The fervour wasn't dying down, though it was long past the time when the Magisterium should have grown bored with the south and instead focused inwards. If anything, the ranks were getting edgier.
Harry couldn't understand it. He suspected that many magisters knew far more about the situation than he himself did.
That did not sit well.
As the loud ones started shouting, the quiet ones began talking. Imagine his surprise when Harry found out that a notable magister, Titus, had supported their controversial little faction since the beginning. Titus was an asshole, the silent type of jerk who rarely spoke, but people hung onto his words when he released them because he was a bona fide genius.
He introduced them all to a new player for the first time.
Titus cleared his throat and stood for the first time in years. The general hubbub died a swift death.
"I was approached many months ago by a group called the Venatori," he began without preamble. Perhaps taken off guard but the sudden change, several magisters reacted more strongly than they should have.
Titus' intelligent eyes darted to each one in turn –Gallus, Erimond, Prycis– , and then proceeded to several more Harry hadn't noticed – Alexius, Urathus, and more. It was remarkable how often those names coincided with Harry's Shitlist.
Harry suspected, with cold dread, that was not a coincidence.
"These renegades, from the lowly mages to magisters in this room, have shown their desperation. They look to restore the glory of our empire by begging some other being to succeed where they have failed, foolishly acting as puppets in return," Titus scorned, disgust clear on his face. "Evidently their pride as representatives of Tevinter means nothing to such cowards, sitting to heel like common dogs."
Hands slapped down in the silence and at once, everyone remembered to look away from this quiet magister and to the coldly furious Archon.
Harry waited for the tension to snap, breath caught for the Archon's reaction.
"Who is this aspiring leader?"Though silky smooth, he couldn't have sounded more derisive if he'd tried.
"The Elder One!" eagerly, a magister that's never warranted Harry's attention before called out, before Titus was able.
Young Dorso never had been the brightest chap.
"My, my, this is well spread." The Archon sat forward. "Enough to make one wonder why it has not been brought to my attention previously."
Despite it all, the Archon didn't look the least bit surprised. Oh, he affected an air of being caught off-guard and desperately disinterested. Quite convincingly. But it lacked the sincerity of true stung pride.
It was an act, Harry realised. The Archon knew about the group, enough about their movements and aims to feel confident confronting them.
Oh they were screwed.
The entire Senate waited for the allegations to drop: anarchist, enemy of the state. The brand could apply to anyone in the room if the Archon so chose.
Rule of thumb: at least half the Magisterium plotted against the Archon at any one time. There was one freak accident when he made enough popular decisions to lower that bar to around a tenth, and only the really ambitious ones persisted.
They'd all given it a go a some point. Treason was a prerequisite to the ranks of real magisters.
So labeling them anarchis wouldn't be wrong, exactly, but such a blunt weapon would upend all manner of careful plans.
Radicals prefered to wait until they had enough sympathy to be called something more flattering, like 'advocate' or 'reactionary'.
Now, only the word 'children' came to mind.
They were reduced to shuffling in the pews above him, as the Archon's gaze burned them indiscriminately. He had a bone to pick with someone, and could have been any of them, all of them - heck, the entire drama could be revenge for voting down the last proposal, for all they knew. The Archon didn't see fit to give it away and put them out of their misery.
And why should he? Harry realised, the Archon had the perfect leverage. He'd hung them all rather neatly, pinned them beneath their own thoughts.
Harry wanted to applaud.
Before or after he hit something. The Archon was a step ahead of the Venatori, and a hop, skip and a jump beyond Harry, it would seem. Because this… this was News.
It made the wizard uncomfortably aware that he'd been spending too much time saving the world in libraries and debating with a hermit. The Senate chamber was not where the successful caught on to things.
Erimond blustered and spluttered his way to his own defense. Which was really just an admission of guilt in the end, Harry mused. His mood buoyed slightly as the magister realised his mistake and desperately backtracked. At least Harry hadn't fallen that far.
"The old days-"
The Archon stood suddenly, startling the less resilient into flinching. "The glory days are past! And they will never return if we cling to the scraps of success shed by a foreign man. You degrade us all."
The powerful man rose smoothly. As if he needed something else to hold over their collective heads.
Eyes strained to track his movements. He circled the floor like something much grander than a man. "Recall, my court," he started deceptively calmly. "That you pledged to me and no other. These... accusations irritate me. Who here would dare sully that duty with the conflicting wishes of an outsider? Who would be so quick to neglect their duty to Tevinter, their fealty to my name?"
A note of steel filled the frozen room, "I pronounce the Venatori unsanctioned and their leader a heretic. They do not act for the good of the Imperium nor its ruler. I now call an end to this session."
The doors slammed resoundly closed, and Harry jumped along with those who hadn't braced for the dramatic exit.
The wizard's breath caught in his chest for another beat, but when there was no 'and another thing…' coming, he collapsed bonelessly back into his seat with an incredulous laugh.
Merlin, where to even begin. He rubbed his face with a quiet groan. It had been a somewhat comfortable ideological debate, but it just got practical.
…
"Were you aware of this Venatori cult?" Harry sat on his bed, plate in lap, and picked at the berries. He had no appetite for the usual rich, greasy fair.
Amladaris had no such trouble digging into the venison with gusto, "In passing." Translation: like the back of my hand.
Harry twitched, Irian noted with a closed expression. "They approached me well before this rift business began. They weren't very clear on the details. I rather thought they were a bit mad and inconsequential."
Harry didn't bother calling out the obvious lie. Amladaris hadn't brought it up a major player, hadn't planned to either. Why?
Irian flicked a bean in his direction, distracting Harry from his thoughts. "Anyway I expect this will shake things up."
"At least now they're in the open, we'll see how entrenched they really are," he granted. "And I'd like to hear that 'inconsequential' information now."
It didn't take much weedling after that. Harry heard all the gossip about mad goals and a new messiah.
He kind of wished he hadn't.
…
Talking with Anders did not end in tears. Perhaps because they were both far too repressed and manly to acknowledge their feelings, so things that maybe should have been said were left unspoken.
But they'd managed two conversations about current spirits and explosions while neatly stepping around certain historic spirits and explosions.
Harry labelled it tact and decided that was progress. It was more harmonious than cynicism had braced him for. He was torn between wanting to clear the air, so to speak, and crushing some precious gift in the process.
Still, it was more comfortable to talk business than leisure and Harry mourned that fact.
"Have you heard of the Venatori?"
He'd wondered, since the day the cult was exposed, how far their reach stretched. So far the consensus was not good. Like a creeper vine, they'd managed to smother half the Senate. He hoped they were less prevalent in the rest of the world.
Harry found he was not terribly surprised when Anders nodded.
"Yes, actually the Herald met a proxy of theirs, Magister Alexius the other day."
"What? Alexius is… here…" The words felt like a reflex, but as soon as he thought about them, he became uncertain. He remembered a conversation with Irian, suddenly, about several magisters leaving for the south. He recalled that day clearly for the sudden spike in the number of rifts, the blood magic bill that had passed easing restrictions, and the general chaos the Senate had descended into.
Why did he feel like he'd had a dream that begged to differ? The feeling of discontent was unravelling, though, as he remembered what'd happened since that day, a fortnight ago, with more certainty. Reality asserted itself, contented, and his magic screamed at the loss.
An idea – a horrible, nightmarish thing – pushed to the forefront and refused to budge.
He swore.
"Shit. Pour a strong drink, I'm coming to visit."
It was a credit to Anders' familiarity with Harry's classic Doom Response that he merely looked worried and said, "Bring your own bedding. We're running low on spare cloth around here."
…
Harry left a note, grabbed his trunk, and stole the blankets and pillows from his room, because Anders was rarely wrong. Harry couldn't fault the other mage's gut feeling; if his hunch was on game, this was not the kind of situation that necessitated a teatime chat and some cheap advice.
The wayward magisters had been loose for weeks. Weeks! He was fairly sure Alexius could apparate, so they could be Merlin knows where in addition to doing Maker only knew what.
One did not mess with magic like that on a whim; if the missing magisters had done what Harry suspected, they'd obviously done so with purpose.
But his wife was dead and Felix was blighted, so either Alexius couldn't travel that far or there was something else he feared for more than his family.
Please let it be the former.
Harry disapparated to a mountain in Orlais and oh, wow, that was a mistake. He heaved and the bread did not taste as fresh going in that direction. That'd teach him. He allowed a few extra minutes to split the last hundred kilometres into two jumps.
Anders was startled from his pose; chin on hand, fingers tapping, when Harry materialised in the room with a small sonic boom.
Harry stumbled a moment, but the desk was conveniently available and he righted himself without bruises.
Then it hit him.
"Dear Merlin's left asscheek that's cold!"
Was that snow in the entranceway? No wonder. He'd forgotten how horrid Ferelden could be in the winter. And Haven was in the mountains, too. He wrapped his subtropical clothes tighter on instinct, and that did exactly nothing but call for immediate the thorough application of warming charms. Hot air settled on his prickled skin, and he looked up to see Anders grinning at him.
"Oh don't you start."
He looked far too innocent. "Start what? I was just admiring you collar. Very high. Distinguished. Really shows off your exposed shoulders."
"You're one to talk. It's not as if you've been running with the dead bird motif for a decade."
He hadn't meant for his magic to react to the prodding with a colour changing charm, but he couldn't argue with the results.
The feathers looked better that way, especially with how Anders was squawking.
With a delicate sniff Harry spun, threw open the door, and pretended to know where he was going until Anders caught up. "Who're we looking for, then?"
"Someone with the authority to know what's going on right now," Harry said in a way that he hoped came across as sagely instead of clueless.
"Well, the Herald is traipsing about in the Hinterlands," Anders shared, "Cullen and Leliana are drifting about somewhere – they'll find us before we find them. Josephine will be in the Chantry."
Chantry. Of course. He'd probably burn at the stake for entering. He stepped over the threshold with a cheery grin that was probably far too transparent, judging by the angry, disgusted and fearful muttering that buzzed around him.
The diplomat looked busy and Harry felt almost guilty. That was until she muttered a quiet, "Oh dear, I'm sure you caused quite a stir."
He suddenly found himself less charitable. "Yes, thank you, I'm bad for your image," he grouched. "But this is important. Where is Magister Alexius and what's he done?"
"He is in Redcliffe. He recently assumed control of the rebel mages."
He closed his mouth around the automatic, that's it? A small army of stateless mages would give nearly no imaginable advantage; they certainly weren't worth the effort he expended to get them. Then, he realised, of course, "You have no idea what he's really up to, then, or there's something you're not telling me."
Or option C: a little of both.
"There are many things I am not at a liberty to tell you, Enchanter." She looked apologetic, which just served to annoy him.
He rolled his eyes. "What can you tell me?"
"Enchanter Fiona, leader of the mages, invited the Inquisition to visit Redcliffe. We learnt, then, that Alexius had taken over. His son and former apprentice informed us that the magister was acting on behalf of a Tevinter cult with unknown motives. But," she paused, here, a knowing look in dark eyes, "You didn't come all this way for that answer."
"I think Magister Alexius went back in time."
"You're the second Tevinter mage that's said as much this week." Harry jumped and spun, heart screeching into overdrive. There was Leliana, relaxed against the closed door, beside Anders who coughed and shielded his dimpled cheeks from view. Traitor.
That woman was bloody terrifying.
"Oh?" Harry managed to choke out.
"Yes, the first was one Dorian Pavus."
Harry's expression betrayed his interest. The court had kept up with his escapades like a serial drama, at least until the man had dropped off the map in Antiva. Pavus hadn't been heard from in several months. Most, including his father if Harry had heard correctly, thought he'd died at some point.
Pavus would know, though, if Alexius had worked that magic. Theory confirmed.
Bloody hell.
Harry didn't understand how this could even happen. A year ago Alexius hadn't even been in the near neighbourhood of success. He'd all but given up until his son fell ill and Harry knew he'd made a push then for a chance to undo the damage, but nothing had come of it. Perhaps he'd had help from another party. Harry couldn't imagine who; Alexius was the leading expert in the field. It would be highly unusual for someone to come in and take his research leaps and bounds in mere months.
"The Venatori want the Herald," Leliana continued. Harry felt distinctly evaluated under that stare. He couldn't find it in him to be surprised at the news, considering their stance on the Breach and the Inquisition.
"So why's she in the Hinterlands? She's not going back, surely!"
"No, Alexius outplayed us," the spy master looked pained to admit it, "The Herald pointed out that he may very well continue to do so, no matter our actions. If he can live our future then he will know our moves before we make them."
"Sensible," he agreed. People do not win in against time travellers unless they want to lose (ergo they still achieve their goals), or they are very, very careless.
Josephine smiled wryly, "It leaves us in a delicate position, I'm sure you can imagine. Our plans depend on gaining support from either the mages or the Templars, and in light of their recent choices, we are hesitant in approaching either group."
That was more than they'd ever trusted him with before. Harry wondered just how much communication Leliana and Josephine were doing with those complicated eyebrow configurations.
"The Herald is in fact far from Redcliffe. She is in the Storm Coast, gathering support while we wait to see what our prospective allies attempt next," Leliana said after a heavy pause.
Anders interjected with a guilty shrug, "Sorry Harry, I couldn't risk being overheard."
"You must understand this is a matter of highest secrecy," she finished gravely on the very same gulf that was responsible for complicating matters between them.
"Of course." He couldn't help the sarcasm. It was default by that point. He sighed tiredly. "This isn't working. I should've been told about Alexius as soon as you met him. This magic is incredibly dangerous, and unstable at the best of times, who knows what it's doing to the rest of the world."
"Yes, about that," the diplomat started.
Harry couldn't believe it. "You're joking."
They weren't joking.
He ran his hands down his face and growled. "I am attempting to solve your problems, yes? Do you expect me to guess what those are as well? You agreed to provide the data I need."
"It's not that we don't value your contribution," Josephine began, "We only –"
"You don't trust me to avoid being overheard, or the people around me, or my ability to keep my mouth shut," Harry summarised. "That is a little insulting, honestly, I'm not an amateur."
They were wary of his place in Tevinter, clearly; they couldn't control the fallout if their information spread to the wrong ears, or take measures to prevent it occurring in the first place.
There was one solution to that. Harry really had hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but time travel is next-level stuff. Evidently the people behind this were far more prepared and supplied than any threat before.
It would be an absolute nightmare to juggle his duties between the Inquisition and Tevinter from Haven. He'd lose ground if he wasn't a presence in their parties, backing Irian, and managing the demons, but the Senate session had concluded so he wasn't actually required to be there. That was manageable. The real problem would arise if his opponents tried to annul his tenuous citizenship again –seven years in the making with only three to go– which was already controversial without him ditching the Senate for the 'Southern barbarians'.
There would end any and all influence.
He could excuse his visit as research, surely. The Magisterium was desperate to find a way to seal the rifts without depending on the Herald, so if he sold it right, it wouldn't cripple his efforts beyond repair. And Irian was almost dependable; he'd let Harry know if his presence was required.
No exactly optimal, but, then again, could he afford not to move? That was the only question that mattered in the end, and he already knew the answer, whether he wanted to or not.
"New plan. I'll stay here, if it's no trouble," Harry suggested. Subtext: you'll have me watched and read my mail, and in return I will know everything. Really, just try to keep it from me.
Leliana brightened, "Not at all."
Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion, the quick acceptance giving him the feeling that he'd just played into her hands.
"I will show you around the camp. It will do you good to be seen in my presence. Our people may not try to knife you."
Great. Now he'd have two groups of people looking for his every weakness. He regretted it already.
His dark mood carried him to the entrance, but it was not to last. As they say, all good things come to an end, any bad situation can always get worse.
"That is not who I think it is!" Cheer so false it was perfectly mocking, a quick sashay of her hips and she bared their path. It was her all right.
Vivienne.
Balls.
He smiled (grimaced) and found that he couldn't force a nice word out from behind his teeth.
"Oh darling, it is you!"
How did she manage to sound so sincere and malevolent at once? Hag. He didn't say that aloud, no, he was chill proof, not immune to being riddled with icicles. He didn't even dare to let it show on his face.
"Madam Vivienne, it's been too long." Six hundred years hadn't been long enough to brace him for their first meeting, he doubted he ever would've been ready for their second.
"This is unexpected! The last I heard, you we playing at being a big boy in Tevinter. My, you're not here to help, are you? Whatever do you imagine you can offer?" she laughed.
She respected his power. He knew she did. She knew that he knew that she did. She still said the nicest of things.
He grit his teeth and called it a smirk, ignored her question because she hated it when she couldn't get people to bristle. "Your unique charm is always a pleasure." Maybe I can give them help wrangling you.
He would forever be a child playing with fire in her eyes and she'd never cease being a bitch, but the respect was there. Theirs was a complicated relationship.
She continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"I will watch your flailing attempts with bated breath," she waved them away like they breathed on her command. "I wish you luck, dear."
The spymaster watched him curiously, with a little humour, as they returned to the cold. "It was the pub-crawl, wasn't it?"
"You've gotten unnervingly good at that."
She ducked further into the shelter of her hood. "Come, most of the people you should meet will be in the tavern at this hour."
Harry eyed the sky skeptically. It was hard to tell, what with the Breach and miserable clouds and all, but he thought it was around mid-afternoon. Late lunch, then?
Nope. Well, perhaps a lunch of the liquid variety. The tavern was dingy, packed and lively, reminding him of a thoroughfare to a magical alley that never stopped being welcoming, even after the alley had been abandoned.
This one did. Swiftly.
At first it was because of Leliana; most people knew she was scary and busy, so if she was here it was probably serious, and a hush fell as each person present remembered their latest sin.
But then the quiet dimmed to a stunned, angry silence, because the monster from children's tales had walked in behind her.
'And thus the resistance begins,' Harry thought morbidly.
A giant of a Qunari called their attention, and the wizard wondered how he'd missed him in the first place. He sounded jovial enough – not welcoming exactly, but not looking for trouble. "So you're the 'Vint in town!"
Technically not. He really was just a mage playing dress up. But they wouldn't appreciate such a flippant, however true answer; a cheap excuse in their eyes. He bowed to the pub at large. "Harry Potter, at your service."
His greeting was accepted with something less than grace. "That Harry Potter?" "He's a child!" "Potter's not a Tevinter!"
Why did he bother, again? With each step it was getting more difficult to remember the altruistic feelings he'd begun with.
They crossed the room without starting any bawls, which wouldn't usually be an accomplishment, but in this instance it was a particularly noteworthy one.
Closer up, the Qunari appeared somehow more intimidating. He had a larger set of horns than Harry had seen on many creatures, including most dragons, and a fiercely intelligent look to his remaining eye.
"This is the Iron Bull, and these are the Bull's Chargers. He's a Qunari spy," Leliana dropped on him without warning, causing Harry choked back his surprise. Not just a Qunari, but a follower of the Qun.
His voice fell flat, "In the middle of your camp."
"Is that going to be a problem?" Leliana questioned. It was a good idea to address these issues upfront, he couldn't fault that. But their judgement in other areas…
It was still crazy, he accepted with a shrug, "To each their own, I suppose. It's your head."
Unexpectedly, Iron Bull chuckled. "That's what I like to hear. Joining us for a drink?"
The Bull was speaking to Leliana, of course, but Harry thought if he accepted there could be a chance he wouldn't be thrown out on his arse. More than he'd hoped for, not something he'd try.
Harry's life was worth a lot to the Qunari. They knew exactly who to thank for surge of never before seen magic and the subsequent edge for mages everywhere.
His skill with wards, runes, and apparition would make him no friends here. It didn't matter than he'd never set foot on Seheron; he was an enabler. He'd armed plenty of idiots with his secrets. Not intentionally, of course, but once knowledge was out there it was hard to regulate how far it spread, even harder to control what people did with it. The more radical the idea, the faster it moved. Apparition reached Tevinter years before Harry himself did.
But the alternative was to keep it to himself, and Harry was not that person. It would be unforgivably arrogant of him to presume to know best about how and what others should be capable of.
Hence the unpopularity. To a follower of the Qun, Harry was bad news. Whether or not their dislike extended to something personal, taking him out was just good tactics.
So Harry was not overly fond of putting his back to the Iron Bull and walking away. His nerves prickled uneasily, anticipating pain, but Leliana moved impatiently.
"So is Bull officially being appointed my minder, or did you hope that meeting would inspire him to do it automatically?" Harry asked once they were out of the range of normal hearing. He could still feel that eye on his back. Spine, kidneys, gut.
"Bull is very good at his work. He never needs orders from me."
The second, then.
They climbed to a nondescript part of camp and Harry felt it. Or, he felt the lack of it. Rather hard to say.
His stirring magic clued him into the fact that he might want to pay more attention to the world beyond where he would next place his feet. His brow furrowed with concern. There was nothing; no smell or sight, no ominous feeling. It was almost hollow; alarms pinging around a cause that seemed to have been misplaced. It didn't seem good or bad, specifically, but the way his magic acted up was certainly disquieting.
"Where are we going?"
"Right here," Leliana raised her hand to knock unnecessarily; the door opened as Harry reached her side.
"Good evening," Solas greeted Leliana with a nod, then his attention shifted, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance in person."
Harry registered the smile, but only peripherally. He felt pinned by the elf's presence, strange in a way that'd never been conveyed by images alone.
"Likewise," he lied. There it was – that lack, like cards held too close to a chest. Belatedly, he realised a nod had been offered and returned it hastily, keeping contact with too deep eyes. The small smirk in them belied seriousness of the elf's expression.
"Will you be staying with us for the time being?" Solas found his answer in his expression. "Good, our collaboration will be much more productive without countries separating us."
Harry almost reconsidered. Even the Vivienne Experience hadn't been enough get him that far.
"There is a premise I thought I might run by you, when you have the time." And that meant 'the sky is falling, come in while there is a now'.
"Sure." He didn't squeak. And one day he'd return to multi-syllable sentences, and it couldn't happen a moment too soon. Leliana found something horribly amusing about it all.
She abandoned the wizard with a jaunty wave.
Harry longed to take those same slippery paths. He smiled instead. "What can I do for you?"
Solas waved him in, seeming oblivious to Harry's discomfort, and it was hardly warmer in the cabin than it had been on the doorstep. That didn't faze the shoeless elf, Harry noted somewhat enviously.
"I've thought on our last conversation. It has opened doors I thought closed by practicality," he leant against a small table of questionable structural integrity, "If we could employ your methods of more efficient magic, we would put much more power to good use and require less of an investment in the beginning."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You've come around to the idea that there's something inherently different with how I practice magic?"
Solas had maintained that Harry was simply more powerful. Harry hadn't realised he'd converted the elf to his way of thinking.
He wished he knew how he'd done it.
"We shall see. Please, demonstrate a spell." Solas watched him closely.
Harry very pointedly strode over to the cold fireplace, lit it with a quick incendio, and basked in the warmth.
Before the spell had even hit the wood, Solas' eyes lit up in something like affirmation. "Just as I thought," he murmured to himself, and when he looked at Harry it was like a lens had switched. The wizard wondered if he was talking about efficiency at all.
"What?"
"Hmm? Oh, nothing." He gathered himself. "It was a good choice, thank you. I noticed you did not heat the air."
"Most mages would. They see the wood as a closed object, and they energise its surroundings until it burns. But burning is internal; my magic skips straight to that. Same spell, subtle difference, but the heat transfer is costly and unnecessary. You can ignite something, or you can make it combust."
Solas narrowed his eyes and tested that for himself.
"Curious. Would you say inefficiency can be overcome by changing one's outlook?"
It took seven years to train witches and wizards to that point. They'd start small; they had no choice. A first year could learn seventh year incantations and still never perform the magic if they didn't first acclimate gradually, until the easy spells got easier, the impossible spells became possible. People who were used to getting by on less had an easier time of it. Power alone wasn't enough. Power accounted for the paltry difference between Snape and Voldemort, efficiency determined who wasn't practically a squib.
"Most of it is just about being very precise and knowing exactly what you want. They key is making it instinctive. Then your magic will cut corners habitually, exploit the weak spots, and find the most direct route to problems, like mine."
Harry wondered why the elf had brought it up. It was interesting, maybe even helpful in this world, but not usually necessary. "They told me you needed mages or Templars to close the Breach. Sounds like you're amassing a lot of power." He lowered his voice in an attempt to sound more knowledgeable of their plans. It almost covered the fact that he was guessing.
Solas looked faintly amused. "We need as much energy to close the Breach as was used to open it."
"Right. And how much is that, in units of people?"
"About thirty average mages or Templars. We might skate by on twenty strong individuals," he sighed, but Harry couldn't imagine why he sounded so put out.
"Well you shouldn't need too many more, surely?"
"Besides the inner circle, there are only eight very average mages and a similar number of Cullen's Templars in camp at the moment, I believe. Maybe fewer, if the Commander has had enough of their bickering."
Harry offered his hands in a general 'there we go', "Half way already."
"They will not work together," the other mage rolled his eyes, displeasure obvious. "They would not put aside their grievances even with the world at stake."
Harry assumed that was important.
The elf sighed and elaborated. "All must be harmonious for this to succeed. The slightest conflict of will would risk the Herald. Therein lays the difficulty – it seems every other individual in Thedas is caught up in their unreasonable war."
Right, yes, very important. Harry could see why that might be an issue. You could throw a stone and hit a mage, but scour a country and still not find two that trusted one another. They were desperate, fighting everything and everyone for resources, twitchy and barely trusting the rustling that could as easily be a Templar as a companion. The Templars might actually be worse.
"Now that's just ridiculous," Harry blustered. "You think too little of people. When push comes to shove, nearly all people will work together." It occurred to him that the idea might have some potential. "Instead of letting these groups clot up Haven with their frustration and fear, they should be out there together, facing adversary directly. That'll bring them together. Not all of them, granted, but weed out the stubborn few and those remaining will get along much better. I haven't a clue how to help Templars but I could give the mages some pointers for efficiency as well."
Solas seemed unmoved, outwardly stern. "Cassandra and Cullen would help if required. Of course, you would also provide a substantial amount of power." That was as good as full endorsement for the idea.
"Won't you as well?" Harry widened his eyes innocently.
He was fooling nobody.
"I must conduct the proceedings."
Cheap excuse. They could have a loudmouthed warrior shout the necessary words. He deliberated, now, be he kept that to himself.
"You know, not all us Tevinter mages are completely friendless, paranoid loners. I've already called in favours. And by that I mean I have many people in a watertight blackmail-enforced grip."
"What a strange definition of friendship," Solas marvelled dryly.
Harry shrugged unrepentantly. "We'd want to watch our backs and pockets afterwards, but they'll hold up their end," he warmed to the idea, and wound up pacing the small cabin. "We mustn't forget to invite Sirius, and Anders will be keen."
"The healer?" Solas looked up with interest.
"The fantastic healer, yes, he's also an accomplished elemental mage."
"I got the impression he disliked fighting."
"He does." Now, yes naturally. A change in subject was in order. Definitely time to head back on track. "Thirty people. I'll start a list. This shouldn't take more than a week. Honestly, forget about the rogue Templars and mages – too extremist. Get someone to talk to the people we already have, get their esteem and ask around, plenty of mages will start showing up."
Solas stroked his chin idly, "Yes, I know the type. The Herald would be good at that. It was not an option when this began. The people did not trust us. But… that has changed. The Herald is admired, a well-known face in the camp. Her efforts to secure a better future for the rebel mages have been transparent."
"That would go a long way to convincing people speaking up is worth the risk," Harry grinned, pleased.
"We may still fall short. This is not something we can afford to underestimate."
"Runes in quartz," he suggested. "Stability, harmony, stamina. Let them surround the area."
Solas considered. "It would not do much."
"It doesn't need to," Harry pointed out with a small smile.
The details took longer. Much longer. When Harry was released, darkness had fallen. He paused for a moment to breathe the cold, dry air. It felt like he'd just survived an ordeal, but he had no idea why.
He shook the feeling off.
Now, to find a bed. Leliana had neglected to mention that, he suspected on purpose.