Dragon Age
"The Relic"
Chapter Twenty Four: Gaspard
Gaspard sighed heavily, the letter from his son irritated him. He asked Bree for her hand, honestly he'd expected it, but it still created an impending mess that he had to sort out. Fereldan made a mage Queen consort work…so could they. That was the theory at least. He offered Cedric a smoke and a drink but his guard declined and assumed his post outside the study.
Gaspard flipped through the letters on his desk and sipped the drink poured from the Tevinter wine decanter. His son changed his schedule somewhat now. He needed to get the Council of Heralds in line and a few nobles too so the announcement about Bree wouldn't start a civil war…again. He was also waiting for a screaming explosion on the horizon to the east…that would be Dorian. He chuckled to the thought and took another drink.
All of the sudden something didn't feel right, the wine also tasted bitter…more than normal for Tevinter wine of this vintage. He set the glass on the edge of the desk. His throat started to burn like he'd yelled too much and tried to clear it. As he did he tasted something metallic in his mouth then coughed. Something came up with the cough and as he wiped his lip he saw the blood. He coughed again bringing up more blood. "Cedric!" he tried to call and coughed again. A frightening amount of blood was spat up now coating his chin, hands, and chest. "Cedri-…" He collapsed to the floor with a thud and the glass was knocked off the desk shattering on the floor.
Cedric cocked his head outside. "Majesty?" he questioned and saw something very wrong. "Gaspard!"
There was blood everywhere, all over the floor, his face, his clothes…it was horrible. The Emperor was still alive but gurgled as Cedric wiped the blood away. Cedric tried not to panic and checked for any type of wound…he didn't find one. Now he was caught between staying with him, giving him a healing potion, or calling for help.
He left the Emperor's side and ran to the door to the study drawing his blade. He clanged the flat side hard against the marble wall outside the study. "Raise the alarm! Fetch the Healer, NOW!" he roared as his voice and sword noise echoed off the wall. Once he saw guards scrambling away from and to him he ran back inside.
"Hang on," he coached as the palace bell began to ring. "Hang on, Gaspard, they're coming." He popped the top on a potion and tried to give it to him but there was too much blood and the Emperor of Orlais died in his arms. "Gaspard? Gaspard!"
Guards and servants flooded in like a burst dam but by the time the healer got to them there was nothing to be done. She was a healer mage and she tried to heal. He was dead…there was nothing left to heal. Cedric didn't realize that he'd left bloody handprints on the wall and door and it only became apparent when he heard Charlotte shriek. He had too much blood on his hands to go to Charlotte and console her. "Get her out of here."
"Father!" she screamed seeing the body.
Cedric went to her and she shrieked again seeing the blood all over him. "Charlotte-…"
"Maker, Cedric, what happened? Father!" she screamed again.
Cedric didn't want to touch her but he did to stop her. "Charlotte, stop. You do not want to see this." He looked at the palace guards he knew and trusted. "Ricar, Frederick, take her back to her chambers and stay there. Pick two men you trust and put her mother under guard as well," he ordered and turned to a fellow Chevalier. "Kristoff, make sure the palace is sealed, order the Household and Palace guards to ensure no one leaves." Those he ordered left without question except Charlotte who protested wildly but inevitably was herded away by the two guards.
Etienne rubbed his eyes as he trotted down the steps in the middle of the night. A servant roused him from his sleep in an urgent manner but he didn't know why. In the foyer was a messenger, a Royal messenger, named Prax. Prax was in direct service to the Emperor and his tunic reflected Gaspard's coat of arms. If he was here something serious was up and he looked like he'd galloped the whole way here.
"What?" Etienne asked in a sharp tone. He wasn't trying to be rude but it was the middle of the night.
Prax handed him two sealed letters. "From Cedric de Rouen, My Lord." He said but his tone told him that something else was up. "It's about the Emperor."
Jean and Bree were startled awake from the loud banging on the door. Startled, Jean tightened his arms around Bree. "Wha-…" she began. "That the door?"
Jean sat up and rubbed his eyes, the knocking was loud and urgent. "Enter!" he called and got out of bed stark naked. What did they expect in the middle of the night? He pulled some trousers on as Etienne entered. Jean lit a sconce and kept his friend away from line of sight of his bed with Bree pulling clothing on. "Etienne, what is the emergency?" he asked annoyed.
"Urgent message from Val Royeaux," he answered handing him a scrolled and sealed letter.
Something was wrong, he could see it in Etienne's eyes but the message was still sealed. Jean cracked the wax and read it. What he read took his breath away and his facial expression fell. "Jean?" Bree questioned and her appearance caused Etienne to bow. "Jean?"
"My father is dead…" he said after a moment of trying to force the words from his mouth. His father was dead. How could his father be dead? What he read and what he said hadn't sunk in yet…he didn't understand it, the kid in him that always looked up to his father refused to believe that he could be dead.
Bree blinked in shock but suspected that Etienne already had some inclination that something had happened judging by his expression. "What?" she blurted and took the letter.
Etienne turned to the guards with him. "Wake the palace, put all guards on alert and fetch Ser Michel."
Jean was still in a bit of a fog and Bree swallowed hard after reading. "Why Michel?" It was a stupid question but she couldn't think of anything else.
"He's the heir," Etienne said pointing to Jean. "Michel is the most seasoned Chevalier in Halamshiral and by all accounts the Emperor was poisoned."
Bree was shocked. "Poisoned?"
Jean finally got it together. He beat everything back and reverted to his training. "Etienne, where is my sister?"
Etienne held up a letter with a broken Chevalier seal. "Cedric has her under guard," he answered and one of the thousand questions he had was how did this happen and where was Cedric?
"Bring me Cecil too," he added and waved his hand to dismiss him. Etienne nodded respectfully and left. Bree handed the letter back to Jean and he sat down and put his head in his hands.
"Jean…" Bree began kneeling down in front of him. It didn't seem real but at the same time he knew it was. He couldn't fall apart now…what kind of precedent would that set? "Jean, talk to me," she said and pulled his hands away from his face. "I'm sorry."
Jean pulled himself together and squeezed her hands. He said nothing and stood so he could get dressed. He had to keep it together now and mourn his father later.
The sheer number of guards and Chevaliers coming up into the Winter Palace was staggering. When Jean told Etienne to send for a man named Cecil he meant Duke Cecil Blanchard of Val Montainge, a senior member of the Chevalier order and the second highest ranking General in Orlais. He, Gaspard, and Ducet had been lifelong friends much like Jean's relationship with Etienne, Julien, and Navarro. The guards he was with wore his crest and flew his banner. The banner of a noble family that was one of the oldest in Orlais, the Chevaliers with him followed him since he was now the leader of the Chevalier Order. Cecil had a commanding presence but unlike most Orlesian nobles he was kind and fair. His people followed him both because he was powerful and because he was a good man. His men scattered into guard ranks without a word. They understood their job and had been trained by their Duke personally.
Cecil dismounted from his impressive grey mare, an Anderfel Courser named Mya, and examined his surroundings. The Winter Palace had countless guards already in place, his men only fortified them but if his longtime friend was dead then his son warranted protection.
Jean was happy to see Cecil. He was a magnificent teacher and an even better General. Jean stood when he saw him and Cecil fell to one knee. "Majesty, I pledge myself and my household to you as I had to your father."
Jean nodded and motioned for him to stand. "Thank you, Cecil," he said and gestured to Bree. "May I introduce my fiancée Lady Gabriella Pavus. Bree, this is Duke Cecil Blanchard of Val Montainge, General, and now the leader of the Chevalier Order." The last bit was tough to say, Gaspard was the greatest Chevalier in Orlais and its leader since before he was born. As Emperor now he could declare himself leader but it would be dishonorable and something he didn't earn, Cecil was by far a better fit.
Cecil stood accepting the introduction and looked toward the strikingly beautiful woman he'd gestured to. "I've been told of your beauty and grace, My Lady, and may I say they don't do you justice," he bowed and Bree blushed. Cecil looked to be in his mid-50s, 5'10", with blue eyes, and blonde hair that was long and pulled back into a low ponytail.
"You're too kind, Your Grace," she smiled and he returned his attention to Jean.
"News from Val Royeaux?" Cecil inquired.
Jean pushed the emotions down again. "Cedric said it was the wine. Alchemists say it was a poison mixed into the Tevinter Red. My father's favorite."
"What kind of poison?" he asked.
Jean shrugged, Cedric didn't have an answer for that in the last report he'd sent. "Alchemists are looking into it."
"And your sister?"
"Under guard. Cedric's loyalists guards. They haven't found him, the Captain of the Guard and Cedric are pulling the palace apart now looking for the assassin and any accomplices." Jean answered.
There was a pause before Cecil spoke. "Majesty, I know this must be tough for you but we do have things that need to be discussed."
Matters of State, he was referring to the transition of power and organization. Jean looked at Bree. "Bree could you give us a minute?" He asked and she smiled to him. The gentle, beautiful smile he loved so much. His emotions were in an uproar but when she smiled at him he felt a little better.
Cecil's eyes followed her out but not in a leering or disrespectful manner, he was happily married and had been for 20 years. Bree did remind him of Mireille though, it was the way she carried herself, the combination of regal grace and spirit. "I hear she's a Knight-Enchanter."
"Yes. She's a mage," Jean replied and turned to face the window, the skies were grey and threatening a cold rain. It wouldn't be long before it started snowing. The line was becoming tiresome and Cecil heard it.
"I know. I was one of the ones helping your father smooth it over with the Council of Heralds." Jean turned slightly and Cecil changed the subject. "It's never really a good time after something like this but do you have your house in order?"
Cecil was of course referring to his chosen advisors, guards, and household knights. Jean had most of it figured out to a point. "I want you as my military advisor," he said first and Cecil nodded, it would displace Ducet from the current role but Cecil knew Pierre well enough to know he would cause a stir over it. Cecil's nod was enough of an answer for Jean and he continued. "Etienne Arles is the head of my house and I've named Navarro as Bree's bodyguard."
The one that bothered Cecil was Etienne, he was young. Very young. "Etienne is quite young."
Jean nodded sharply. "He knows what he's doing and his attention won't be divided." Everyone knew that the young man stood to inherit nothing from Jader in the way of lands and titles but he was very wealthy.
"And have you selected a guard?"
"Not yet."
"Who's your guard now?"
"Aside from the entire palace?" he chided and Cecil raised an eyebrow. "I need to get to Val Royeaux…that or have someone bring Charlotte here."
"Not until they clear the palace." Cecil replied. "She's safer there with Cedric and the Chevaliers."
Jean wanted to believe that but it was hard. His father was killed in that palace. He wanted to have words with Cedric, with the guards, he wanted to help rip that palace apart with his bare hands. "I can't sit here and do nothing, Cecil."
"You have to. Like it or not, Majesty, you are the heir…the Emperor," Cecil reminded. "Your protection has become paramount. Your previous freedoms are gone, your sister, your betrothed-…"
Jean was frustrated with being idle, frustrated with the loss, worried, and all the while still hadn't had a chance to grieve. "I know," he snapped. "I…I don't know if I can do this, Cecil."
Cecil nodded and had a measure of understanding. "That may be so," he replied. "But unfortunately, Majesty, you don't have a choice. This is your birthright, young man." Cecil was strictly proper, using titles instead of names, referring to him as 'young man' was very informal for him. "Your father taught you well and you have the lost talent of listening…you will do fine, Jean."
All his life he dreamed of one day ruling in his father's place, he mused about it, thought about it in the same great detail that a girl dreams of her wedding. Right now, he didn't want it. None of it. It was all too fast, too much, and it still didn't seem real.
Bree worried about him, she watched Jean from a distance. He'd changed, he was quieter, and carrying a burden that he was always meant for but never wanted so soon. The man named Cecil appeared to her right as she observed Jean speaking with the Lord of Halamshiral.
"He will be fine, My Lady," Cecil told her making a genuine effort not to sound patronizing. He was trying to figure her out, the fact she was Elf-blooded wasn't a concern for him…the fact that she was a mage was. "He just needs to adjust and accept what has happened."
"It's been two days, damnit," she snapped and Cecil allowed a smile. "If my father was assassinated I'd be handling it a whole lot worse than he is."
He appreciated her concern for Jean. It helped him assess how committed she was him. "I understand," he replied but the truth was that none of them could understand Jean's position. Bree shot him a look but she was still trying to decide if she liked him or not. Jean certainly did and it was clear Cecil was loyal to Jean.
Someone interrupted them. "Cecil," Navarro greeted brightly with a smile.
Cecil grinned and looked him up and down. "Navarro, you're looking well, young man," he said and shook his hand.
"I am well, thank you," he smiled back noticing Bree was watching them. "Cecil sponsored me into the Chevaliers…and gave me my horse."
Bree smiled at them. Navarro was the most unique of all the Chevaliers that hung around Jean and she didn't mind him as her guard. Contrary to what was expected, Navarro's family didn't treat him as an outsider, his father loved him and he had the typical relationship with his brothers. They picked on him but it was sibling rivalry based, he was third in the line up behind his two older brothers even though he and Stefan were less than a year apart. The only girl among them was Rachelle, two years younger and already married off. "Why didn't your father sponsor you?"
"Only other Chevalier's can sponsor. Not everyone is cut out for the Academie, veteran Chevaliers can spot the traits and behaviors so no one gets hurt and no one's time is wasted," Cecil explained.
"Cecil comes from a long line of Chevaliers. The Blanchard's of Val Montainge are a well-known name around the Academie," Navarro said and Cecil chuckled. "Didn't help me much…got my ass kicked on a daily basis even with his name as my sponsor."
"That's because you talk too much, young man," Cecil replied and Bree chuckled she had not equated Navarro with being a chatterbox.
Michel was summoned politely to talk with the new Emperor. He couldn't get a read on the young man. He was clearly trying to bottle up his grief and trying to shoulder his new responsibility. So far he was going about this as professionally as possible. With the arrival of Cecil Blanchard and a significant number of Chevaliers it was clear Jean was putting his advisors in place and fortifying at the same time. The fact that his sister was still in Val Royeaux he suspected was a point of contention for him. Jean was, by all accounts, just like his father. Just as prone to rash behavior.
"You sent for me, Majesty?"
Jean wasn't comfortable being called that and he was pulled from his deep thought at the sound of the Michel's voice. "You don't have to call me that, Michel," he said. Michel heard it and filed it away, old habits were hard to break.
"I know your parentage, Michel," he announced after a moment of thought. There was no easy way to bring that up gently. Michel's expression was muddled but his eyes said it all. That spooked look that someone gave when a secret came out.
Michel's mind raced in panic, Gaspard let him go, kept his secret, and later pardoned him. Jean couldn't be so foolish and condemn him now. Bree would never forgive him, the Inquisition would turn on him, and the Chevalier Order may not believe him without evidence. "How-…" he began and Jean answered first.
"My father told me," he said and Michel felt the cut. Gaspard swore he'd never tell anyone.
Michel was already on the defensive and his posture reflected it. "He pardoned me."
Jean nodded. "I know. I also know that he considered you the most honorable man he'd ever met. You defeated him in single combat and forfeited to save a nation."
Michel didn't remember it that way. He forfeited because he had to. "Sort of," he muttered and Jean allowed a smile. Michel looked very uncomfortable now.
"Your secret is safe with me, Michel, I just wanted to make sure we were completely honest." Michel swallowed trying to relieve his nerves. "I need a guard, Ser Michel. Temporarily of course, I know you're not staying in Orlais permanently, but until I get back to Val Royeaux and get my people settled I want the best."
Michel was flattered by the notion that he was the best in Jean's eyes, the admiration of his father notwithstanding. He was quiet as he thought it over, Chevaliers were often assigned as bodyguards to royalty but he was curious as to why he'd choose him over someone he was closer to.
Jean clearly read his mind. "You defeated my father in single combat, Michel, Bree trusts you, Cecil trusts you, and so do I."
Michel scratched his head, thinking. "Temporarily, yes."
Things had been so busy Jean failed to realize that two days had passed. He'd been up the entire time working out details for his own government or just plain ignoring the loss. He was the heir apparent but his rule wouldn't be official until his coronation. He was exhausted and there were so many people, military and nobles, in the Winter Palace he could invade Nevarra without a problem. The palace's biggest garrison aside from his guard belonged to Cecil but he'd been informed that forces from Jader were on the way as well. It was a mess and he had an army at his disposal.
He thought of it all and his mind went to the darkest place. He pictured his father dead and pulled his mask off throwing it across his room with a growl. He had to appear like a rock in front of everyone. He wanted nothing more to scream for his father, upset and unable to control it anymore, he let it out. His father had always been there for him, taught him honor, duty, and how to be a good man. Some still called his father a Usurper but the bottom line was that Gaspard was a great ruler. His alliance with the Inquisition kept the Empire stable and ensured that Fereldan and the Empire stayed good neighbors. The Empire was the safest it had been in decades. That was his father's doing, not a usurper, an Emperor.
He was killed by a coward, the greatest Chevalier that Orlais ever produced had been murdered. He dropped to his knees and broke down. He hadn't sobbed like this since he was a child but once it started he couldn't stop it. He ceased being the 20 year old ruler of Orlais and became a 10 year old kid who missed his father. Everything rushed back in a slow replay of his life. Gaspard had taught him everything, from how to tie his shoes, to how to ride, to how to fight. He'd never forget how proud his father was when he saw him after Jean's first campaign, he won in a decisive victory and not only that but he lead from the front. Gaspard had never been so proud of him.
"Jean," a voice said from behind him and there was a flare of anger from him, he just wanted to be alone, but he recognized the voice. It was Bree and he relaxed slightly. The next thing he knew she was beside him. She embraced him tenderly trying to comfort him, he allowed her to guide him pulling him to her letting him cry into her.
One thing could be said for the Palace Guard in Orlais, they were thorough and they were also vigilant. The reason it took the Black Hand assassin so long to carry out his contract was a direct result of that. He was tall but not so tall he stood out and just handsome enough to get what he wanted but not so much it drew too much attention. Assassinating the Emperor of Orlais required a delicate touch, his security was vigilant but the Chevalier named Cedric de Rouen couldn't be at his side at every second. Poison was not his favorite method of assassination but it did the trick when done right. He preferred the close kill of the knife but he'd been paid to carry out a contract not to die.
It took time for him to install himself in the palace and get a pretty servant to bend to his will. The dainty, mousy, blonde was easy to manipulate after he'd bedded her. She never saw him lace the Tevinter Red with enough poison to kill the entire palace twice. She never knew that she delivered her sovereign the thing that killed him.
He couldn't leave the Palace yet, he needed to finish the contract and kill the heir as well. Unfortunately, the heir liked to scuttle around the Winter Palace and by all accounts it was virtually impossible to breech. He didn't try either. He didn't need to. The heir would come to him…eventually. Right now he had to avoid unwanted eyes, his first step was to kill the servant girl and dispose of her body. She was lovely and pleasant in bed but she'd had served her purpose. He killed her quietly and hid, devising a plan to kill Jean.
The problem he had with Charlotte was the same problem he'd had with Gaspard only it was worse now. His employer preferred to leave the girl be if at all possible. The problem he had with anything he attempted now was that food tasters would be everywhere so poison by food was done. Killing the Prince – or rather Emperor now – would be tough. Assassination via blade was not advisable. Jean-Fredric, while young, wasn't a pushover, the possibility he would see the attack and retaliate was too high. Defeating a Chevalier Prince in single combat wasn't something he wanted to do at all. Assassins worked in the shadows, if you were famous, you were doing it wrong. A poisoned arrow was efficient but logistically difficult. Until he figured it out he hid.
Jean looked as proper as they came dressed in formal attire at the behest of Cecil. The Council of Heralds, or at least some of them, were arriving to greet their new Emperor. Jean's coronation was a long way off but he was the heir apparent.
Some were coming to swear fealty and some were coming for reasons he didn't care to know. He never liked the Council of Heralds; they held too much power and got in the way. He learned the wisdom of keeping them around, they could handle things that he didn't need to. It didn't mean they weren't sniveling social climbers that got on his nerves.
Bree wore a silver dress, her long black hair spilled down her back with two braids pulling the sides away from her face tied together in the middle. She didn't have a mask on and he was grateful for that, she was too beautiful to hide. "You're beautiful," he told her quietly and in Orlesian.
"You're bias, your Majesty," she replied also in Orlesian.
"We have to work on your Orlesian, ma bichette, your accent is terrible," he told her. "How can your accent be this bad when you grew up with Michel?"
She stepped closer with a suggestive smile. "Anything else you want to teach me, your Majesty?" she purred and she heard him growl lightly.
"I can think of one or two things," he smiled and was able to sneak a kiss before people arrived.
Only a few members of court arrived, some were in Val Royeaux, some were close enough to arrive in a decent amount of time but others weren't close enough to arrive on such short notice. Once everything was sorted out in Val Royeaux there would be a coronation and then he would accept fealty from the nobles and his subjects.
The two members of the Council of Heralds that arrived were Duke Gustav de Chevin, a young blonde man who was well known for speaking his mind even if no one wanted to hear it. When Bree heard the name she thought he was related to Michel but then remembered that de Chevin was a dead line but the name was sporadically used. According to Jean, Gustav wasn't a bad guy but he only like three of the council members…the rest annoyed him. The other member was a tall and elegant brunette in a green and gold dress; this was Jean's favorite member, she was family. Duchess Philippa de Chalons was Duke Germain's granddaughter. She inherited his seat on the Council. She was smart and striking…definitely a de Chalons.
"Jean-Fredric," she bowed to him with a smile and Jean nodded. She never called him just Jean it was always his full name. It annoyed him greatly. He saw the quiet exchange of flirtatious smiles between her and Julien and his annoyance grew. He'd address that later.
"Pip," he replied in kind to her smile. She knew she annoyed him by calling him by his full name. "Your Grace," he nodded to the Duke who gave him a curt nod.
"Highness," he replied and the room fell silent at the use of highness instead of the correct address of majesty.
"You're addressing the Emperor, Gustav, remember that," Cecil reminded sternly.
Gustav simply eyed him. "If you wish to call him that, yes," he ground out and the on lookers that had gathered gasped and murmured to the clear and intentional disrespect.
"Are you questioning this line of succession, Lord?" Philippa spoke up with a slightly surprised tone. This man was brave or stupid…she was leaning toward stupid.
"I am questioning the method he achieved it."
Jean's head tilted slightly, Bree had observed that the masks blocked most facial expressions and she'd given this move of his head the same merit as a furrowed brow. "I beg your pardon?" he asked in strangled calm.
Gustav explained. "Let's not forget that you were conveniently absent from Val Royeaux after an argument with your father over your desire to marry your Elf-blooded mage."
Jean's blood went cold and his slow turn toward the Duke told everyone who knew him that he was angry. He was offended on every level at the allegation that he had something to do with his father's assassination. He stalked toward the tall Duke, grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him to the ground with a roar. "You dare accuse me of killing my father!"
"Majesty!" he heard Cecil warn but ignored him.
Jean pulled a knife and held it to the Duke's throat. "I should kill you. My father would have."
"Jean!" Cecil barked. "Do not kill him."
He considered it…he really considered it but Cecil's council was usually sound and he really shouldn't start his rule with the killing of a member of the Council of Heralds. "Does anyone else think I had something to do with my father's murder?" he asked loudly to the entire room then stood up straight but made sure the Duke stayed down. "If you do, challenge me now. Right here, right now." No one stepped forward, they looked at each other and averted eye contact. "Strip this man of his rank and title and expel him from the court."
That caused a stir, murmuring grew and grew. "I am a member of the Council of Heralds!"
"That does not give you the right to question my honor!" Jean snarled back. "Julien, get him out of here." The man protested loudly as Julien complied with the order to throw him out. "Anyone else wish to voice their opinion?"
No one spoke. Jean cowed his court and let out an internal breath. He needed to be firm enough to handle them but light enough to make sure they didn't turn on him. Cecil was right. "I want to return to Val Royeaux as quickly as possible."
"Majesty, I strongly advise against that," Etienne said beating Cecil to the punch.
"The palace isn't secure. They haven't found the assassin yet. Princess Charlotte is under the guard of a half a dozen Chevaliers, you should stay here," Cecil added and Jean growled.
"I will not hide here like a rat. I will return to Val Royeaux and if the assassin wishes to try their luck on me then they are free to do so."
"And if he, she, or they succeed?" Etienne asked and he shrugged.
"Then I'm counting on one of you to finish the job," he replied with a half-smile and a wink from behind the mask. He caught Bree's approving eye from across the room.
Michel stepped forward after watching the display. He gauged Jean, he had a temper but with a little guidance he would be a fine ruler. "If the Emperor wishes to return to Val Royeaux…I have an idea."
The shift from the Winter Palace to the Royal Palace was something that had been practiced. The scenario that no one wanted but hand planned for was underway. Jean preferred to rule from Halamshiral and probably would once everything settled down. Right now he needed to be in Val Royeaux to curb anyone who had other ideas with who the next Emperor was.
Bree was worried, Jean wasn't himself. He was quiet and closed off and every time she asked him he brushed it off. He had a certain focus that she attributed to him being thrust into his birthright just a little bit early and in such a fashion that was awful for any child to deal with no matter the age. She didn't blame him for any of his short behavior. If her father was murdered she'd be an absolute mess.
Hearing that the new Emperor was returning to the Val Royeaux was not as good of news that the assassin thought it would be. It was actually a bit daunting. Somehow he had to kill him, quickly. He had a few plans that had merit but only one or two that weren't suicidal. He intended to walk away from this contract. He'd heard of the debacle in Skyhold but hadn't heard from the rest. A quick and easy way to carry out his task was by bow, not his preferred method but then again neither was poisoning.
He picked his spot. Not the greatest place for assassination by bow and arrow but it could be done. The hardest, least elegant, part of it would be the escape. The contingent was larger than he'd expected, more Chevaliers then he had anticipated and an enormous number of soldiers under the red coat of arms banner of the Blanchard's. A green sunburst banner was also seen, Arnaud Arles of Jader, more than likely led by his son Etienne, yellow feathers of Chevaliers, purple surcoats of palace guards, and a mishmash of countless others. He hesitated briefly…this was insane.
The heir apparent was in full armor as expected and there was a black haired woman to his right in dawnstone and white. The oddest sight was the lone Inquisition knight, and there had to be a mage in the group…the Templars wouldn't be there otherwise. He judged it…he could back out and figure out a way to do this with less risk. But it would take too much time. He'd never get close enough for the knife, poison was used and never to be used again…he'd kill a thousand food tasters before he'd get close to the Jean.
He was at the limit of the short bows range – he preferred the long bow but it was a bit impractical – the bodkin point was poisoned and his placement had to be perfect to penetrate the armor. The neck was the weakest point. He used the heaviest arrow he had, the bodkin point was short, and the heavy recurve was the best it was going to get. He nocked the arrow and lightly brushed the fletching with his fingers on the way back to the string. It was a habit he did now. He had to fire, hit the Emperor, and vanish. Easier said than done. He saw his opening and took it.
Jean and Bree had dismounted and Bree felt uneasy, Michel did as well but she did as he told her and stayed close to Jean. She wasn't a bodyguard but she had the best defense. Instinct told her to raise the shield.
The green shield appeared around Bree and Jean just in time to send the arrow on a free return trajectory back in the direction it was launched from. The assassin ducked the arrow and cursed quietly, mages he could handle, they died like the rest, though they usually required some creativity to do so. That being said, in all the time he'd spent mage hunting in Tevinter he'd never seen a barrier like that. He couldn't loose another arrow, someone had already tracked where that one landed and mobilized. He moved quickly, he'd learned the layout of the palace and used that to his advantage.
Michel's risky plan to draw out the assassin worked and Julien saw the movement. His heavy armor was lighter than most, custom made to his specifications. Gave him room to move and didn't hinder his agility. He could also sprint in it and not be totally spent after 12 feet. He knew this palace and saw where the assassin had been. There were only a few ways out that were ideal for someone trying to remove themselves from the commotion. That was where Julien headed.
The assassin focused on escape, he thought about ditching the bow but decided to keep it for now. He managed to duck some guards, skirted the corners, and barreled down the hall. A lone servant was unlucky and she was killed neatly and quietly with his boot knife. There was too much noise in the direction he wanted to go so he moved on in the other direction, down the steps, someone was nearby. He reached the bottom of the step and nearly lost it all.
Julien swung, he timed his blow perfectly but the assassin bent back like a contortionist until he was nearly parallel with the ground. It was a perfect maneuver that caused Julien's blade to hit the stone of the walls. The Chevalier wasn't fooled by the move and followed him easily. He didn't give the assassin time to gather himself but he managed to evade Julien's next attack sacrificing his bow. Julien felt the limb hit the metal of his helm hard enough to knock it off his head. The bow cracked sounding like the snap of a whip inside his helm then the assassin drew a dirk from his back.
Fighting a knight in armor armed with a arming sword with nothing but a dirk was not the brightest or best idea anyone could have but the alternative wasn't something the assassin looked forward to. If he was captured they would kill him. So he fought. Knights were heavier, slower, and hard to penetrate but had significant weaknesses. His helm was off so that was hurtle number one.
It was close quarters and his opponent was clearly competent. Brave or stupid to fight him with a dirk but to Julien it didn't matter much. He was supremely confident but had the skill to back it all up, the close quarters changed his tactics a little and his opponent was light on his feet. He needed to be precise, rogues were dangerous adversaries especially the exceptionally trained ones.
There was no taunting, no bravado, no panache, just skill. The assassin knew what he was doing and moved quickly with precision strikes aiming for the chinks. To escape the assassin had to get past him and that wasn't going to happen. He ducked and dodged Julien's razor sharp blade and scored a hit to Julien's cheek giving him a deep but clean cut. Julien felt the cut, blocked it out, and felt the familiar dull sting of poison then responded with finely honed brutality. The cost of landing a potentially fatal hit on the knight put him too close to Julien.
He trapped his right hand and brought his armored right arm down on it as hard as he could. The assassin squawked in pain with the breaking of his arm. The dirk clattered to the ground as soon as the arm broke but he punched Julien in the jaw with the other fist. Julien hit him with the pommel and the assassin fell to the ground.
He looked up at the ginger knight that had his sword pointed at his throat. "Know when you're beaten," Julien snarled and the assassin grimaced in pain. He was beaten and surrendered. "Now get up, you cur."
He heard feet echoing down the hall and then Navarro's voice. "Julien!"
"Here!" he called back hauling the wounded, tired assassin to his feet by his throat.
"You took him alive?" Navarro asked as he and a troop of guards arrived.
"Course I did," He replied curtly and grimaced at the cut and the poison now swimming around his system. If it was Quiet Death or Black Hand he'd be dead by now.
"You're leaking." Navarro commented as the guards subdued the assassin with the broken arm.
Julien gave him a quick glare. He didn't need to be told that, he felt it when it happened. Now he had blood draining down his cheek and onto his neck. "It's poisoned," he replied and collected his helm.
Navarro nodded. "Alright…let's get you a healer."
The entirety of Royal Palace guards had mobilized and combined with what Jean had brought with him and over the course of 10 minutes the Royal Palace became the most protected and inaccessible place in the world. It wasn't a bad reflection on the Palace guards, Cedric, Ducet, or the loan member of the Council of Heralds in the palace Cyril de Montfort. The assassin would predictably hide until their next mark would arrive. Flushing them out could only happen one way. They kept the Princess safe and that was good enough for Jean.
"You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, Majesty," Duke Cyril de Montfort said as he approached him with Ducet. Cyril was the second most tenured member of the Council of Heralds and one of the few Jean didn't mind. The Duke bowed to him as did Ducet but Jean only gave them an acknowledging nod. He saw Julien approach victorious…and wounded.
"Well done, Julien," Jean said and shook the Chevalier's hand. He held the cloth to his cheek left hand and shook Jean's hand.
"Thank you, Majesty," he nodded and stepped away to have someone tend the gash on his face. The Chevalier made eye contact with Philippa who have him a sweet smile. Julien returned her smile with a wink and disappeared.
"It was Michel's 'dramatic flair' actually. Well done, Ser." Cecil corrected as they joined the group. Michel was quite pleased with himself although he didn't show it. Putting Bree in her position wasn't something he wanted to do but it was the best option he had and it worked.
Jean held the serpentstone dirk examining it with a critical eye. It was poisoned like the one in Skyhold was but Zevran noted that the Black Hand tended to use serpentstone. The poison was yet to be identified but since Julien wasn't dead yet it was probably a form of Soldier's Bane. That's what it smelled like.
"Palace is squared away," Etienne informed hesitating slightly seeing Charlotte sitting in the corner. Jean had been back for a few hours now and Charlotte never left his presence. She loved and trusted her big brother.
"How's Julien?"
"Stitched up his face…he won't be as pretty but he'll be fine. Soldier's Bane was the poison…apothecary gave him an antidote." There was a pause before he continued. The assassin was in the dungeon and to his knowledge Jean hadn't seen him yet. "Have you seen him yet?"
"No," he answered quickly.
Etienne grunted and glance at Charlotte before back to Jean. "Julien was surprisingly gentle…only has a broken arm."
Jean put that out of his mind, they had the assassin. He was there in the dungeon but he couldn't see him yet. He had to focus on everything else first.
"Here I thought Michel's plan was really fucking risky but it worked like a charm," Etienne continued and Jean had to agree. Bree was the one who saved him and he now understood fully why Michel insisted that Bree stay near him.
Before Etienne could speak again they were interrupted. Cedric appeared having been summoned. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to face the son of the man he failed to protect.
Jean gave him a smile. "Cedric, come in," he said as Etienne stepped away but not out. He offered Charlotte a brief smile that she didn't return. It was odd not to see it from her.
His father's bodyguard was a quiet man, minor nobility from Val Firmin but had been selected personally by Gaspard to be his guard. Right now Cedric looked ashamed…guilty…he'd failed in his duty but it was impossible to pin down where it was his fault. "Majesty," he bowed.
"Why is he here?" Charlotte snarled and Jean and Etienne gave her a strange looks. Cedric had protected her but she was trying to find someone to blame. Cedric was a logical starting point. "Where were you? You were supposed to protect him."
"Charlotte," Jean cautioned. "Cedric's a bodyguard not a food taster."
"He let him die," she cried. Her voice hurt him, her words and her tone.
"Charlotte," Jean warned in a commanding tone.
"You weren't here, you didn't see father covered in blood!" she was upset and being irrational but that didn't excuse her. Jean had warned her a few times already and she'd ignored him.
"Charlotte!" he boomed. "Etienne," Etienne didn't need more of an explanation and moved to guide the upset princess away.
"Don't brush me off, damn you," she snapped but blinked at the glare that reminded her of father. Etienne lightly pulled on her arm urging her out of the room. She went…with protest.
"What happened, Cedric?" Jean asked when they were alone. Cedric stood proudly but not as confidently as he once had.
"Someone poisoned the Red," he said but Jean already knew that. "Everything was normal, typical evening. He offered me a drink and a smoke, I declined as usual and left him to his study. A few minutes later he called for me and…" he trailed off not wanting to go into detail about how he found the Emperor in a pool of his own blood. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty."
If Jean blamed him for his father's death he would be dead by now. He would have been beheaded in the courtyard long ago but Jean didn't blame him. He blamed the assassin locked away in Val Royeaux's not so glamourous prison. "Stop apologizing, Cedric, you have nothing to apologize for. Father always said that poison was hard to protect against," he assured trying to put the man at ease. It didn't. "I need a guard," he said after a heavy sigh.
Cedric's brow furrowed. "Pardon, Majesty?"
"You guarded my father for years. He trained you. He trusted you. I'm asking you to keep your post as my guard."
Cedric blinked. "Sir…I…Majesty."
Jean didn't care about what happened; or rather he didn't blame him for the poisoning. His father had been threatened and, on a few occasions, attacked over the years Cedric guarded him but no one ever came close to Gaspard. Cedric was a good bodyguard. "Yes or no, Cedric de Rouen?"
Cedric managed to form a clear thought and nodded. "Yes."
Jean smiled and extended his hand to him. "Excellent."
Philippa looked like an Empress although she wouldn't sit on the throne unless the worst happened. "I told Cyril about Gustav," she announced and Jean simply grunted. "As expected he wasn't thrilled and you can be certain that the rest will even less."
When it came to the Council of Heralds he wasn't bothered. They overestimated their influence. "Laurent will understand."
Philippa shook her head. Laurent may have been Gaspard's former brother-in-law but he didn't always come down on the expected side. "Do you have any idea how naïve you sound, Cousin?"
Jean put the quill down and growled. "Pippa, I am not in the mood. He accused me of killing my father and I will not let that stand."
"Mother was right…all the men in the de Chalons line act the same," she scoffed. "Stubborn fools."
"Did you want something, Pip?" he demanded and he reminded her of her grandfather.
"You know what I want," she replied and he rolled his eyes.
He could have bet money on how long this was going to take to come to the surface. He was mildly offended that she was going after this less than a week after his father was killed. "No. Not this again. I am not getting into this now, Philippa. Your father said no, my father said no, can you guess what I'm going to say?"
She gave him the famous de Chalons 'look' the women of the family had mastered and it could unnerve anyone. "Don't be an ass, Jean. You don't like him because he's Lady Mantillon's son and your father's dislike for her has colored your opinion of Julien."
She wasn't entirely wrong. He had other things against Julien but most of it had to do with him walking in on Pippa and Julien in a compromising position a few hours after being told to stay away from each other. Julien was lucky to still have a head after that and the only reason he did was because of her. Jean kept his word and didn't tell his father. "You have no idea what he's really like."
Philippa wanted to slap him or punch him. The men in her family were beyond stubborn. "You're wrong, Cousin," she hissed in an icy tone. She'd loved Julien since the minute she met him. "I know him better than you, believe it or not."
He didn't want to know Julien as well as she did. "No."
"Don't be a spiteful ass, Jean," she scolded and he got to his feet. Growing up he'd actually spent more time with Philippa then he did with his younger sister. He and 'Pippa' or 'Pip' were the same age and spent the majority of their time in Verchiel while Charlotte spent most of her time in Val Royeaux. Unlike Jean, Charlotte was born in the Royal Palace not at the ancestral family estate. Not many had the gumption to talk to him like this so he wasn't exactly shocked or offended when she did. "He caught your father's killer and was injured in the process."
She had a point. Julien had been exceptional in apprehending the assassin. "He's below your station." It was a lame excuse and even he knew that.
Philippa rolled her eyes at the cop out. "Then elevate him."
Jean glowered. "And he's an entitled ass." That wasn't a cop out. That much was true and she knew that he could be extremely disagreeable at times but he was completely different with her.
Now her cousin was just being spiteful but he was the head of the family and all the matrimonial matches with the royal family needed to go through him now. "Jean!" she snapped irritated with him now.
He growled loudly and gave in. "Fine…" he relented in a loud, irritable tone. "I'll think about it."
"Jean," she pressed and he held up his hands to placate her.
"I said I will think about it, Pip, I promise," he repeated and made a better effort at sounding like he was actually going to reevaluate the previous decree. Philippa smiled, curtsied and left.
It had been a long day, it was late, and Julien had been ordered to rest and let the antidote work. He tried to avoid mirrors…he had a bruise on one side of his face from the punch and the stitched up cut on the other side. He was lucky his helm was on when the limb of the bow hit him…his injuries could have been a lot worse.
Julien grumbled in pain from his cheek. He was marked for life now unless he could find a healer mage to restore his once clean face. The cut would heal, the assassin would be killed, and the Emperor was safe. His work for the day was done. The door to his chamber opened and closed quietly, he heard it and gave a half smile knowing who had just invaded his privacy. He turned and the faced the Duchess Philippa.
"That looks awful," she said in a voice full of concern and gentle sympathy.
"I'll heal," he replied as she gently touched the tender damaged cheek. The wound had been cleaned and stitched but he didn't flinch at all when she lightly touched him. Chevaliers understood pain. There was a whole course during training to get them used to it and use it. No one liked that course. He leaned down and kissed her gently since the simple act of kissing hurt like hell.
It came time for Jean to pay a visit to the guest in the prison. His nerves could be seen for miles, his throat was dry as he swallowed. He was angry, enraged, but scared out of his mind. He was met by Michel and Cecil just outside the interrogation room. That was the nice word for it, most just called it a torture chamber.
"Anything?" he managed to ask Cecil.
"Not a peep," he answered. "Sweep of the Palace found a dead servant along his route of escape. Further investigation found another servant missing; a young chamber maid named Alice has been missing for the past few days. Others saw her with a man matching his description."
"Missing since when?" Michel asked.
"Last time anyone saw her was the night the Emperor was killed."
"Probably used her as an unwitting participant, a chamber maid would have access to the wine," Michel postulated. "More than likely killed her to cover his tracks."
They both judged Jean's body language. He looked like a coiled snake. "Palace guards are searching," Cecil added.
Jean moved past them and entered the cell. The assassin was an average looking man in his 30s, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. This was the man who'd killed his father. His right arm was broken but had been set by a healer and wrapped up. He looked like he was in pain. The interrogator was not gentle and more than likely went after the obvious wound. When it came to broken bones you had to be careful when you used them to force a confession. They bled a lot internally and caused significant pain, most passed out but occasionally people died. The interrogator, or torture master, knew his job.
Jean should have been as far away from that man as possible. He had a temper and he wasn't sure how he would handle himself in this situation. Cecil knew that Jean drew a great deal of strength from his training, to remain calm and collected; the Duke feared he wouldn't be able to control himself. "Majesty-…" Cecil began and Jean held up his hand to silence him.
The assassin was bound, broken arm or not. On his good hand he was missing a few finger nails and that was just the beginning of his nightmare. When the assassin looked up at him all measure of control Jean had vanished. He grabbed his throat pulling him from the seat and punched him hard across the jaw. It felt good. It felt really good so the young Emperor hit him again. With each punch the power increased, the brutality increased. "Who are you?" he roared loudly when it dawned on him to actually ask a question.
The assassin had kept his mouth shut so far but under the 'civilized' veneer of Orlais lay severe brutality, torture and punishment that would turn the stomach of anyone. "Majesty," he heard Michel warn.
"Give me that," he snapped snatching the knife from the interrogator. Jean was bigger than the assassin and he pinned his head down on the table. "Who sent you?" He poised the blade to cut his ear off. "Talk!"
He didn't and as Jean sliced the ear off he heard Cecil bark at him. "Majesty!"
Jean ignored him. "Talk or you lose another piece. Who sent you?"
Still nothing and Jean pressed the pommel of the knife into the wound he created. The assassin screamed. "Jean-Fredric!" Cecil shouted again and again Jean ignored him. He turned the assassin's head and went after the remaining ear.
The knife cut slower this time as if etching the ear away instead of the clean slice and he broke. "Tevinter!" Jean stopped and as if commanded the assassin continued. "Artus Cicero's order."
Jean slammed the knife into the table in front of his eyes. "What was your command, coward? Kill my father, kill me, kill my sister?"
"Not the princess. The Order specified you and your father but not her," he stuttered out.
Jean took the other ear. The thought of what they might have had in store for his little sister made him even angrier. The assassin screamed again in agony. He wanted to do more but came to realization that he'd done too much already. He backed away as his temper began to subside. He handed the knife to the interrogator and fled the room. He should never have done that. He had to get out of there, needed a wide open space and fresh air.
Through all his training and his upbringing Jean had always been taught to be kind and controlled. What he'd just done in there was nowhere near anything that he'd been taught. He was in such an emotional uproar by the time he left the dungeon tears of warring emotions streaked his face. He wiped his face smelling the blood on them, both his and the assassins, the knuckles of his right hand hurt and were bleeding. He would have killed that man in there. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to run away. Wanted to go back in there and gut him like a hunter would a fresh kill.
He did none of the above, instead he wretched in the hedges.
The sting of the warm water on his hand made Jean hiss, his knuckles were going to hurt like crazy for the next few days. It wasn't like he'd never been in a brawl before but it was the first time he'd nearly killed someone with his fists. Luckily, his mind cleared before he beat the assassin's face in.
"Jean, are you alright?" Bree asked and her voice startled him. He pulled his hand from the water splashing it everywhere and cursed in Orlesian. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head and worked his sore hand. "It's alright."
"What did you do?" she asked taking his hand in a cloth to dry it.
"Something I shouldn't have…" he answered. "Something I wanted to do…"
Cryptic but clearly something was on his mind. "I have a salve that should help. Do you want to talk about it?" she asked and stepped away from him to collect something from a bag she'd brought along.
Jean sat down and sighed heavily. "I nearly killed him when I saw him. I cut pieces off him to get him to talk." Bree was quiet and let him talk. She knelt down next to his chair and she opened the jar of ointment. "I want that man to die in the worst way."
"What is the usual punishment for regicide?" she asked knowing the answer was more than likely death.
"Death. Either beheading or hanging…other more creative ways too," he answered as she gently massaged his hand. The ointment she had did work, the pain began to soothe but the cuts and abrasions were still there.
There was a knock and Jean groaned. "Enter," he grumbled and grumbled more when he saw Cecil briskly step in. The Duke was mad, that much was clear.
The Duke bowed, the Emperor was barefoot and in what appeared to be bed clothes. Bree was still respectfully clothed otherwise Jean wouldn't have let him in. He still felt like he was intruding. "Majesty, may I speak plainly?" Jean grunted as his hand felt vastly better after Bree tended it. Cecil reddened, annoyed with Jean's casual manner after the display in the prison. "Privately."
He was referring to Bree and she moved to get up and leave them to their chat. "She stays." Bree didn't like the tone of their conversation. It was safe to infer that he'd done something that wasn't kingly.
Cecil stifled a huff. "Why do you want me as your advisor, Majesty, you don't listen to me?"
"I listen to you, Cecil, I trust you," he replied and Bree moved away. She didn't want to be present for an argument and she didn't want to see Jean angry.
"Then what was that in there?"
Jean stood sharply but Cecil didn't flinch at all. The young man was still upset. "That was the man who killed my father. He deserved every bit that he got and if I had more in me he'd be dead."
"I'm rather glad you didn't." Cecil admitted. Jean was a soldier, a warrior, a patriot, not a murderer.
"He will die though," Jean added and Cecil scoffed at the bluster of youth. "In the most painful way I can figure."
The Duke sighed. Jean was just like his father. "This is your rule, Jean, mind how you begin it."
"Maker, Cecil, enough," he griped, annoyed. "The man murdered my father, tried to kill me, and who knows what they had planned for my sister. Not to mention that these bastards are the same ones who tried to kill the Lady Inquisitor and Lord Dorian, I will use him to send a message. That is the end of it."
"As you wish, Your Majesty, may I be excused?" Cecil's proper words were curt and Jean nodded. The Duke left as swiftly as he'd entered. "I'm sorry, bichette."
Bree came from behind the privacy wall in a shif. "You never have to apologize to me," she smiled at him. "You look tired, Jean, you should sleep."
He would love to just sleep. "I can't sleep," he answered honestly.
Bree simply wanted him to relax and she ran her hand up his back and around his waist. "Well, in that case," she flirted with him.
He looked down at the hands under his shirt and teasing the waistband of his trousers. "What kind of a monster did I create?" he asked with an approving smile and turned round to face her.
She giggled. "Why don't you find out."
Jean purred brushing her cheek with his right hand. "Thank you." She blinked at that unsure of what he was thanking her for. "You saved my life." She smiled and he kissed her. His Queen.
Cecil may have irritated him the night before but the man did have a point, he lived the Chevalier code and didn't normally bend. Torture was not in their code despite what people thought, Jean's behavior was so far off the mark he couldn't even see it.
He still hadn't slept well even with Bree trying her best to help. He smiled to the memories of the night before. He did create a monster. While she slept he stared at the ceiling, all he wanted to do was kill the assassin and that was when he made his decision. He was going to send a message to Tevinter and to the rest of Thedas.
It took all of Jean's control not to kill the assassin chained to the wall in his cell. He stepped in and approached him. The assassin, who remained nameless, simply looked at him. He'd been beaten and abused, some of it by him, some by Julien, the rest from the interrogator. His face was swollen, eyes were black and blue, hands were missing most of their fingernails, and then there were the missing ears. Jean didn't care. He'd been tended to post beating, someone had bandaged him. Still the assassin was defiant and held his glare.
"You committed regicide," Jean said and stood in front of the dark haired man. "You murdered my father, a man who secured peace in southern Thedas for years. He was the greatest Chevalier Orlais has ever seen. He was a father of two and a good man." The assassin said nothing. "You murdered him. The way a coward kills…you didn't have the spine to make the attempt with honor and you did the same with me," he finished as the assassin still held his glare. He was a proud man, tough, and disciplined. Torture broke the majority of people and, quite frankly, Jean didn't hold that against him. "And for that…I will kill you the same way. As a spectacle in front of everyone…you will be pulled apart one little piece at a time. You will be able to see what you look like on the inside before you die and then you will be quartered and sent back to Tevinter."
The assassin remained calm but it was evident that he wasn't comfortable with it. Who would be? Being drawn and quartered wasn't a fun thought for anyone and Jean was clearly there to pass his sentence. No one had been executed in this fashion in Orlais in more than 40 years. The Chantry condemned it. The assassin remained silent, however, but his uncomfortable reaction was enough. "You will die screaming, Assassin, and I will be there to hear it."
He left the prisoner and thought of the ramifications his decision would bring. He could hear Cecil now and knew the Chantry would be all over him. When he thought of his father he went to the one place he hadn't been yet. The sisters had tended and wrapped Gaspard's body, he lay under guard in the Chantry awaiting the funeral. Now that the threat had been addressed they could lay their former emperor to rest properly. The body had been guarded heavily and still was, ten of the Emperor's Guard stood their post and bowed respectfully when Jean entered. Plans for the funeral had been in the works by the Chantry the entire time and he tuned out the sisters doing their chores around him.
Jean sat down next to the casket and thought. It was strange to think that his father wouldn't be around to correct him on his manners or critique him on his horsemanship and combat. Ever since he was a little kid his father always had something to say about whatever he was doing. He leaned back against the stone and sighed heavily. All the times he'd thought about what it would be like to ascend, all the things he felt should be done differently were now within his power. Orlais needed to change and as he thought of that he thought of Tevinter. He was going to burn that country to the ground and use his whole damn army to do it.
"Jean," a voice began bringing him from his thoughts.
He turned his attention to the familiar voice, the voice of his best friend. "What?" his response was plain and resigned.
Etienne was respectful in the presence of Gaspard's casket and spoke in the soft tone to respect the Chantry. "I don't mean to disturb you but…something's happened in Starkhaven."
Note: Okay so that was rough. I loved Gaspard in Inquisition and in Masked Empire. Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.
