matter of formality than anything else. He hasn't wished to defend himself in the cells; she doubted he would do so now.
Antoine did not look at her. "Nothing I say will matter to you or anyone who listens here. I chose my side, I did as I was asked to do. None of the accusations against me are untrue. Nothing I say will change your mind. All that remains is what you do next."
She nodded slowly; the answer was what she had expected. "I simply wonder what it must be like to have done so many horrible things and not be able to offer even a single word in your own defense. No justifications, nothing. How must it feel?"
At this, the man lifted his hollow eyes to meet hers. "Perhaps one day you'll know, Inquisitor."
Her hatred of him, the burning rage that wished to consume her, threatened to flare up again. She forced it down, pinning it into inefficacy beneath the steel weight of the Inquisitor's mask. He had no place to judge her, to judge her choices. Her anger was not an asset to her at the moment, so she would not pay it any heed. She controlled her emotions; they did not control her.
When she next spoke, her voice was authoritative, not simply the leader of the Inquisition, but the Inquisition itself personified. "Antoine of Wycome, upon the basis of the evidence gathered and upon the word of your own confession, you are hereby found guilty of every charge brought against you. Written falsehoods to agents of the Inquisition, the perpetration of belief in a false 'Knife-Eared Plague,' the massacre of Dalish Clan Lavellan, the purge of Wycome's alienage, the infection of your townspeople with red lyrium with the intent to harvest them, and finally, high treason in swearing loyalty to a creature like Corypheus.
"As punishment for these crimes," she continued, "the Inquisition sentences you to death and officially gives the responsibility of your execution to Clan Lavellan."
Murmurs ran through the hall at this. Clan Lavellan had been wiped out, and whenever the Inquisition had dealt with political prisoners in the past, it had always been done under its own name and power. Experienced players of The Game were curious, analyzing the unconventional move for hidden meanings or posturing. Those unaware of politics simply felt confusion at the strange declaration.
Antoine's eyes simply narrowed, and she held his gaze. She cared very little if he thought her sentence was unconventional. This was right. This was for her clan.
"At Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel's death, I, as Clan Lavelan's First, have succeeded her as Keeper. My clan is gone, but as Keeper, it is my duty to see their deaths avenged and their murderer brought to justice. I accept the responsibility of your life, and I shall conduct your execution not as the Inquisitor, but as Keeper. Your death shall be my first and last act as Keeper of Lavellan, after which, the clan will officially be disbanded. This, I hereby decree, in the witness of all who have gathered here today. The execution is set for one week's time."
The finality in the statement made it clear that the judgment was over, and she nodded to the guards to take Antoine back to his cell. He held his ground for a moment, not letting them pull him away. "Why the wait, Inquisitor? Why not just get it over with?"
"I have no need to explain my reasoning to you," she said evenly. "Even if I did, you may be assured that this decision had nothing to do with you."
The guard pulled on Antoine's arm again, more roughly this time, and he finally turned and allowed himself to be led back out the long corridor to the keep's doors. With the spectacle finished, a buzz of conversations picked up amongst the watchers, then slowly began to taper away as the crowd dispersed. Sylvanni stayed seated on the throne as they left, Inquisition guards standing at attention to either side of her.
As the room cleared out, Cullen came to stand beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "How do you feel?"
She allowed herself a small smile. "I'm not sure one is meant to feel anything good after something like this. I don't think I feel wrong about it, at the very least. That will have to be enough, won't it?"
"It will be." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, then offered a hand to help her stand. She didn't need assistance, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.