The Archon stood upon the dais and declared:
"Today, I end this war!" And by will alone
Drew fire from air and set the pyre aflame.
Canticle of Apotheosis 2: 24-27
'Hm,' Celene Valmont said, her eyes drifting over the parchments before her for what seemed like the hundredth time. 'Most unpleasant, but quite intriguing.'
'Indeed, Your Radiance,' Vivienne de Fer expressionlessly agreed; the Empress sighed, and stood.
Her corset, too tightly strung by a chambermaid who was not Briala, was pinching at her hips.
Or maybe I am old and growing fat, Celene unwillingly thought.
'Perhaps the Council of Heralds…' the mage politely suggested, only to have her words dismissed by a brief and tired wave of Her Radiance's bejewelled hand.
'The Council of Heralds wants the head of every mage in Orlais, yourself included,' Celene responded, dryly. 'They will be informed of our decision once it has been made, and you will have aided us in making it…How little the good heart of Veldrin Lavellan serves us now,' she dreamily said; her back was turned so she did not notice Vivienne's less than polite smirk. 'The Council is but a field of tall grass bowing to the wind, chere Madame; those who still hold Gaspard dear have bowed to me for lack of choice, but they still mutter when they think no one is listening. Those who supported me would have done the same if the outcome of that dreadful night at the Winter Palace had been different.'
'No,' Celene followed, 'We trust them not on this matter…Not because we fear their disloyalty – that is a constant every monarch must accept – but because they do not understand the cause of our plight. Not in the same way we both do, Madame.'
Vivienne nodded. 'Whatever is in my power to do to serve Your Radiance shall be accomplished,' she said, 'and I full-heartedly agree that Magistra Pavus did Your Radiance no favours. Had Gaspard's head been on a pike…'
Celene chuckled briefly and mirthlessly.
'Our cousin has three sons, Madame de Fer,' she said – though her face was covered by her mask, it was clear that she was smiling, sadly. 'We have no heir. One of the three will be restored to land and title, and follow us to the throne; perhaps their disposition towards our reforms and our rule will be more benign, given that we had their father's life in our hands, and chose to spare it. Perhaps not, yet…'
'Your Radiance has many more years ahead,' the mage said, kindly.
'And, alas, they shan't be peaceful, as we had hoped,' Celene replied.
She sat back down, deciding that the annoyance of the pinching corset was worth it, if it meant she could look the other woman in the eyes. The Empress was not playing le grand jeu now, and she briefly struggled to remember whether she had renounced it with anyone else but Briala. Still, this was no time for veiled meanings…
'What do you make of this rebirth of Andraste?' she queried; the mage before her crossed her elegant hands in her lap and considered her words before speaking.
'I wish dearly that it was true, Your Radiance,' Vivienne said, simply. 'However,' she followed, 'there are indeed intriguing things in the communication from Minrathous. I am not an open enemy to House Pavus, but neither of the two consider me a friend.'
'Have you been wronged by them?' Celene asked.
'Not directly,' the mage earnestly replied. 'Our differences were philosophical in nature, as one might expect, and while I consider our present predicament direct proof of the fact that I was correct and they were not, I cannot assert Magistra Pavus has ever been anything but fair and even handed in her dealings with me. She even went as far as to assist me in a deeply personal matter, and the effort posed on my behalf was not insignificant.'
'So you have no reason to assume that either Lord or Lady Pavus might wish to harm you,' the Empress said.
Vivienne shook her head. 'No; our differences of opinion went no further than heated but polite arguments…well, less polite with Magister Pavus, I should say.' She drew a deep breath before continuing. 'This is the part of the communications that I find awkward. If either the House Pavus or the monsters they have awoken had harmful intent, they would not offer to come here.'
'From what Briala writes, Tevinter's Old Gods are possessed of inhuman powers,' Celene once more prompted.
'Divine Victoria would not willingly allow harm to come to me; she would defend me against all odds. ' the mage refuted. 'And, if Your Radiance might allow me to advise her, it would perhaps be good that the monsters should be compelled to maintain their human form, whilst in the Empire.'
Celene distractedly nodded; the mere notion of dragon wings spread over Val Royaux made her sick to her stomach. She tapped her index's fingernail on the table, in thought.
'This bodes ill,' she said, at long length, 'for if you think they do not intend to do you harm, yet still wish you to be present at their encounter with the Maker's Bride, it means that they have utter confidence she is not…Andraste,' Celene forced herself to finish.
'Hm,' Vivienne said, dryly, and perhaps with far less deference than the situation and her interlocutor might have mandated. 'It could also mean that it is not me they seek to harm; let us not forget that the Maker's Bride was undone by human treachery once. Perhaps it is their plan to similarly undo her now. Marquise Briala equally writes that one of the monsters controls minds – Divine Victoria could well be under her influence, and for all my abilities, I am unsure that I shall be immune. My testimony, which, without false modesty, will carry weight, might be tainted…And even though I might be thoroughly convinced, that leaves Your Radiance and the Orlesian Empire…'
At war with either Ferelden and the Free Marches, or the Imperium; I rose to my throne and secured it by a war designed to prevent exactly that. How fitting it is…
Her Radiance, Empress Celene Valmont the First did not know whether to laugh or cry. Under her solid mask, she thought it would not have much mattered.
'It is our wish,' she struggled to say, 'to recognise Arlathan. It is our wish that Elves become citizens with full rights to the protection of Orlesian law. Not because…'
'Your Radiance does not need to explain,' Vivienne neutrally said.
'Yet my radiance shall have to do so, sooner or later, Madame de Fer,' Celene snapped. 'And we are both wise and old enough women to know truths unpalatable will be spoken out loud. Rumours will become reality, reality will become the hail of pebbles gracing my carriage every time I venture out of the Winter Palace. I will be the Empress who sold her people's blood for an Elvhen whore.'
Fully disregarding the etiquette that a subject may never touch her sovereign, Vivienne de Fer briefly reached across and brushed her fingers against the Empress' arm.
'Why should we not think on this?' the mage asked, quickly withdrawing her hand. 'A week, perhaps two? These letters do not give us a time limit within which we should respond, nor an indication of how, nor, dare I say, what Your Radiance's conditions this visit by.'
Celene nodded. 'I shall not order you to go anywhere you do not wish to be, chere madame.'
'I wish to see the Maker's Bride, Your Radiance,' Vivienne responded, calmly. 'It would be wise if the monster who controls minds is not present were one of your terms. My testimony might carry more weight, then.'
'To my ears alone,' Celene said, swallowing saliva.
'To the only ears that matter, Your Radiance,' Vivienne de Fer said, standing, then bowing. 'May I make preparations for the journey?'
'Of course,' the Empress replied. 'But, one more thing, Madame de Fer,' she added, while the mage had turned to leave.
'Your Radiance?'
'What if she is truly not Andraste?' Celene asked.
'Then,' Vivienne reasoned, 'Your Radiance shall be giving the Chevaliers the same boon your royal cousin might have; we shall be at war with Ferelden.'
The Empress nodded, and stood, giving the other woman permission to leave and prepare for her own epiphanies. Once Vivienne de Fer had left the chamber, Celene Valmont the First did not hurry back to her bureau; she looked upon her city, lions cast in gold and water fountains gurgling merrily.
She looked upon a city that boasted perfect architectural joy, but whose citizens were starving. She took her mask off, and laid it aside on the windowsill, then, as if she had been under the spell of a spindle weed dream, she headed back to her desk, and pulled open a drawer, only to reach inside and remove the thin layer of wood that masked a secret compartment. From this compartment, she extracted other letters, ones only meant for her eyes.
This long awaited dawn after a long year of night fills our heart with reverence and joy, wrote Queen Anora. No longer shall we cower before the northern menace – Ferelden and its armies shall stand alongside the Maker's Bride, and the armies of Enlightened Prince Vael. It is our dearest hope that you shall join us; side by side, Orlais and Ferelden, old wounds healed, old hatreds forgotten. While in the Free Marches Kirkwall is still weak, Starkheaven has…
'And what you mean by that, Anora, is that you fear that if you don't join them, Starkheaven, under the protection of Andraste, will come for you first, and not even you can control what your own subjects believe.' Celene hatefully muttered to herself.
And that if I do not join you, you'll come for me, your armies reinforced by Sebastian Vael's, whose men have not been tried in thirty years, and are probably itching in their saddles.
Celene sighed, and read further, but further words did not make her heart go fonder of her fellow southern monarch, so she contented herself on skimming though them – Starkheaven's armies were not the only threat. How willing was Her Radiance to yield the Dales, so hardly won, to the Elvhen threat? Anora rhetorically questioned. Submit, in all but name, to Tevinter? Arl Teagan, the King's own uncle…
The Empress rolled her eyes, and, but for a brief second, imagined herself a girl without a crown, setting a simple quill to paper and writing – The Dales do not belong to humans. We've stolen them, and massacred the people who rightfully owned them. We would not be yielding them, we would be returning what by force of arms we took…
But she was no little girl, and she did have a crown; such words, out of her mouth or quill…
She shook her head, put Anora's letter aside, and re-read a second one.
We, the unnamed, living Queen of Antiva, salute you, Empress of Orlais. Skilled as we are at the speed at which doves fly, we send a raven, hoping our words will reach you before the poison of Ferelden and Starkheaven does. Ravens are noble birds, so we choose not to burden them with too many words. Heed them – The Royalty of Antiva and Protected Principality of Rivain will acknowledge Arlathan, as we shall acknowledge the re-birth of blessed Andraste.
We do remember that Orlais holds a peace and mutual defence treaty with Antiva. We equally hope that should our lands be violated, by either Starkheaven or Ferelden, Orlais will maintain its honour, in our defence.
Fair sailing.
'At least she does not mince words,' Celene once more muttered to herself, wondering why she had actually expected the Antivan missive to end in a yarr! as salutation. She did not re-open the brief missive from Minrathous, mostly because she did not yet know whether she loathed or liked the man who ruled the northern menace…
She opened Briala's short and unofficial missive instead, and smelled it, as if the vellum could actually still have carried the perfume of her lover's hair, or the sweetness of her hand's touch…
Vhenan, it read.
Recall your cousin from exile; Ferelden will then think twice before threatening us. War shall come. Please all, bide for time; I do not know where you should stand yet, but I will, soon.
I miss making tea for you in the mornings.
Bria.
Celene Valmont the First, Radiant Empress of the Orlesian Empire, raked her fingers though her hair, not caring that she'd yanked out almost a fistful, and of that fistful, almost all were white. She wished she had been a girl, without a crown, but she was a crowned woman – some things, like the pinch of a corset, could not be remedied, thus, instead of writing to Briala to tell her she too missed tea in the mornings, she opened Radonis' scroll, and he was as brief with his words as the unnamed Queen of Antiva.
Once she was done, she calmly put her mask back on, and called in her secretary to tell him that the Council of Heralds would need to be assembled. Not to decide whether Orlais would go to war, but to reassess the state of her royal cousin's sentence. Perhaps he would not be given his title, but maybe he could be allowed within the Empire's borders once more? On such matters a frail woman could only defer to wiser men.
It was not for her to decide; it would be in their hands and that would give all some time to breathe; at a push, the Empress thought, she could probably buy all more than two weeks' time to think, and verify whether Andraste was truly Andraste. If she could make it a solid month…
It was, Celene considered a tricky proposition; all those involved would have time to consolidate their powers and position. She would gain that time herself, of course, yet she had no doubt that the Imperium would work furiously to rebuild their military logistics. Under different circumstances, that might not have exceedingly worried her - if taken on its own, and after so many years of bloody clashes with the Qun, the Tevinter military was more nuisance than threat.
And yes, the Empress further thought, not allowing the buzz of the other women who rushed into her bedchamber as soon as she had entered it distract her, Radonis did not seem a belligerent man, but unlike her, the Archon had a Senate to bow to; a Senate still dominated by Imperialist domination fantasies, and drunk on the Imperium's former glory. She had no illusions that if their military had been in any condition to make a significant southern advance, they would not have done so years prior.
The resurgence of the Old Gods was a seismic power shift, however, and coupled with the effects the broken veil was having everywhere outside the Imperium, well...one could only hope and pray that Andraste had truly returned. All other possibilities were too terrifying to contemplate.
It was only after her great procession of chambermaids and ladies in waiting had freed her from her corset, and she lay in the spider-silk linen of her bed that Celene pushed all dark, strategic thoughts out of her mind,allowed herself to shed tears of a much different nature; war might have been coming, but she too missed Briala, their teatimes in the early morning, but unlike Briala, she could not say as much.
And love Celene we did, in that one. Or at least Abstract did. IvI thinks she's a bit of an unmeasurable quantity.
We thank you all for reading and we love comments, and apologise for the short chapter. It did not logically fit the next part, so we did not want to cobble them together.
Cheers,
Abstract and IvI
PS. IvI insists to tell y'all he that he disapproved of the yarr!