Chapter Twenty: Heart of the Many
"I had a quick look round. There's one door in the castle that isn't under heavy guard." Tallis and Varric stood on either side of a trellis in the Chateau Haine courtyard. Intricate carvings and ostentatious sculptures were draped by pale roses and rambling ivy. Above the leaves of grass, a stone dial faced the sky like a splendid, silent sun. Or the eye of a giant, whose gaze marked the endless numbered days nobles postured and preened.
"I sense a "but" coming..."
"I can't get it open! Bent a nice set of lockpicks too. One of the guards must have a key. They wouldn't just lock themselves out of the castle! I hope..."
Lambert frowned. Was it too much to ask that he could just enjoy Orlesian wine and the warm glow of acceptance among his peers? If Varric and Tallis wanted to steal some jewel that was their business – Duke Prosper could surely afford it – but he hoped they'd do it quietly without involving him. It would be embarrassing if his own attendants were caught rifling through a guard's pocket! Then he reminded himself that if it weren't for his friends he would have been eaten by the wyvern instead of the other way round.
"Let's see what we can find out," Tallis said to Varric, "Come on!"
Around him, the conversation ebbed and flowed like water:
"Your grace! This is the event of the season."
"You have truly outdone yourself this time, Prosper."
Duke Prosper gave a gracious nod, accepting the accolades as his due. He smiled at Lambert, including him in the moment. "To hunt the wyvern on its own ground is a terrible risk – but the prize! I present to you this belt crafted of fine wyvern skin. Wear it well, and accept the accolades you are due."
"Thank you, Duke Prosper. I'm proud to be here."
"Your humility, Lord Amell, does you credit." A commotion at the edge of the gardens caught Lambert's eye. He gaped. An enormous, armoured creature was straining at its bonds while nervous guards struggled to feed it an entire side of beef. "Ah – do not mind Leopold! My pet is always so temperamental before dinner."
"Leopold, is it? I didn't know wyverns could be tamed."
Prosper laughed. "Tamed is perhaps too strong a word. Welcome, my friends! Enjoy a taste of Orlesian hospitality."
Lambert did what he did best – mingled and charmed and flirted and enjoyed himself, aware of Fenris fading into the shadows and watching him protectively. He was grateful for that – a gratitude not quite aware of itself.
"Try the bronto cheese pastries. They have hints of earthiness, and violent undertones."
"Can I interest you in some ham from the Anderfels that tastes of despair?"
"Avoid the cheese plate! Terrible!"
"That wyvern blood has a kick!"
By the canapes, a richly-dressed noblewoman was upbraiding her philandering husband:
"Where are your knickers this time, Perrin!"
"Shut up, you painted shrew!"
Near the fountain were two people Lambert recognised, though under very different circumstances and never together:
"Stop fussing, Seneschal, dear."
"Is my hair sticking up?"
"Your hair always looks impeccable."
Lambert couldn't believe it! Serendipity – his friend while working for Madame Lusine – was here on the arm of Seneschal Bran! The beautiful courtesan had helped him settle in, and later had approached him in the Alienage to tell him he had done the right thing with Idunna. Lambert had always seen Seneschal Bran Cavin as a ruthless follower of respectability – the realization he had courted scandal by appearing at Chateau Haine with his Elven lover made him feel warmer toward the man. He smiled spontaneously.
"Ah, Serrah Amell – I was just talking with Duke Prosper. It is a shame the paperwork moves so slowly in the Viscount's office. By the time we return to Kirkwall, I will have settled matters."
And all I had to do to speed up the paperwork was kill a wyvern! Who knew?
Like a pale shadow, Tallis was suddenly there. She was silent as Fenris. "This is officially my worst night ever!" she said mournfully, "Lord Cyril de Montfort has his father's key, but he doesn't like Elves. Or women. Whichever - you're the answer, Hawke."
So – Tallis wanted him to seduce Cyril de Montfort to get the key? Lambert had worked so hard to leave his former persona behind – the thought of falling back into it – with Duke Prosper's son, no less, was...awkward. On the other hand, he did owe Tallis for saving his bacon against the wyvern – he would rather be a tart than a wyvern's dinner. Anders wouldn't care – would probably laugh. Lambert's lover was not a jealous man. And there would always be part of him that wanted to say, "Watch and learn from a professional, darling."
He shrugged. "Alright. But first: I need to know you don't intend violence once inside the keep. Guards don't deserve to die for doing their job."
Tallis nodded quickly, her pale eyes seeming sincere. "That is my belief as well. No one will be the wiser and I doubt the Duke will even miss the jewel."
"Alright. Give me a minute."
Lambert found Lord Cyril in an alcove in the vestibule. He was a handsome young man about Lambert's age. Any night of the week at Madame Lusine's he'd have thought himself lucky to get such a client.
"Tell the Elf that her pleas are for nothing. She is pretty enough, I suppose," Lord Cyril remarked, "No doubt there are some men who would like that sort of thing."
"I thought that you might be a man of more refined taste."
"I have heard the same about you, Monsieur Hawke."
It surprised Cyril how quickly Lambert divined his wishes; Lambert didn't know why, they were nothing out of the ordinary. A short time later he emerged to look for Tallis with the key on his person.
Whoever had designed the garden knew what they were about. There were pear trees set against the wall where the sun warmed them and creeping vines that flowered in many colours. Roses grew along the walls, and wildflowers and sweet herbs among the walks. It was misting, but the air was sharp and clean. Lambert breathed in deeply and walked along the damp paths among the sleeping plants. The fountain was a glittering storm of silver, and Lambert grinned as he dropped in a Caprice coin and made a wish. His wish: that his mother would become reconciled with Anders, would see his virtues and that they were happy together. As for grandchildren...Lambert frowned. There were two ways, neither one he would consider. One was to trick some poor woman into marrying him then carry on seeing Anders behind her back. She would be miserable – women always knew these things - and, worse, she would be so innocent she would probably blame herself. The other way was even lower. It was the way Lord Amell's human wife had chosen. Unable to bear children, she had used the womb of an Elven handmaid to give her husband an heir. And a spare – Gamlen had been born after Leandra. As half-elven children appeared fully human, and Elves could tell no tales, her secret had been secure. Lambert couldn't think of a crueller way for a human noble to use an Elven woman. No, he realised, there would be no grandchildren. Mother will just have to get used to it, Lambert told himself, trying to make his inner monologue sound cynical instead of wistful, Incognito is the only child I will ever have.
He wondered what life was like for Cyril – whether his father had ever pressured him to make similar choices. Being a man who preferred the company of men – or a woman who preferred the company of women – was not considered shameful in the South (the Chantry had plenty to say against mages, but nothing against same-sex lovers) yet a noble was expected to marry to produce heirs. As Carver had chosen to become a Grey Warden Leandra expected that duty to fall to Lambert – the unwritten price he must pay for the titles and the privilege. And, in truth, Lambert loved children – had always yearned to have a family close as the one his parents had built. They had been - within the limitations of poverty and fear of the Templars - a family drenched in love. I will adopt, he decided, Blood's just a substance that leaks from a wound – nothing to do with love. To take life is so easy – the freeing of a bird from a flimsy, ugly cage. To give life is what matters. To create safety, to create happiness, to nurture intelligence – to give meaning – that's power. That is love.
A moment later, a voice shook him from the uncharacteristically deep thoughts, and he turned to see a beautiful woman he had never imagined he would see again. Her heavy silk gown was smoke-blue, she worse a sapphire necklace, and her hair cascaded down her back like red rain.
"Sister Leliana!"
"Lambert Hawke." She had a smile like sun on flowers – Lambert was amazed she had even remembered him. He had been fifteen when his family had come to Lothering - on the run from the Free Marches, after Lambert had foolishly confided in a friend he thought he could trust. The Hawke family had attended the Chantry on Sundays – in a place like Lothering that had been necessary to avoid questions. He, his father and Bethany had been careful to take magebane - and Sister Leliana had taken him under her wing. Her lessons in music and guile and history had opened a window in his mind. Three years later their lives had exploded – Carver and Lambert had fought and lost at Ostagar; Leliana had joined the Warden. Fate brought them together again - after Lambert, Carver, Leandra and Aveline had fled to Gwaren they had taken ship to Denerim, where Rillian had allied with General Loghain Mac Tir. All had served in the campaign against the darkspawn: Aveline and Carver had taken the Joining, Leliana had written her own legend with Farsong, Lambert had been a front-line medic and Leandra had knitted sturdy winter clothing. Lambert's last sight of Leliana had been in the Landsmeet he had gate-crashed.
"I heard rumours you left with dear Rillian – boarded a ship in the middle of the night and crossed the Waking Sea. Please...is she alright?"
"Oh yes - we all made it safely." Lambert wondered how much he could tell Leliana. She was a good woman – but Rillian had described how Leliana had been tricked into revealing too much to Grand Cleric Iona. The Chantry distrusted Rillian's research, and would not be happy to hear about Corypheus, the red lyrium idol she had claimed in the Deep Roads, or her quest to regain the lost lore of Arlathan in order to cure the taint. "I'm afraid we parted company soon after we left the Vinmarks. I do not know where she is now, but I am absolutely certain she lives and is well."
"Yes, Rillian was always a survivor," Leliana smiled wistfully. Then her face morphed, shifted into new alignments, and Lambert caught a glimpse of the Seeker: ruthless, cunning, deep as Lake Calenhad. Thoughts flickered like the swift grace of the creatures beneath the surface; here one minute and gone the next, they made the mind distrust the eye. "I could not help but notice your companion – Tallis and I have met before. Let me guess: she has conned you into granting her access to Duke Prosper's vaults – perhaps claiming to be planning some petty larceny?"
Lambert's widened eyes told Leliana all she needed to know. "Have you ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?"
"The Qunari secret police? Believe me, with the situation in Kirkwall, I know a lot more about the Qunari than I ever wanted to..." Things in Kirkwall were on a knife-edge – the Arishok had spoken openly of the need to "save" Kirkwall from its corruption. Kirkwall was pretty corrupt, Lambert had to admit, but since those who lived under the Qun were allowed no children, no parents, and no independent thought he reckoned the cure was worse than the disease. Not to mention what the Qunari did to mages. Under the Qun he and Anders and everyone in the Circle would have their tongues cut out and their mouths sown shut. "Wait a minute...Qunari are mortal enemies of Tevinter - would be just the people to rescue a slave girl and train her as a spy."
"You are quick as I remembered," Leliana said approvingly.
"So - Tallis wants to steal the Heart of the Many for the Qunari? I still don't see why that is so important – or why Duke Prosper would even miss one jewel in thousands?"
"Heart of the Many" is the literal translation of Ben-Hassrath. There never was a jewel. There is a brave man who has chosen to leave the Ben-Hassrath and who is meeting with Duke Prosper tonight. He carries a list of sleeper agents – humans and Elves who serve the Qun and who will rise up, at the appointed time, so that all Southern Thedas may fall to the Qun. I knew the Qunari would send assassins – I didn't know who until tonight."
Lambert whistled softly. "Fenris told me I was too quick to trust people I hardly know and I guess he was right. Well – it looks like I will be returning the key to Cyril." He smiled - a shadow of his old smile. "I'll make sure he enjoys the game." Then, sensing worried eyes on him - catching a glimpse of Tallis watching from the gardens - he squared his shoulders and said,
"Sister Leliana – if Duke Prosper learns of this then Tallis' life is forfeit. Please give me enough time to get her out of Chateau Haine. I won't help her kill a man – or take that list of agents - but she helped me against the wyvern and I don't want her to come to harm. Please."
"Mercy is a curious thing, Lambert. Strength or weakness?"
"Strength."
"It can save your soul – and damn your body. Nonetheless, I will give you time."
"Thank you."
As Lambert headed towards Tallis – hoping to confront her in a private spot – he became aware that Fenris was shadowing him as he had probably been throughout. Protecting – keeping to the darkness – Lambert blushed a little, sure Fenris would have been none too impressed by the way he had seduced Cyril in order to get the key. Especially now it had all been for nothing! Varric, too, had detached himself from where he had been reading an extract of "Swords and Shields" to a gaggle of giggling noblewomen. Lambert led them to a small room inside the castle – possessing Cyril's key had its benefits – and checked to make sure the corridor was clear.
It was a large, octagonal room, opening onto a terrace, flagged in stone, that overlooked the garden. The cabinet was large and made of carved fruitwood, hung with silk hangings of light blue, with golden trimmings. The floor tiles were blue and gold and white and covered with a soft carpet of blue, gold and rose, so thick and rich Lambert knew it must be imported from Val Royeaux. A bowl of flowers sat on a slender-legged table by the window, and an old chest, made of pearwood and carved all over with flowers and vines, stood near the door. There was a marble-topped writing table beside a triple-flamed lamp. On the wall hung an old silk banner, much worn, with the sigil of the de Montforts in red and gold.
The lovely glass bowls were of many shapes, some deep and some shallow, all etched in the pretty way the Orlesians had. The bowls turned the candlelight and sent it shimmering in the very air. Varric and Tallis placed two delicate green crystal goblets down, the red wine darkly sparkling in the light of a guttering lamp.
"Varric," Lambert asked quietly, "Did you know when you introduced us that Tallis was a Qunari spy?"
Varric shrugged expansively – his charming smile the sort Lambert himself wore when caught in wrongdoing and trying to brazen it out.
"I know I know – the Qunari has no horns and the dwarf has no beard. But it takes all sorts to make a world. I knew Tallis intends the Heart of the Many to end up in Qunari hands rather than Duke Prosper's...but stealing from Orlesians is never wrong. Or so I've been told. Personally, I'm not sure the Heart is a jewel. I think it may be the secret to gaatlok – in which case: Hawke, do you really want that secret to end up in Orlesian hands? Or the Chantry's? As a Ferelden mage? I hadn't told you the whole story, but I would never act against your interests."
Lambert sighed. No doubt Varric had intended to sneak a peak at the scroll before he handed it over to Tallis – his friend had an eidetic memory. She would be none the wiser, and everyone would go home happy. It had all the hallmarks of a Varric scheme.
"Except the scroll is not the secret to gaatlok but a list of Qunari sleeper agents all over Thedas."
Varric whistled softly and Fenris looked nauseated. Tallis met Lambert's eyes and asked softly,
"I have a question. In the forest I told you about a way of life where Elves and humans are treated as equals and you told me it sounded wonderful. Was that true?"
"Elves and humans should be treated as equals because they are equals," Lambert said softly, "But among the Qun that just means they are equally oppressed. Neither can have parents, or children, or any thought not sanctioned by the State. Children are born by a state-sanctioned breeding program and never given names – just roles – which they must play to the end of their lives. There are no persons – just parts of a whole. And what your State does to mages is...I don't have words. But, no, of course I don't support a society where I would have my tongue cut out and my mouth sown shut! I can't imagine why you thought I would. Because I fought for Ferelden, you think that means I'd betray Orlais to the Qun? There's a lot about the Andrastian Chantry I don't like, but the Qun is just plain evil. I am sorry your life has been so terrible it looks good by comparison."
"Save your pity," Tallis said harshly. She might have been Fenris, he thought sadly – angry, proud, and yearning for a dignity and goodness that had been wholly denied them.
"Tallis," Varric interjected smoothly, "Perhaps, if you were to tell us more about your mission, we might be persuaded. You can't expect Lambert to just agree to help you before he has heard your side of the story."
Desperate hope flickered in Tallis' eyes - she really did not have the inscrutability of a secret agent - and Lambert felt sorry and a little ashamed. Not even he would have fallen for that trick – Varric's transparent attempt to get her to spill the beans about the Qunari plot – but Tallis swallowed it.
"The one I expected to find is named Salit, a member of the Ben-Hassrath...the Heart of the Many. He's here to sell secrets to the Orlesians, and I came to stop him. You probably won't believe me, but this isn't a political mission. It's...personal."
Lambert raised an eyebrow. How could it be 'personal' when the Qunari had no such things as 'persons'? You were either your role or you were bas: thing.
"What do you mean?"
"Salit was my bessrathari...the one who recruited me into the Ben-Hassrath. My tutor. He trained me. I suppose, in a way, he saved me. He's the one who saw my potential, convinced me I could make a difference. It doesn't matter now. He's selling secrets; or, at least, he intends to. One last act of defiance. I can't let him do that. Not when he'll hurt so many in the process."
"Hurt the Qunari agents before they rise up against Thedas, you mean?"
"Not every Qunari is a soldier, you know! There are tens of thousands of farmers, artisans, craftsmen... People who have never hurt anyone. People whose only crime is living. They don't deserve what he's going to do to them."
Neither did the innocents in Orlais, Lambert thought, but that was exactly the pity of war. The high and mighty – the Ben-Hassrath or the chevaliers - made war, and the little people always paid. But feeling sorry for one group of little people didn't excuse betraying your people to the agents of a hostile power!
"But it's more than my duty to stop Salit. It is my moral obligation." She might have been Anders, Lambert thought bleakly. He seemed to hear him again: there is no-one in Kirkwall I would not kill to set mages free. Anders knew damn well that included Fenris and Varric and even Lambert himself. Visionaries and idealists, Lambert thought wearily, always a dangerous thing.
Varric was looking vaguely ill. "Shit, Hawke, I'm sorry! But I hope you know I would never betray you - at least, not when I am sober and in my right mind..."
Lambert giggled. It was always impossible to stay mad at Varric for long. "So - about half the time, then?"
"More like two thirds."
"Did you know, Fenris?" Please tell me you didn't know...
"Not for certain. I have spent my life in close proximity to the Qunari. Killed many, to protect Danarius. I would have protected you but...I had to know for sure."
Yes, Lambert realised, more relieved than he might have expected, Fenris was not used to confiding in anyone and would not have accused Tallis without proof. He had watched, and waited, like an unofficial bodyguard.
"Do you know about these Ben-Hassrath?"
"You could ask me, you know," Tallis said, with a shadow of her old spirit.
"I'm asking him."
"The Ben-Hassrath enforce the will of the Qun. They ensure all follow its dictates."
"Like Templars?"
"Not quite but...close enough."
"Ignorant people say we're enforcers that keep the Qunari in line, but that's not it. We're...the soul of the Qun. We keep its spirit alive and protect it, both from outside and from within. Not every Qunari agrees...nor do they always do what is best for all. The Ben-Hassrath remind us of our common goal."
Lambert wanted to tell Tallis her speech was pure propaganda, but he listened, heartsick. Why was it always the best people who followed the worst ideologies?
"You make them seem almost peaceful." If she caught Lambert's discreet sarcasm, she did not show it. "It's not always meant to end in violence. There are other paths. They do not all need to lead to the same destination."
Tallis fell silent and looked at the floor like a much younger girl. She raised her eyes and looked at him. "I... probably don't sound very convincing," she admitted sheepishly.
"Have you ever had doubts?"
"Doubt is the path one walks to reach faith. To leave the path is to embrace blindness and abandon hope."
"A Qunari proverb?"
Tallis gave a tiny, endearing smile. "She who swallows wisdom in tiny chunks avoids choking." Lambert heard her tutor in that voice. He was beginning to get a sense of this Salit. A man who had rescued Tallis from the non-life of those who ended up in Qunari society but were unsuited for a role. A rescued slave girl, one step away from being given qamek – the drug that turned all bas into mindless laborers. He had saved her, and told her - and himself – that he was doing it for the Qun – when that was simply the only way he could ever have a child. To create safety, to create happiness, to nurture intelligence – to give meaning – that is love. And now his long-germinal doubts about the cruelty of the Qun had grown to fruition, and his daughter felt betrayed, because she had only seen the lessons and not the love. Lambert wanted to meet this brave man – wanted to save them both - and knew damn well he was not going to let Tallis kill him!
"You don't need horns to embrace the Qun. What you need is a purpose. A belief in unity, in improving the lot not only for your own people but for everyone."
There was such a wash of conviction in her face – of bright, pure idealism, that Lambert felt sad. How to reach her when she was arguing from the best part of herself?
"Being Qunari doesn't automatically mean you're a zealot. Most Qunari don't even understand humans, why you act like you do. But I grew up among you. I understand perfectly well."
Lambert winced, feeling, once again, the shame of belonging to a race that caused so much misery to the other peoples of Thedas. An Elf-blooded human was still a human, with all the privileges that entailed. Part of him loved the privilege, of course - who wouldn't love the experience of tucking into Orlesian pastries while wearing nice clothes and trading genteel barbs over wine? - but it suddenly tasted like ashes in his mouth. He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present.
"I am not defending humanity; just saying I am not going to let you kill someone for the Qunari."
"I never said I was killing him for the Qunari."
"If you are not killing him for the Qunari – for the good of all - but for "personal" reasons, then you are proving he was wrong to have trained you. Proving you don't belong with the Qun."
She sighed. "I know it's not easy to understand. With the situation in Kirkwall, I can hardly blame you."
So – Tallis did not approve of what the Arishok was doing?
"But just tell me: can you honestly say there's nothing to improve, nothing to strive for? We believe in striving together. We may stumble, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try."
"I don't disagree with that – just with the path you have chosen – or have had chosen for you – to achieve your ideals."
"It's who I am. I joined the Ben-Hassrath because I felt it meant something...means something." The hitch in her words – the way she had spoken in the past tense – told Lambert Salit was not the only Qunari who had doubts.
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
"It's been a long time since I even talked to anyone about it."
If she were among Qunari, Lambert guessed such a conversation would be taking place in the re-education camps. Here she could confront her questions safely, among friends...
"What Salit is going to do will harm so many innocents...my people as well as yours."
War usually does that, Lambert thought bleakly. Ostagar had taught him that. In war, it was always the innocents who suffered. But Salit was not the one making war – only exposing the agents of the war that was coming – the invasion the Qunari had been planning for a very long time.
"Explain what's so terrible about Salit's plan."
"I...can't. Not completely. And yes, I know, that's a hard sell. The information Salit plans to turn over to Orlais won't just hurt other Qunari, however. It will harm anyone living in Qunari lands."
Lambert blinked, surprised she hadn't come up with anything better. Did she think him so naïve he assumed Par Vollen was happily multicultural? That there were non-Qunari living in Qunari lands? In Par Vollen you were your assigned role or you were bas – a worker given qamek to burn your brain to slush.
"Even those who fled the Qunari, of any race, will be condemned to persecution forever."
That much was true, Lambert thought wryly, any Qunari who fled was known as Tal Vashoth and the Ben-Hassrath hunted them down, forever. They were either "re-educated" or killed.
"I see that to you this isn't just some political scheme," he said softly.
"If only it was. I'm not here on some directive from the Qun. I came..."
Out of the corner of his eye, Lambert saw Varric make a small movement. He knew his dwarven friend well enough to know what he was thinking. Varric had intended to swap the Heart of the Many for the secrets of gaatlok. Even when he learned the truth, he was still wary of how much power the Qunari had. What if the Arishok were successful in his overthrow of Kirkwall, and they all started living under the Qun? The Qun had a place for dwarven merchants - but not for merchants who had opposed the Ben-Hassrath. Now that Tallis had revealed she was a lone wolf – not acting under Qunari orders but simply out of her sense of betrayal by Salit and wish to prove he had been right to recruit her – he knew he could fix this mess without cost.
"...Salit was declared Tal Vashoth, but they didn't deem intervention worthwhile. I...couldn't agree. I had to try."
Lambert wondered about that. If the Ariqun didn't deem intervention worthwhile could it be that the list was not genuine? That they had decided to sacrifice a list of false contacts in order to protect the real ones? This was starting to give him a headache – but he had confidence that a woman as talented as Leliana would be able to sort truth from lies.
"Doesn't that make you Tal Vashoth as well?"
"No! The Ben-Hassrath didn't order me not to do this. But here I am anyway." She chuckled. "I was trying to earn my way back into their good graces. This...probably won't help."
"Why? What did you do?"
"It's not easy, being an Elf in the Qun. You're not born to it like they are. I've struggled to find that peace, that certainty. I know it's there, I just...keep falling short. Don't you wonder what it would be like? A life with meaning? With purpose?"
I wonder what having my mouth sewn shut would feel like but I don't wish to experience it...
"Have you ever been part of something bigger than just yourself?"
"I will always be proud I fought for my country – that I helped defend Ferelden from the darkspawn – but I'll never be a career soldier. Right now, I'm part of my family and my friends – their hopes are my hopes – but I don't need anything bigger."
"It's not the same thing. The Qunari have a vision of what life should be like. Free from pain and fear and doubt. You see tyranny and I see caring, an interest in the welfare of all. Yes, it could be better. But so could human indifference and cruelty. Or do you disagree?"
"You don't actually think that you can finish your mission? With Seeker Leliana and Duke Prosper onto you?"
"Alone? Probably not. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. Some things are worth dying for."
"And why would I help you?"
"Because..." Tallis' hand flicked out, too fast to follow, and she held her forefinger up to Lambert's face, "I've got your nose!"
Lambert blinked. Tallis' complete inability to read a room was endearing – he could not help but think of her as a younger sister. One he wanted to save.
"Seeker Leliana told me Salit is bringing a scroll. It is not the formula for gaatlok or the plans of a Dreadnought – it is a list of Qunari agents throughout Thedas. Like you, they are people no-one would suspect – human merchants, Elven servants..."
Tallis nodded. "Many of them have children, family, friends..."
Lambert had rarely heard anything so cruel. No member of the Qun was allowed children – children were conceived through the State breeding program and assigned roles without ever knowing their birth parents. Sex was not an expression of love it was a pastime between adults, as casual as scratching an itch. He supposed Qunari females must take birthbane – or perhaps any babies born outside the official mandate were abandoned. This meant the partners of these Qunari agents had been seduced and lied to – their children conceived as a means to provide cover.
"Some have even left the Qun behind. But if this list fell into human hands, they and everyone they know..."
"And what of the fate of these children when the adults they love and trust – call Mother or Father – are given orders to perform their duty to the Qun?" Those who knew Lambert recognized the flat tone as the explosive rage that would have had his brother shouting. "Will these fake parents simply cast them aside, like an outfit no longer needed, or will they enrol them in a Qunari re-education camp?"
"And what will be their fate once the list ends up in the Empress' hands? Do you think Celene above ordering the deaths of innocent children?"
"No," Lambert said bleakly, "That's the way things are done in the Great Game. But, fortunately, the spymaster behind Duke Prosper is Seeker Leliana. The Chantry might be a lot of things but they do not kill children. They will be taken as foundlings, and raised to be Templars or Chantry Brothers and Sisters. It's...not ideal...but it's better than their fate under the Qun."
"The human children, maybe," Tallis said harshly, "Do not pretend that your Chantry takes Elves." A strange, dark light entered her eyes – that warned of memories too harsh to be shared. "What do you think happens to Elven children who are discarded by the Chantry and have no place in an Alienage or a Dalish Clan or a Circle?"
Lambert flinched. His life had never shown him, but he had heard enough from Serendipity and Jethann to have the first bleak glimmers of understanding. And...it wasn't right. Wasn't right that he sat in Kirkwall with all his wealth and had never thought to help. That everyone just looked the other way. He looked to Fenris,
"Well - hunting slavers would be a good start. And after that – well, money is good for more than Orlesian canapes..."
"You - a charitable institution?" Varric said, and laughed.
Lambert grinned, always ready to make fun of himself, "That's what I do: feed the sick, cure the poor, pat the hungry on the head. Or something like that, anyway."
"Nobody should have the list," Tallis' voice was flat – the voice of someone who had run out of arguments and is preparing to fight or be killed.
The bolt came from the flank, silent and treacherous. Lambert gasped.
"Varric - you shot her!?"
"With a sedative. She'll be alright in a few hours. Time enough for us to make our excuses and be on our way back to Kirkwall, carrying our "drunken" friend. When she wakes, the scroll will be in Prosper's - or Leliana's - hands. She'll hate you, of course - probably join the Arishok – but she'll survive."
"Could you try to reason with her, Fenris? Show her it doesn't have to be either Tevinter slavery or serving the Qun?" Varric gave him a look - matchmaking again?
Fenris was dubious. "Show her the choices are: Tevinter slavery, serving the Qun, or living in a stolen mansion and killing for money?"
"Maybe once in my lifetime you will say something positive, Broody," Varric remarked, "Now there's a surprise that could kill a man."
"Nonsense," said Lambert to Fenris, "You're a wise, good man, whether you want to admit it or not. You could be a role-model."
Fenris only grunted, but he did not look unwilling. "If I can."
"So why haven't you converted to the Qun, Fenris?" Varric wanted to know, "I mean - you hate Tevinter, you hate magic, and you seem to know it well?"
"And you know the letter of the law, yet you choose to ignore it."
"Ah, good point."
"I didn't escape one form of slavery only to become slave to myself."
"Er, what does that mean?"
"I'm...not sure. But it sounded profound, didn't it?"
Lambert chuckled, glad to be in the company of his two closest friends. He saw by the slant of moonlight through the window that afternoon had become evening. The garden was lit by a full moon and a lunar rainbow, whose pale light gilded the autumn flowers with silver. The chateau's pale stone shone upon the hill, the moon cupped cold in the blue above. The three friends took the "drunken" Tallis outside Chateau Haine and began the long trek back to Kirkwall.
When they reached the foothills of Chateau Haine, Lambert stopped.
"Keep going, Sparky."
"Varric - if I don't explain myself to Duke Prosper he will assume I'm a traitor who seduced his son in order to help a Qunari assassin. That...isn't going to help my chances in Kirkwall. Kirkwall has a lot of dealings with Orlesian nobility – didn't the whole mess with the previous Viscount begin with a squabble over shipping rights? As an apostate I can't afford to antagonize him – he could pull strings and make my life very difficult."
"I'll come with you."
"No, Fen – Varric can't carry Tallis by himself. I'll be back before you know it – blagging is what I do best."
"You've got me there," Fenris said dryly.
Lambert turned back to the foothills around the mountain that held Chateau Haine, affecting a confidence he didn't feel.
It was the autumn equinox. Around him stretched the glittering lakes, orchards, marshes, fields, meadows, flowing rivers, rich woodlands, and rolling hills of the Free Marches. At the base of the Chateau was an octagonal stone courtyard. Fir trees surrounded pillars that brooded in monumental indifference. Nobles gathered like birds of prey – or performers sharing a trade secret. Salit was an aloof and somehow sad presence facing Duke Prosper. Seeker Leliana was beside the Duke – and his son, whose eyes lit up when he saw Lambert.
So was Baron Arlange.
"I knew you were a worthless traitor the moment I laid eyes on you!"
"I have to admit," Duke Prosper said – an edge to his voice that had not been there before - "I do find your timing curious."
"I have an excellent sense of dramatic timing. And good hair."
Cyril laughed. "Father - I know Lord Amell is not a traitor. He came to help us. It's not what you think."
Lambert gave him a quick, grateful smile. In that moment, Cyril made a friend who would pay him back when he could – and who felt guilty about his seduction. Cyril deserved better than a courtesan who had used him to help an assassin against his own father.
"I believe I can explain, your grace," Leliana said – voice soft as velvet and dangerous as crushed glass - "Lord Amell is a bard who is reporting to me on the situation inside Kirkwall. I asked him to pose as an ally of the assassin, Tallis – and to deal with her before she could disrupt the negotiations."
"Where is the body?"
"Your grace," Lambert said with aplomb, "Do you really expect I would make such a mess? If there's one thing I hate it's sloppiness. My bodyguard – you have seen Fenris – disposed of her discreetly. Your meeting is secure."
"Ah," said Duke Prosper – his eyes showing the glimmerings of appreciation - "I see you are a talented young man – far shrewder than I had believed. Well, the Seeker is not the only bardmaster who appreciates subtlety – when your task in Kirkwall is done, I may call on you."
"I would be honoured, your grace."
Lambert bowed and remained to watch the meeting – unutterably relieved when the list of names ended up in Leliana's hands rather than Duke Prosper's. The evening was darkening, shadows seeping across the air and swirling around them like blood. In another moment the moon rose above the pines and sent the first shaft of light onto the concave surface of the rock. Overhead the heavens wheeled. The pines trembled as the great virgin disc rose brilliant and majestic above their branches. The mountains were stark white monoliths and cast hulking shadows over the moon-illuminated valley. The first bright shaft of light stabbed down at the rock.
The lake looked black in the moonlight, glittering silver on the surface like a shining skin. The moon looked like the face of an Elven goddess – Mythal perhaps – blank, white, inhuman. Overhead the night breeze sang sweetly in the pines. Somewhere below them on a hill a nightingale took up its song: sweet, majestic, beautiful. Standing in the shadow of a great rock, huddling in the moonlight, the nobles finished and dispersed. Lambert sent Cyril a last, grateful smile before kissing Leliana's hand.
"I was not being kind, you know," she murmured, "I really do want your reports on Kirkwall – the Qunari but also Knight Commander Meredith. I have heard some troubling tales."
"I will tell you everything I know. As a Fereldan, I will not act against the interests of King Cousland – as a Kirkwaller, I will defend my city. But reporting on the Qunari and the Knight Commander do not compromise either of those things. Seeker Leliana," he said softly, "I trust you will not think me presumptuous if I tell you I believe you represent what the Chantry should be, must be – a force that will help Elves and humans, mages and non-mages equally." He stopped. Had he said too much?
But Leliana smiled. Her eyes were full of secrets as a cat's. "Thank you for your faith, Lambert. I believe in that Chantry too. And I hope to be worthy of your trust."
Lambert bowed and took his leave, hoping he would be able to catch up with his friends.
That night, in the hollow, rain-spattered darkness, Tallis woke and cursed them. It was Fenris who talked to her, and Lambert withdrew a tactful distance, realizing the sight of Lord Amell - the privileged and powerful – was not what she needed.
It must at least be time for Anders to close his clinic, and for his mother to finish reading and go to bed. He would not see them tonight, but he would be back soon. Lambert Gadriel Hawke, the apostate son of two Elf-blooded humans. Lord Amell, his new identity in Kirkwall. Sparky, to his friends.
Hawke. Anders' lover.
Going home.
AN: Dworkin the Mad uses Drakestone (sulfur), Sela Petrae (saltpeter made using the 'French Method') and charcoal to make blackpowder in my second battle of Ostagar – gunpowder/gaatlok is a more powerful variant. It struck me that, as Varric is only too happy to use a red lyrium shard found in the Deep Roads, he would not be above adding gaatlok to Bianca. He is naïve to think he can keep the weapon to himself – Loghain's words in DATM are true: "military secrets are the most perishable of all."
The list of Qunari sleeper agents in MOTA must be the same people who nearly took over southern Thedas in Trespasser – I could buy Hawke siding with Tallis before the Deep Roads expedition (not knowing much about the Qun and being desperate for money) but not once they have the estate and have seen what the Qunari do to mages!