Notes: I had better warn now. As the chapter will (I hope) indicate, this story is about to enter a very dark stage. If you were taken aback at events like the Freemen of the Dales AU stunt, uh... brace yourselves. I am not referring to any canon event in the game, either. The darkness will build on canon events, but I'm adding a lot of AU angles to them, and this is where the darkness comes from.
Chapter 14: Menaces East and West
Max was surprised when, after the meeting with his advisors, Dorian cornered him, a look of concern on his face.
"What's up?" Max asked him, trying to be casual and appear unconcerned, though in fact that look did alarm him.
Dorian took a deep breath. "I just wanted to talk with you about some of the things you said in the meeting. Please understand that I completely support your political goals. I'm not like them," he added.
Max quirked a brow. "What's bothering you, then?"
"I..." He trailed off, then decided to just plunge in. "What you said about Celene and Gaspard being childless and the need for heirs in a monarchy."
Max suddenly realized where Dorian was going with this.
"My father thought that as well about House Pavus. It's why he... did what he did." Dorian's handsome face curdled. "And while I obviously did not want it done to me—and that's why I turned my back on him—I do see the reasoning as it concerns heirs." He scowled. "I'm a hypocrite."
Max embraced him, horrified that he had arrived at such a conclusion. "No," he said feelingly. "No. It isn't the same."
"Is it not? Other than blood magic, in what particular is it different? Celene fancies women, and as for Gaspard, who knows, but he never married—"
"Celene also fancies men," Max said.
"That soldier on her bed?" Dorian scoffed. "That means nothing. She was playing with him. She never intended to sleep with him."
"That's not what I mean. During the Blight, she apparently wanted to marry King Cailan of Ferelden..."
"That also could have been entirely for political reasons."
"But even if it was, it was something she was choosing to do herself. She was willing to sleep with a man, whatever her reasons might have been." Max gave Dorian a pointed look. "But this is different in other ways too. You have said before that the altus houses of Tevinter are all extremely interrelated."
"They are," he said guardedly.
"So House Pavus must have collateral heirs. Cousins, perhaps distant cousins, maybe not bearing the name of Pavus at this time, but still heirs with the legal right to inherit if your direct line does not produce an heir."
"That is true," he said slowly.
"Well, then." Max gazed pointedly at him, eyebrows high.
Dorian sighed. "The same is true of the Valmont family and its branches. There are collateral heirs. I believe Duke Prosper is next, in fact."
"But as Leliana and Vivienne loved to point out to me, inheritance can be complicated in Orlais," Max said. "So there are still heirs if Celene doesn't have a child. It would just be more of a free-for-all in that case."
"And the same is true of Tevinter altus families."
Max gave Dorian a darkly amused and tolerant look. "Dorian. Love. This is not your problem."
He bristled. "I beg your pardon? How is it not?"
"To be brutally honest, I'm talking about a situation that would only unfold after your death. Unless you think you'll be observing Tevinter politics from the Golden City..."
Dorian finally laughed, throwing his head back. "Maker's breath. That does put it in perspective. However, you're overlooking something. You told them that Celene would be at risk of being deposed unless she has a child. If I become Magister Pavus someday, those collateral heirs, those cousins, will all be angling to replace me because I have no direct heir. I could pick one of them as heir, of course, but the others would still challenge it."
"Do you want to be Magister Pavus?" Max asked, eyebrows up again.
Dorian deflated, sighing. "I don't know. It is very important to me to see my homeland become more, a great civilization rather than a corrupt backwater. And being Magister Pavus is my best chance of making that happen. Yet..."
Max gave him another brief hug. "Whatever you decide, we'll find a way to make it work. But don't worry about what I said regarding Celene and Gaspard. It doesn't apply to you, just them."
Dorian gave him a look that was a cross between hope and doubt. He sighed. "I hope you're right."
Max expected the next war table meeting to be tense and awkward. But to his surprise, his advisors were completely amiable and open—or open-seeming—when they requested his presence a few days later. He wondered about that, whether it meant that they had thought about his words and come to agree with him, or if this was a mask that they put on—but he did not know, did not even detect any clues, so he put it out of his mind.
"We have two matters to discuss today," Josephine began, "one comparatively frivolous and one very dire indeed."
Alarm instantly came over Max. "The dire one first, then," he urged. "Better to end on a high note."
"Very well." She picked up a letter. "This is from one of my agents, Lady Guinevere Volant."
"An Orlesian noblewoman?" he guessed.
"Indeed, but she is also a diplomat like me. She is currently stationed in Wycome to represent the Inquisition, and she reports very troubling news." Josephine began reading from the letter.
Max's alarm heightened. The letter was not subtle. Duke Antoine of Wycome had Venatori infiltrators in his own circle of advisors, and the city's human population—the nobles and militia especially—had been afflicted with a disease of some sort, which Lady Volant seemed to be heavily implying was caused by red lyrium poisoning.
Max, Dorian, and Varric exchanged miserable glances as Josephine set the letter down. "It's red lyrium, isn't it?" he said heavily.
"We fear so."
Varric shook his head. "If they've ingested it, they're doomed. Nothing to be done. We can only hope that they were just in proximity to its miasma." He scowled. "And that's bad enough. That alone drove my brother to madness."
"Are we sure it's red lyrium?" Dorian wondered. "Why would only the human population be affected? It might be a disease that can't infect elves."
"If it got into foodstuffs or ale that only humans buy..." Varric suggested, shaking his head unhappily. "That's really bad."
Max felt wretched. He gazed at them. "We have to get rid of the Venatori before we do anything else. I'm sure that they are responsible for this. Corypheus is using red lyrium for his own ends, after all."
"I concur, Inquisitor. I have an extremely effective agent whom I can send to eliminate them."
"An assassin," Max said. He shrugged. "This time, I have no objection."
"Are we sure we want to take this path?" Josephine asked. "Red lyrium causes paranoia. This could go very badly if your agent isn't absolutely perfect, Leliana. Lady Volant might be able to expose the Venatori to Duke Antoine..."
"And if he is complicit, she will be murdered," Leliana said sharply. "We must consider the possibility that he knows full well what they are. Grand Duchess Florianne was Corypheus's agent, after all. High status does not mean that someone could not be a traitor."
"I agree with Leliana," Max insisted. "Have the Venatori killed."
Dorian smiled his approval, as he did whenever Venatori were killed.
Josephine did not take it personally that her suggestion was rejected. She moved on to the next matter. "And on to the other side of Thedas. Since the Orlesian throne has been settled, the nobles of Val Royeaux have been falling in line in support of two major families."
Max scowled. So much for ending on a high note. This sort of thing again. I actually prefer dealing with Venatori. At least that forwards the mission to defeat Corypheus.
"These families have intended to rival us politically," she continued, "but we can prevent that by allying with one of them."
Max gazed levelly at his advisors, resting an elbow on the table. "Do you really think we can eliminate all political rivals in Orlais?"
"Of course we cannot," Josephine said.
"Then why are we considering getting involved in this?"
"In this case, it is a matter of taking a values stand too. One family, the desRosiers, are 'old money,' traditionalist and stubborn. The other, the Thibaults, came from trade—a merchant consortium—and are seen as more progressive. We have a lot of influence in Orlais now, and by choosing one of these families to back, we can further set the course of that nation."
Max considered it. He had ceased to be personally invested in the future of Orlais proper after deciding to deliberately diminish it. However, even if Briala fought for and won independence for the Dales, many millions of people would still live inside the ancient borders of Orlais. They deserved a decent future, not a lifetime of near-enserfment to "old money" as Orlais itself slipped further and further behind its peers in the south.
"Traditionalist, stubborn 'old money' is what's holding Orlais back," he said bluntly. "People who are too set in their ways to consider anything new are the reason Kirkwall has left Orlais in the dust and Ferelden is about to do the same, militarily. It's probably too late for it to truly catch up, but no one deserves to live in a failed state. If the Thibaults are 'progressive,' let's back them."
"Very well," Josephine agreed. "The matron of the house has expressed an interest in working with us, in any case."
"Well, there we have it."
After the meeting had broken up, Varric took Max and Dorian aside. Concern lined his face.
"I am asking your permission to tell Hawke about this," he said gravely. "The Wycome matter, of course. Wycome is part of the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty, so I'm sure you see the threat to it if a signer—an early one, at that—is revealed to be under Venatori influence."
Max nodded. "I hope my advisors' agents don't attempt to use this against the treaty, but hope is all that I have. There's every reason to believe that they would unless the Viscountess heads off the threat."
Varric nodded grimly. "I don't know if she has any assassins herself, or if they could beat Leliana's agent to it, but she can distance herself from Antoine."
Something occurred to Max. He had been feeling slightly guilty about his dismissal of Prosper de Montfort at Halamshiral, and the image of the duke's silhouetted figure stalking across the grounds flashed through his thoughts. Prosper had said it should be crystal clear what his "backup plan" was. Max presumed that it related to the Free Marches... and he was an ally to Kirkwall...
"Do you have a way of informing Prosper de Montfort about the Wycome situation too?" he asked suddenly.
Varric raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he said guardedly. "What are you up to, Inky?"
"I just think he should know too. That's all. Let him have the information to do with as he will." Beside him, Dorian smothered a laugh.
Varric chuckled. "I like your thinking. All right then. I'll tell him too."
Chateau Haine.
Duke Prosper de Montfort read the coded dispatch with concern—and excitement. At last, the golden opportunity for which he had been waiting. It was a shame about the people of Wycome who had been infected with red lyrium, of course—and he hoped that the ones who had terminal poisoning were few. But that was all the more reason to get there as swiftly as possible, to minimize the suffering and death—and make the name "Duke Prosper de Montfort" the name of a hero to Wycome's people.
The Inquisition's Nightingale is also on the case, but she does not have what I do, he thought as he prepared to travel. The Inquisition is not trusted in Wycome or any other member-state of VMTO. I have publicly declared my support of the treaty, so I have entree.
He stalked to the stables himself. "Prepare Leopold and Clothilde!" he barked at a groomsman. The latter was Leopold's mate, and his trusted agent-assassin Salit was her rider.
He also summoned half of his militia as backup, but they could not match the speed or stamina of the wyverns—and speed was more important than a display of military might. He was certain that he could get into Antoine's keep and execute his plan. The militia would arrive in time to deal with the probable red lyrium contamination—and to keep order if, or more likely when, the people began falling into paranoia from the stuff.
Within two hours, Prosper and Salit were riding wyverns toward Wycome.
Wycome.
Panic was in the air in Wycome as Duke Prosper and Salit arrived—and their appearance on wyverns did not alleviate the situation. As they entered the city, several human tradesmen and housewives screamed in terror, fleeing the beasts. Prosper gritted his teeth at this reaction. He steered Leopold toward a high point, where the common district gave way to the noble district. It was also a good place for an audience.
"People of Wycome!" Prosper called out. "I am Duke Prosper de Montfort, and I am not here to harm you! I have heard of your troubles and am here to confer with your Duke about the situation—and bring relief!" He paused. "This is not the first time my family has come to the aid of eastern Thedas. In the Fourth Blight, my ancestor, Ser Gaston de Montfort, fought beside the Grey Wardens in the Battle of Ayesleigh, just north of this beautiful city. I myself have worked to eliminate spies of the Qun from Orlais, with the invaluable aid of my Tal-Vashoth friend and agent, Salit, whom you see behind me. We Montforts seek the best for all Thedas, and it is for such a reason that I come to your city today!" With that, he drove Leopold into the wealthy district, heading for Duke Antoine's residence.
Jester, the code name for Leliana's agent—and assassin—in this area, had only managed to gain admittance to Wycome in the hubbub that arose from the wyverns' appearance at the gates. The city guards had not wanted to let him in, as they were deeply paranoid and suspicious of anyone these days—a fact that also heavily implied red lyrium poisoning. They had let the wyverns in because they were too afraid to defy them, and in the turmoil, Jester had slipped in.
He knew full well who rode wyvernback and was not surprised when the man proclaimed his name to the common folk of Wycome. When Prosper and his pet Tal-Vashoth then headed in the direction of Duke Antoine's keep, what had happened became all too clear to Jester.
Someone tipped him off, the assassin thought. One of Hawke's people? This city is in her treaty; she might have people here. Or someone from within the Inquisition itself? Varric Tethras has dual loyalties, and that is being generous. It's quite possible that he is a full spy for Hawke, hiding in plain sight.
Jester hoped it wasn't Tethras. Hawke would declare war if he died, since she was far too suspicious of the Inquisition to accept a story about an accident or death at enemy hands—and it might cost the Inquisition its own Inquisitor, too. If Tethras had been the leak, they would just have to limit his access to important information, and that would be difficult with Trevelyan as his friend.
Well, he would look into it later. For now, he might still be able to beat Prosper de Montfort to Antoine's inner keep. Prosper would be granted admittance, as an ally of VMTO, but he would then have to endure the slowness of protocol. But Jester might be able to sneak in from the rooftops.
He ascended a poorly guarded home—the guards in Wycome really were under the influence of something bad—and began making his way to the keep.
Duke Prosper wished that he personally could strike the killing blow against the suspected Venatori, but instead he had to keep Duke Antoine distracted while Salit took care of the problem. And the problem was worse than he had thought. Antoine's entire council consisted of Tevinters. Their leader was a smirking, goatee-bearing figure called Damon, and he had underlings named Actaeus, Lycus, Makelo, and Dexithea. All Tevene names, and Prosper could see no legitimate reason for a group of Tevinters to completely take over a head of state's advisory council. He was strongly inclined to believe that Antoine himself was complicit. Hopefully Salit would obtain proof.
The Tevinters gazed at Salit with contempt, one and all. "Oxman," sneered Damon, the leader. "How dare your Duke force us to endure your presence? Horned filth."
Tevinters whose foremost goal was to defeat the Qun welcomed the aid of defectors, particularly former Ben-Hassrath such as Salit. This he knew. The fact that these did not suggested that they had another goal, and it was no secret which "leader" had human mage Tevinter supremacy as one of his goals for Thedas: Corypheus.
Salit spoke gruffly, preparing himself for what would ensue. "How dare you speak to me thus, a guest in your lord's home. Prosper can inform your Duke Antoine of this outrage, and what do you think will become of you then?"
Damon sneered again, hefting his ostentatious staff. "Enough of this farce. We know why you are here, and neither you nor he will be doing anything."
And with that, he and all four of his followers attacked.
Salit knew that it would not be a fair fight. Venatori had no honor. He also expected blood magic and was not surprised when Damon himself got in a glancing strike on Salit's midsection, drawing a few drops of blood. But he had not reckoned with the power of vitaar. Although Salit was Tal-Vashoth, he had not forsworn Qunari practices that were morally neutral or good and had practical value, and the use of vitaar was one. This paint reacted with the specific physiology of his race to produce a magical armor effect. It prevented the Venatori mage from inflicting more than the equivalent of a paper cut.
And Salit had picked up some other tricks too. He had Viscountess Hawke to thank for this one, though, as he reflected momentarily, he was not sure how much she would want to be thanked for his knowledge of this specific ability. When the mages and Templars had rebelled, a lot of formerly secret lore became accessible to those who had the wherewithal and connections to discover it, the unique lyrium-fueled abilities of the Templars included. Since the Templars and Seekers had broken the Nevarran Accord in 9:40, Salit had learned how to negate magic the way that they could. He had always been careful to use lyrium sparingly, and only to take the blue kind, but he had taken some just before he entered this keep. He knew he would need it.
A blue glow began to form around Salit as he invoked a Holy Smite. Damon and the other mages were gobsmacked as their powers dwindled rapidly to nothing, and then they themselves felt weak—they clutched their bellies and began shaking—they collapsed to the ground—
Salit did not hesitate. These men and women had already tried to kill him with blood magic without having been attacked first. Even if they were not Venatori, that justified slaying them. He brought down his scimitar on each of them in turn, taking a particular pleasure in the look of dismay on Damon's face as he stabbed the blade into the man's stomach.
He was withdrawing the blade in satisfaction when a door to this room—not the one he had entered, but a side door that had been locked—opened.
A thin, lithe, effeminate human man in something resembling a Harlequin suit emerged. Salit hefted his blade again warily as the newcomer gaped at the dead Tevinters.
The man then snapped his gaze up to Salit's. "You killed them," he stated.
"As you see. Who are you?"
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding it was best just to answer. This was clearly Duke Prosper's Tal-Vashoth, not one of the Venatori. "I am called Jester," he said. "I work for the Nightingale. Am I correct that you serve Duke Prosper de Montfort?"
"You are." Salit still spoke in the abrupt, short sentences of his people when he was under stress.
"Then we are here on a common purpose. I too received word of this infiltration. But you accomplished the goal first."
Salit did not respond verbally to this, instead inclining his head.
"We should look for proof that they were Venatori," Jester said. He gave Salit a slick smile. "An alliance between Duke Prosper and the Inquisition!"
"As you say." Salit was not particularly inclined to trust Jester's declaration of alliance, but he did have a point that they needed to find proof of affiliation. He cleaned and sheathed his blade, preparing to crouch and look over the bodies, but Jester was faster. He was already rifling Damon's corpse. By the time Salit had put up the scimitar, Jester had already found a document.
"This is what we were looking for!" he exclaimed, waving it. "They were indeed Venatori, and the illness in this city is indeed red lyrium sickness."
"That's not good." Salit read the document; it was as Jester had said.
"No, it isn't." Jester considered for a moment before abruptly changing the subject. "I mean no offense... but I can't help but wonder. How did you take down five Venatori mages by yourself?"
"I have learned Templar abilities since that order revolted against its Chantry. Information became available to those who knew how to find it. I was once Ben-Hassrath. I knew how." He paused. "When I left the Qun, I came to realize that the way the Qunari treat their mages is atrocious, far worse than the way most of the southern Templars treated mages before the war. But however unjust the southern Templars may have been, their abilities are useful for negating hostile magic, and tactics such as the 'Holy Smite' are more humane than Qunari methods."
"I see," Jester mused. "Fair enough." He rose to his feet. "I expect we have some explaining to do. Poor Duke Antoine."
"Unless he knew what they were. He deserves no pity in that case."
"If he did, he probably will not admit to it."
Duke Antoine was horrified—or put on a decent front, at least—when Salit and Jester emerged from the room to inform him that all of his advisors had been Venatori, that they were all dead after attempting to kill Salit in an unprovoked attack, and that the illness plaguing Wycome was red lyrium.
"It is in the wells that serve the human districts of this city," Duke Prosper said, reading the documents that they brought out. "That's why the elves didn't become ill. The Venatori targeted the well serving your noble district in particular, but also the common people's district—but not the Alienage."
Duke Antoine wailed. "Oh, sweet Maker! Oh, my city!"
Duke Prosper gazed hard at him. "These wells must be closed off. They are not safe to drink from. We must also hire a dwarven crew to delve underground and seal off the fonts that supply these wells. And I heard that the Fereldans have a poison of some sort that could burn up red lyrium. They used it in the Emprise du Lion. We must hire some of them as well."
"Maker preserve us all!" Duke Antoine wailed again.
Duke Prosper and Salit shared a look of derision.
Skyhold.
"The Wycome mission was... more or less successful," Leliana reported.
"More or less?" Max repeated.
"My agent Jester acquired proof that the 'advisors' were indeed Venatori and that they had put red lyrium into the wells servicing human areas of Wycome," she said. "But... Jester was not the one to kill the Venatori. Duke Prosper de Montfort's Tal-Vashoth got there first." She gave Max and Varric studying looks.
Max felt uncomfortable under her steely gaze. She suspects, he realized. She suspects that I had Prosper informed. And she's right. What should I do? Admit it or attempt to deny it? He wished he had discussed this possibility with Varric first. He did not know what Varric would want him to do, and Varric's position was the one in jeopardy if Leliana was displeased enough.
Fortunately, Varric came to his rescue. He shrugged. "Is that a problem? We knew the man was interested in the Free Marches. No real surprise. And seems like it's a good thing if we can work with him, even just temporarily."
"It may be a problem, depending on how he got the information so fast."
Varric glared back. "Are you implying that someone here told him, Nightingale?" Max was amazed at his ability to lie so convincingly. "The Tal-Vashoth is a former Ben-Hassrath. A former Qunari spy. And if Ruffles' Lady Volant figured out that there were Venatori, do you really suppose Hawke's diplomats couldn't have done the same? Don't you look at me when there are other perfectly obvious sources of information for Duke Prosper."
Leliana stared back, and for a moment Max wondered who would "blink" first. To his surprise, Leliana was the one to back down.
"You have a point," she said in natural tones. "We must not look at each other with paranoia. It would only please the Elder One." She smiled, though it seemed a bit forced. "In any case, for the time being, Jester, Lady Volant, Salit, and Duke Prosper are taking the lead in Wycome to deal with the wells." She shuffled her papers before picking up a new document. "In other news—the political situation in Val Royeaux."
Dorian, who was seated on Max's other side, perked up at this.
"The desRosiers are offended that the Inquisition supported the Thibaults," she said. "A noblewoman who has worked with us before, Lady Eustace Richelieu, offers us a suggestion." She handed the letter to Max and Dorian.
.
The desRosiers are a stubborn threat. The most efficient way to deal with them is to nullify with social alliance, but the only pairing of import is unavailable because the Thibault daughter has betrothed herself elsewhere. She has the luxury of such a wasteful pairing because of the Inquisition bearing the weight in this partnership.
Our hands are tied. You face the difficult task of attacking the status of Lord desRosier... unless you were to demand that task of the Thibaults. If their investment were more taxing, they would be more inclined to an arranged match for the daughter. And that is well-respected currency in Orlais.
.
Max set the letter down. He gazed up at his advisors. "Who is this woman and what is her agenda?" he demanded. "What does she get out of this?"
"Matchmakers obtain status in Orlais," Josephine explained. "She can say that she was the one who forged peace between the rival families."
"You know," Max remarked, "I realize what I did with Celene and Gaspard... but that itself actually supports the point I am about to make. Why in the Maker's name does anyone believe that arranged marriages foster peace between families—or nations—that dislike each other?"
"The ties of blood..."
"Mean nothing when parents see their children as nothing but pawns," Max replied. "Either a parent sees their child as a person, in which case blood does mean something—or a tool, in which case the child is dehumanized. And history bears me out. How many wars have involved cities or nations that were, in fact, 'tied by blood' via arranged marriages? It means nothing."
Dorian spoke up. "I think he's right."
"It's a lie that people have told themselves for ages," Max continued heatedly. "'If I force my daughter to marry a man she doesn't like, somehow that will prevent us from ever being at odds! That will produce a lasting alliance that we can truly count on!' What rubbish. Families are at odds all the time, over matters great and small. And plenty of parents do not actually love their children. I know this personally. This system does not work."
Josephine was extremely taken aback, as was Vivienne. "For all its flaws, this is what we must do, though. We do not have a better way of making alliances," Josephine finally managed.
"Don't we? Kirkwall seems to have found a better way. Payment in coin rather than flesh. And actually, the Grey Wardens did it first. Works for them."
Josephine, Vivienne, and Leliana all sighed. "As you pointed out," Leliana said, "you arranged a match between Celene and Gaspard."
"And I am under no illusions about its ability to keep them from fighting each other," he said. "Neither are you. Any of you. You said so to me then. Why pretend this is any different?"
They were silent for a moment before Leliana spoke again. "So—we attack desRosier's name, then? Because that is the other option we have."
Max felt punched. He did not like it when the Inquisition went after people's reputations simply for the furtherance of its own power, and that was certainly the case here. But he definitely did not want to break up some woman's engagement—which was apparently a relationship of choice—for the Inquisition's power.
"Why is Lady Richelieu the messenger?" he asked abruptly. "You said we have worked with her before. Who is she?"
Leliana looked uncomfortable, but she responded. "She was one of the principals in the Freemen of the Dales affair. Her suggestion, in part."
Max's ire suddenly flared as high as Skyhold itself. How dare she try to bully us? he thought in outrage. "I see," he snapped. "Then in that case, she's not in much of a position to tell us what to do! Perhaps she is used to telling defenseless noble youths and social-climbing families what to do, but we are the Inquisition, and we apparently have blackmail on her."
Leliana appeared considering. "This may come as a surprise to some others at this table, but I actually agree with the Inquisitor on the whole." Josephine and Vivienne gaped at her. "We are the Inquisition, and we should stick to our course rather than cowing to bullying from people like Lady Richelieu."
"Exactly," Max said, grateful to have her support. "We were triumphant at the Winter Palace. We don't need to scrape at the feet of people like this. She's a parasite, as far as I'm concerned. If she were someone worthwhile in herself, she wouldn't need to bully other families who are more successful than she is—and she certainly wouldn't need to try to bully us." He scowled, resenting the memory itself, but it was relevant to the situation. "I recall people like this trying to manipulate my father. They hoped to gain status by doing so, because they couldn't do anything of actual value in the world."
Leliana smirked at him, apparently in complete agreement with his assessment of court parasites. Cullen and Cassandra stifled chuckles.
"I will send some... pointed letters... concerning desRosier," Leliana decided. "Do not feel guilty about this, Inquisitor. I know you do not like harming people's reputations, but he picked a fight with us."
True, Max thought. He still wasn't wholly satisfied with this, and he also felt that they should not have gotten involved in the first place—but then, he had given his consent to that involvement after his initial objections were overcome. I own this, he realized, and I must make the best of it now.
He realized as well that, after his discussion with Dorian a few weeks ago concerning Celene, Gaspard, and heirs, he wanted to do something different. This was an opportunity to do that. And I might as well admit it—I feel emboldened after my success in the Winter Palace. I am no longer a cowering, terrified youth just out of the Circle, doing whatever other people want because I don't know anything else to do. I have ideas of my own. This is the Inquisition and I am the Inquisitor. I need to be more proactive and resolute.
He did not want to ask Leliana or the others to do this, but he also resolved to send a private letter to Lady Richelieu threatening exposure if she continued to try to pressure the Inquisition.
Kirkwall.
Viscountess Caitlyn Hawke called a Small Council meeting abruptly after news of the events in Wycome reached the city. Everyone was present except Varric.
Caitlyn faced the council members. "We have a serious problem in Wycome, a problem involving its leader, Duke Antoine." She steepled her fingers on the table. "Duke Prosper de Montfort and Inquisition agents found red lyrium in some of the city wells and discovered that Venatori agents had infiltrated the Duke's own inner circle."
"Assuming that he had not invited them in intentionally," Grand Cleric Petrice said darkly.
Caitlyn nodded. "And that's the question. If he did, it'll be extremely difficult to prove. He wouldn't admit to it himself, of course, and if the Inquisition produced 'evidence' of it, I'm not sure I would believe it, given that he signed the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty early and they—or rather, one faction of them, since the organization seems to be divided—oppose it." She scowled.
"What about Duke Prosper and his people?" Comte de Launcet said.
"I would be more likely to trust him, but... I know he is your friend, and he supports our goals, but he has his eye on Wycome after not getting anything in Orlais at Halamshiral. So I wouldn't one-hundred-percent trust 'evidence' from him either." She and Anders exchanged grim looks. "We are in a quandary. It is possible that Antoine is loyal and that the Venatori took advantage of him. But it's also possible that he is in league with Corypheus. After what the Inquisitor discovered at Celene's ball—a Grand Duchess of Orlais being his agent there—he very well might also have an agent in VMTO. And given that it'll be nearly impossible to prove anything about Duke Antoine one way or another..." She trailed off.
Comte de Launcet spoke up again. "In my view, the risk is too great. There is a very credible possibility that Corypheus has an ally in Duke Antoine. I don't think we can take that chance. And as you say, Duke Prosper has his eye on Wycome. He would be a better leader. I think we should support him."
Caitlyn sighed. Privately, she agreed with him, despite the obvious bias of friendship that made him advocate for Prosper. But—
"There is no solid evidence directly against Antoine," Aveline pointed out. "And he did sign our treaty. On paper, at least, he is our ally."
"But his position has been compromised by the Venatori infiltration and discovery of red lyrium in the water supply," Petrice said. "Even if he is innocent, he is still incompetent."
"I had mage supremacists in the Guard and the Free Mages during the war," Caitlyn said heavily. "They tried to assassinate me. And while I don't know if they were already working with the Venatori at that point, they did later."
"But they did not infiltrate your councils, nor did they attack the city infrastructure itself. It is not the same."
Caitlyn considered that. "You have a point. If Antoine is innocent, he is still incompetent. And I also agree with Comte de Launcet that the possibility that he isn't innocent introduces a risk that is really too grave to allow." She turned to Aveline. "However, everyone has made a good point. He did sign the treaty. And it would severely hurt our chances of getting holdouts to sign it—or keeping existing signatories—if we openly supported a coup against Antoine."
Anders voiced his agreement. "No one will want to join VMTO if they think the leaders might stab them in the back without solid proof."
"You said 'openly supported a coup,'" Comte de Launcet noted.
"I did." She gazed out. "I'm considering backing Duke Prosper in the shadows."
"I think that is an excellent idea," Petrice said.
"No written records," Caitlyn warned. "That includes correspondence with him. I think"—she voiced the idea as it came to her—"I will invite him to Kirkwall nominally to 'discuss what he found in Wycome and the Venatori threat to the Free Marches,' but actually to assure him that we will support him however we can if he aims to become Duke Prosper of Wycome."
Comte de Launcet beamed. Petrice was smug. Anders was satisfied but not gleeful; he had no personal attachment to the man and simply wanted the risk of a Venatori agent eliminated. Aveline and Ser Marlein Selbrech seemed to accept the decision as an unfortunate necessity.
"This is top secret information," Caitlyn warned them all. "Tell no one. Not spouses. Not friends. No one. As Anders pointed out, it will undermine VMTO if it gets out that we are backing a coup against a signer."
They all voiced their submission to her order.
Duke Prosper de Montfort arrived in Kirkwall not on his wyvern Leopold—that would attract a bit too much attention—but in a standard horse-drawn carriage. He certainly intended to make a dramatic appearance on Leopold again someday, but not this day.
He was promptly admitted to the Keep and shown to the Viscountess and Consort in a private audience chamber. A guard named Donnic Hendyr took charge of the escort, since it seemed that Prosper's presence in Kirkwall was meant to be as secret as possible.
After the initial pleasantries, and the pouring of some Treviso red for them all, Viscountess Hawke got down to business.
"Duke Prosper," she said, "we know that you are interested in Wycome, and after what came to light about Duke Antoine—due in large part to the efforts of your agent Salit—we are, frankly, inclined to support your ambition."
Prosper kept his face a mask. This was what he had expected so far.
"Of course, since there is no hard proof that Antoine was knowingly working with the Venatori or the Elder One, we're in a tight spot," she continued. "He did sign the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty, making him a nominal ally. And it would harm the organization if other Marcher leaders came to fear that Kirkwall's head of state would openly support coups against them without such hard proof of treason."
"We still want to back you, though," Anders spoke up. "The possibility that Antoine is an agent of Corypheus is too dire for him to be allowed to stay in power... and Venatori infiltrated his inner circle and poisoned the water supply of his city on his watch, so even if he's innocent, he is a bad ruler. Whichever it may be, he has to go. The entire Small Council agrees, and we also agree that you should be the one to replace him. Just—it has to be kept secret."
Duke Prosper nodded curtly. "I understand completely. What kind of support are you referring to, in that case?"
"Financial," Caitlyn said. "We were going to loan you some gold to support your militia and agents. Granted, it'll have to come from our personal funds, not the Kirkwall Treasury." She and Anders exchanged looks of amusement. "We received word about... malfeasance... in your home country of Orlais..."
Prosper suddenly burst into a barking laugh. "Did Varric Tethras show you Empress Celene's finances?" he chortled. "He did, didn't he?"
Caitlyn instantly made a decision to acknowledge it. He clearly knew about his imperial cousin's conduct already. "He did," she said. "I guess you knew about it too." She narrowed her gaze. "For how long, might I ask?"
"Only since the Winter Palace ball. The Inquisitor called a private meeting with Celene, Gaspard, Ambassador—now Marquise—Briala, and myself. Why he invited me, I do not know. Perhaps because of my rank in Orlais. But yes, I learned all about Celene's financial problems... and her attempts to solve them."
"One of which was criminal," Caitlyn said. "So we will not be taking coin from the national treasury for private endeavors like she did. That does limit the amount that we can loan you."
Prosper waved his hand. "It is not a problem. It is a gesture of good faith that you do support me."
Caitlyn and Anders exchanged a look. "You mentioned 'your rank in Orlais,'" she said slowly. "There is one thing we must ask of you if we are to support you."
Prosper waited. He expected he knew what it was, but best to be sure.
They gazed sternly at him. "We realize that you are next in line to the throne of Orlais after Celene and Gaspard," she said. "This will not become a back door for annexing any Marcher city back into the Orlesian Empire. The Free Marches will remain independent. If you want our support and you do become Duke of Wycome, you and your heirs must forswear all claim to the Orlesian throne." She put up a hand as he opened his mouth. "If you don't agree to this, you are free to go with no hard feelings from us. If you want to take your chances that Celene and Gaspard will die without children, that's fine. But this is either-or, Duke Prosper. No hedging of bets."
Prosper combed his beard through his fingers thoughtfully. He had been correct about what they would ask of him, and from their perspective it was a reasonable demand. During the Blight, King Cailan of Ferelden had thought to set aside his queen and wed Empress Celene, which would have made Ferelden part of Orlais again. If the Orlesian throne became vacant and he managed to install himself as Emperor while also being Duke of Wycome, the same thing could happen. He understood why Hawke and Anders found that unacceptable.
Which to do? Take the lesser prize, which presumably would not be that difficult given the scandal surrounding Duke Antoine—or gamble for the big payoff, which was a far longer shot?
Or was it the big payoff anymore? Prosper recalled the Winter Palace ball. Orlais was weak and promised to become weaker yet if Marquise Briala led the Dales to independence. Meanwhile, Ferelden and—through Hawke's VMTO—the Free Marches were ascendant. He had noticed this himself months ago. It was Kirkwall that had finally managed to innovate in warfare well enough to take on the Qunari someday, and it was these people before him now who were uniting the fractious Free Marches in a legally binding treaty at long last. They were in alliance with Ferelden, which also had new weapons of war. Orlais, on the other hand, was mired in its past. As he had said himself, the sun of the Empire was low in the sky, and if Briala succeeded at her goal, that sun would set. Was Orlais even capable of innovating and changing anymore? The future is not Orlais, Prosper realized. It is no great prize anymore.
"I accept your terms," he said firmly.
She nodded. "Good. In that case, we should discuss plans."
"I will begin speaking against Antoine and making the case for myself to the nobles of Wycome," he said. "It would be best if this can be done peacefully, by having them remove him in a vote of no confidence."
Caitlyn laughed ruefully. "That was my original plan for replacing Viscount Dumar," she said, exchanging a darkly amused look with her husband. "It didn't work out that way."
"I am prepared for that possibility too. Leopold and his mate are well-trained, should there be a fight."
Skyhold.
"The situation in Val Royeaux is becoming dire," Leliana reported at the war table. "We have another letter from Lady Richelieu." She gave Max a sideways look, and he realized that she probably suspected that he had sent a threatening letter to Richelieu—as in fact he had. The prospect of some self-important court leech attempting to threaten the Inquisition was intolerable...
"Lord desRosier has challenged the holdings of the Thibault family," Leliana said, summarizing Lady Richelieu's letter. "He's positioned his militia at several of their trade outposts. Lady Richelieu again pushes for an arranged match between him and the Thibault daughter, Celeste, arguing 'personal sacrifice is preferable to bloodshed.' She then says that 'the Inquisition's own advisory council agreed with this view in the Freemen of the Dales matter: better a face-saving game than all-out war with Ferelden.'" She set the note down with a glower of fury.
The war table members considered it. "I do recall the argument that the Freemen of the Dales stunt was better than a war between Orlais and Ferelden," Max finally said, eyeing Leliana.
"That was the nobles' calculation, and it was... persuasive to us."
Max did not challenge that. It was done, in the past, and it was best to stay focused on the present concern. "And are you persuaded now?" he asked.
Leliana gave him a dark smile. "Not at all, and that is because of the other letter she sent." She lifted up the papers again and put the first page behind a second page. "She says in this note that she is the only person who can forge peace between the Thibaults and the desRosiers, and that if the Inquisition ruins her by exposing her in the Freemen affair, then it will come to bloodshed."
Cries of outrage erupted from the table, even from people like Vivienne. "How dare she threaten us?" Cassandra sputtered.
"I do not know why she thinks we might expose her," Leliana said airily, "unless someone wrote privately to her suggesting that we might." She raised her eyebrows at Max, Varric, Dorian, and Sera in particular. "But that does not matter. I may not show my fury the way that the rest of us have now done, but I assure you, I am enraged that this woman would attempt to threaten us. And I am even more enraged that she would presume to use our own words against us to further her own agenda of self-aggrandizement."
Max's heart thumped. It seemed to him that he and Leliana were in far greater agreement since the Winter Palace ball than before it. He would not have expected this, given the lecture he received afterward, but it seemed to be happening anyway, and he liked it. "What do you advise, then?" he asked.
"I advise simply pulling out of this mess rather than risking humiliation," she said. "We involved ourselves with the aim of making an alliance of words and, perhaps, trade deals—not of settling Orlesian nobles' affairs with our own forces. I say that we call Lady Richelieu's bluff."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Cassandra said. "DesRosier is only making these threats to the Thibaults because we injected ourselves. I believe the Inquisitor had the right of it from the first and we should never have gotten involved."
"We did need to," Leliana disagreed, "but we have achieved our original goal, in any case, which was to weaken these families' power. This wasn't how I had intended that to happen, but... it works."
Josephine spoke up unhappily. "Are you sure? Lady Richelieu might not be bluffing. There really could be violence, and we could forestall it by supporting her proposed match..."
"We should not give in to blackmail and threats from people like her, or from Lord desRosier," Leliana said firmly. "That will cause us to lose more face than anything else."
"I concur with the Nightingale," Max said.
Wycome.
Lady Peony Babbitt of Wycome and other nobles murmured among themselves as Duke Prosper de Montfort took his leave and left the council room at the Babbitt house where they were all gathered.
Prosper's message had been shocking. Bold, certainly—the Wycome lords and ladies all had to admire his courage to openly call for it—but still shocking. He had urged them to overthrow Duke Antoine. The man had not used that term; instead he had mentioned the Marcher tradition of a noble moot calling for a vote of no confidence in a leader—but a coup was what it amounted to. And no one in the room had any illusions about what he wanted them to do next. It had been no accident when he and his pet oxman had appeared in Wycome on wyverns, invoking his family history in eastern Thedas and playing hero in revealing the supposed Venatori.
"Are we really sure they were Venatori?" one lord groused. "Who claims that, anyway? Duke Prosper, his oxman, and a couple of Inquisition agents! We know the Inquisition doesn't care about the Free Marches, and Prosper may pretend to, but he just wants to use us for his own aggrandizement!"
"Exactly," a lady sniped. "He failed at the Orlesian court. Now he looks eastward. And why would he and the Inquisition be working together on anything? As I heard it, it was their decision to cut him out of power!"
"And spending city money, our money, on a lot of dwarves and Dog Lords! Claiming there's red lyrium in the wells, but only our wells, not the knife-ears' ones. Why do we believe any of this?"
The nobles murmured general agreement with this position. And the person who had been listening at the door took that as the cue to enter at last.
The hooded and cloaked figure was one they knew by now. Wingfoot sat silkily in a chair and regarded the nobility of Wycome impassively, face hidden.
"I gather that you are not impressed with the Orlesian duke's message?" There was a slight but unmistakable emphasis on the word "Orlesian."
"We are not," the lord said. "We think he's an opportunist."
"He is," Wingfoot agreed. "And moreover, are you aware that it was not even he who killed Duke Antoine's advisors? It was the Tal-Vashoth who accompanied him."
"He did say that," someone muttered. "But he wants us to credit him for bringing the oxman here to do it."
"This person is not just a simple soldier," Wingfoot continued. "This Salit was a member of the Qunari priesthood, spymasters, and assassins when he followed the Qun. This is the person Duke Prosper has taken into his confidence: a former Qunari spy."
The nobles murmured discontentedly.
"And he has also hired himself a Chasind bodyguard," Wingfoot said. "A barbarian of the south, a skin-clad ruffian from regions so uncivilized that even Fereldans regard them as savage." Wingfoot knew perfectly well that the Chasind now lived in the teyrnir of Highever, but their rustic lifestyle was still a useful source of attack.
The nobles muttered among themselves.
Wingfoot moved in for the kill. "Wycome is a highly civilized city—the revelry capital of the Free Marches. A place of fun, freedom, and culture. You would not see it fall to Qunari, Tal-Vashoth, barbarians, and other such undesirable elements, would you?"
"Absolutely not!" Lady Babbitt herself called out.
"I will not say that Duke Prosper was wrong to want Duke Antoine deposed," Wingfoot said in a low voice, to the nobles' surprise, "but he only said that because he wants Antoine's seat. Wycome deserves better—better than Prosper, but also better than Antoine."
"Were his advisors Venatori, then?" Lady Babbitt said uneasily.
"I do not know," Wingfoot replied, "but I do know that he has made dubious decisions. Remember that he has let a clan of Dalish elves camp just outside the city. Why, who can say—but I warned you about them. And is it not suspicious that, while they are nearby, no city elves became ill with this disease that Duke Prosper and the Inquisition now claim is caused by red lyrium?"
"Damned right it is," a man shouted.
"Viscountess Hawke also has an alliance with a Dalish clan. And she also used mage supremacists to help fight her own war even after their first leader, a blood mage named Johane Harimann, attempted to assassinate her! Her Dalish allies never objected to the presence of these supremacists in the alliance."
"What exactly are you implying?" someone asked. "That Hawke placed Venatori in Duke Antoine's councils?"
"Not at all. Duke Antoine was one of the first Marcher lords to grovel at Hawke's feet after her war to sign her treaty. A treaty that obligates Wycome to pay money to Kirkwall to build up its own devastatingly lethal arsenal, and pay off apostates and Dalish elves and whatever other thugs she can recruit, while offering Wycome naught but a promise. Words are wind," Wingfoot dismissed. "Duke Antoine is no innocent victim of the Venatori, the Dalish, Hawke, or anyone. He is part of the problem. And Wycome needs those who can stand up for it against threats from all over. As I said when I first met with you, I am only interested in the good of this city."
"I believe you," Lady Babbitt said. "You certainly don't work for Duke Antoine if you would advise—this."
"I advise nothing. I have merely provided information. The decision is yours."
"The decision seems clear enough," someone mused. "Antoine gets one last chance from us. If he messes this up, we act."
Still cloaked and hooded, Wingfoot stalked away from the meeting, sneering in contempt. What fools, to be so easily swayed by a message of crude bigotry and xenophobia. A message of vague insinuations. I suppose it is fortunate for my mission that they did fall for this ugly appeal, instead of Prosper's arguments, but it is pathetic nonetheless. Wycome deserves better governance than these people, and I will see to it that it receives better.
Skyhold.
When Max came to the war table with his lover and friends, he feared bad news. The faces of Cassandra, Vivienne, and all three of his advisors were glum and dour. Something had gone badly wrong. Wycome? Val Royeaux? Or something else?
He did not have to wait long to find out. Leliana began speaking, her voice heavy.
"Well," she said, "we wanted the Orlesian nobles to settle their own problems, and... it seems that they did." Her eyes were hollow. "Allies of the Thibaults and desRosiers acted with violence. The Leandre family, which Celeste Thibault had hoped to marry into, was decimated. Her fiancé was confirmed dead, his keep razed to the ground... and there were items of jewelry found in the ruins that members of the Thibault family confirmed as belonging to her." Leliana looked sick. "There were numerous unidentifiable corpses and skeletons found in the ashes. It is very likely that she was there."
Max felt as if someone had socked him in the gut. I did this. I got this innocent pair of lovers killed, this family that had no conflict with us destroyed. And for what? Our own power, that's what. That's all that this was about.
He was disgusted with himself. I never should have permitted them to get involved, he thought. Maybe it would have ended the same way... but it wouldn't have been our fault in that case. And maybe it wouldn't have ended this way at all if we had stayed out. It came to violence because we threw our might behind one family, and the other rightly regarded us as a menace. Because we are. We fucking are. Outside our work actually targeting and fighting Corypheus, we are a menace to Thedas.
"It is regrettable," Vivienne said, "but this is Orlais. The Grand Game is deadly at times."
"We shouldn't have been in the middle of it!" Max burst out. "Who knows what would have happened if we hadn't thrown our weight behind one side for the furtherance of our own power and influence? I know I consented to it, no, agreed to it," he conceded. "I was wrong." I was, he thought miserably. I was too full of my own pride and self-assurance after the Winter Palace triumph. I faced pride demons on the palace grounds and defeated them, but pride is still my enemy. And this time, it cost people their lives.
No one knew what to say for a moment. Then Leliana spoke, her words filled with bile. "Lady Richelieu refuses to accept that Celeste Thibault is dead. She still plans her precious match. Fool. I think we need to cut ties with her."
"I wouldn't be averse to dropping her into the Val Royeaux harbor with iron-soled shoes on her feet," Varric muttered.
Max stifled a bitter laugh. In truth, he wouldn't either. But that would be an example of the very arrogance and prideful, chest-puffing posturing that had caused this tragedy.
"If I thought we could get away with it with no consequences, I would have someone do it," Leliana said darkly. "But it's best to avoid further involvement. I do recommend cutting off Lady Richelieu in particular. She has brought us nothing but trouble."
"Could she be an agent of Corypheus?" Dorian wondered.
"Nothing is impossible, but I doubt it. I believe she is just a typical noble parasite, as the Inquisitor said at a previous meeting. Self-important, meddlesome, and as cold-blooded as a reptile."
That sounds awfully like a description of the Inquisition too, Max thought wretchedly.
After the miserable meeting, Max invited all his close friends to drinks on him in the Herald's Rest. They needed it.
Varric sighed over his ale. "It's tragic, and don't get me wrong—I wish it hadn't happened... but you have to acknowledge the... well... romance of it. There are few things a writer likes more than a pair of star-crossed lovers."
Max looked up sharply. It was very rare that Varric said something that offended him, but this time, he had. "That's rubbish," he said. Varric shrank back minutely, surprised at this reaction. "Stars don't conspire against anyone. That's bunk. Their own families, that presumptuous witch of a matchmaker, and the Inquisition did."
Varric drew back further. "Maker, Inky. I didn't mean to offend."
"It was pretty insensitive, though," Dorian said, supporting Max. "This isn't one of your stories. This happened to real people. They're dead in part because of our meddling."
Varric put his hands up in surrender. "You're right."
"We need to get back to our mission," Max said, changing the subject slightly. "Enough of this Orlesian foolishness, as Cassandra would say. It's brought out the worst side of the Inquisition, the advisors, and... frankly... of me as well. Our true mission is to defeat Corypheus, the Venatori, and the Red Templars. They have somehow suborned the Orlesian Grey Wardens, remember? And we have four Grey Wardens here in Skyhold." He raised a toast to Rainier. "I am going to insist that we finally look into the problem and make some progress on a front that actually matters."
Notes: I've named Duke Antoine's Venatori after the Telchines of Greek mythology. They originally were loyal to the Greek gods, but they fell into dark magic, eventually poisoning Rhodes, Crete, and elsewhere with water from the River Styx. It seemed eminently fitting.