Notes: Beware the UNRELIABLE NARRATOR! Every section in this chapter is written from the viewpoint of those characters who are narrating it. Please do not take them all, particularly the second one, to be my opinions.

Chapter 19: Freely Marching to War

The currents of the eastern Waking Sea and Amaranthine Ocean were in their favor, so Max and his companions were nearly at Wycome by the time Viscountess Hawke's ravens reached Skyhold and Denerim.

"Have you thought about what you want to do to finish the war against the Elder One?" Solas asked him quietly. "We can finish this political matter, but then what? Do you mean to take up the Prince of Starkhaven on his offer?"

Max glanced around quickly. Sebastian was not around, nor were any of his people. He still kept his voice low; Sebastian had been an invaluable ally, and Max did not want to needlessly offend him with what he was about to say. It wasn't about Sebastian, in any case. It was about Max himself and his shattered trust. Sebastian hadn't done that to him, but there it was.

Dorian sensed his discomfort and moved subtly closer. It was only just enough for Max to feel Dorian's body heat radiating ever-so-slightly warmer, but it gave him a boost to his confidence.

"I will do what I have to do, in the end," he said, "but—between us all—I don't particularly want to put myself in the power of any ruler or leader again. Prince Sebastian is a good man, but he is a prince. I don't want to set up headquarters at his palace and then slowly be turned into his pawn or prisoner. I know he wouldn't do it out of malevolence, but..."

"But you cannot trust people who hold that kind of power anymore," Dorian finished compassionately.

Max shook his head. "I can't. Not after everything that's happened. I've seen the worst of all of them, it seems. The Crown of Orlais, the Crown of Ferelden, Prosper de Montfort... even Viscountess Hawke... probably even Marquise Briala now. Any of them would try to use me for their own agenda, restrict my choices, hide things from me if they thought I would go against some other goal of theirs. And that's what leaders of nations must do. But it looks different from the pawn's viewpoint."

Dorian chuckled. "Amatus, I have not had trust issues specifically with heads of state, but I understand your feelings extraordinarily well."

"I'm sure you do," Max admitted, feeling a momentary pang of shame. It felt vaguely wrong to compare the loss of his trust over politics to the shattering of Dorian's trust in his own father due to the worst sort of personal betrayal. He took a deep, sighing breath as he continued. "Leliana and the others aren't heads of state, but she wants to be Divine, and most of the others have all those political connections and are accustomed to power... so it comes out the same. Prince Sebastian is probably the one I could come closest to trusting, but I'd really rather have my own place than be under anyone's protection."

Several of his friends exchanged uncomfortable glances with each other, as if to ask, "Which one of us is going to say it?"

Solas did. "You had that," he remarked, "at Skyhold."

Max actually chuckled, but he could only laugh for a moment. It was just too dark for prolonged amusement. "I did, briefly. For a week or so after they hailed me as Inquisitor. But it was taken away from us all—since you are fighting with me. I may have had the nominal title, but they constantly went behind my back, kept secrets from me... we were working against each other and I wasn't the one who held the cards. I'm a twenty-four-year-old mage who has lived a sheltered life until recently; they have, collectively, probably ages of experience in international politics. I have this thing on my hand and that's my only leverage. And they were willing to let me walk away even with the Anchor. Skyhold isn't ours anymore, Solas."

Solas seemed almost offended at this last sentence, but he did not press it.

"You really don't want to go back, do you?" Dorian said in wonder.

Max sighed. "No," he admitted, "I don't. It may be naïve, romantic, and foolish, but... there's something refreshingly pure about what we're doing now. A band of loyal companions trying to make things right. What the Inquisition should have been."

"It began as that," Solas said, "but it became corrupted." He gazed hard at Max. "What makes you think it would be different this time? You will have to make other alliances if you continue this way. If you refuse additional aid from the Prince of Starkhaven after we are done in the Free Marches, you may lose his troops, which are now the only troops you have. You will have to work with other people, Herald, although that is how corruption enters."

Max sighed again. He knew that what Solas was saying was true, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "What do you think, Dorian? You ran away from Tevinter all but alone. You love your country but you also hate it. You're an expert in the subject," he said with a forced smile. "So what about it?"

Dorian considered. "I understand precisely how you feel," he said. "It does feel pure and refreshing to 'go rogue,' to defy a corrupt institution and simply walk away. But it isn't sustainable. I fear Solas is right. We may have what we need to smooth ruffled feathers in the Free Marches—or, I suppose, Anders is the one who wears feathers, and he's not the one with the aggressive nature and short temper—but—"

Dorian's attempt at a joke had been rather successful, with Max, Solas, and the others smiling, laughing, and snickering in turn. Dorian smiled himself, glad that he had achieved his goal of lightening the mood. "Anyway," he continued, "after we have done this, we do need to get back to the true task of the war. And you, amatus, will need to make some hard decisions then."

Max sighed. He knew it was true, but he dreaded that day.

Tantervale.

Chancellor Joffrey Orrick of Tantervale trembled over the table where his advisors and the captain of Tantervale's militia sat.

"You—you really think this?" he gibbered at his Councilor for Defense.

"I do," the man said, or rather, growled. "We heard this from the lords of the city, who had heard it from their relatives in Wycome."

"Now so many of Wycome's oldest families are gone," the Councilor for the Faith bemoaned. "Except for their relatives, and relatives by marriage, here and elsewhere in the Free Marches. All because of a pack of wild elves who they warned their relatives were in league with the Venatori!"

"They tried to deal with it—"

"They dealt with that traitor Duke Antoine, but couldn't find the knife-ears themselves and then were eaten by that Orlesian's wyvern when he came bounding in uninvited." The Councilor for the Faith shook his head piously. He had been a schismatic back in the days of the Orthodox Chantry, and had quickly converted back to his original Orlesian Chantry faith when the false Divine fell. But through it all, he had retained certain fixed beliefs, among them the belief that elves were inferior children of the Maker who were prone to ally with any servants of evil. The Dalish, who didn't even believe in the Maker and Andraste, but instead worshiped their own false gods, were the worst of all, in his opinion.

As a man, he would never have a vote for the next Divine. He supposed that was just as well, because he did not like either of the remaining contenders. He had supported Grand Cleric Iona, but she was dead, probably assassinated by Duke Prosper de Montfort. Now the only realistic possibilities were Grand Cleric Petrice, who was violently prejudiced against anyone who was not Andrastian, but was not overly prejudiced on the basis of species; and Leliana, spymaster of the Inquisition, who was apparently avowedly radical to the point of heresy. Word whispered of an elven initiate in Ferelden, approved by its new Grand Cleric to become a priest, and that this woman was Leliana's own adoptive daughter. It was simply disgraceful, in his reckoning.

Chancellor Orrick shuddered. "Eaten!"

"I heard otherwise," the Captain of the Militia said. "I'm sure some of them were killed, but not eaten. The man isn't that much of a savage, and Hawke backs him."

"Probably because he was the lesser of two evils once the Inquisition showed up with Antoine's pet knife-ears in tow. He'd at least sworn support for Hawke and her Grand Cleric," Defense said. "Maybe he really thought the nobles had gone mad. I did hear the Keep was basically a slaughterhouse well before Prosper arrived."

"Duke Prosper is irrelevant. He has a small force and is being kept as a prisoner, basically. The bigger problem is the unlawful occupation of Wycome by the painted rabbits and their Inquisition protectors."

"But—the Inquisition, working with the Venatori?" Orrick protested feebly. "That's their sworn enemy!"

"They could be compromised," the Councilor for the Faith urged. "The Inquisitor resigned and stormed away from their castle. There's a reason for that and I don't believe it's just that red lyrium incident at sea."

"Remember Hasmal, my lord?" the Defense Councilor said to Orrick. "During the war? 9:40, I think it was. That elf Fiona teamed up with the Venatori, and they attacked and killed all the leaders, then fled the city!"

Orrick shuddered. They were all making very good points, or so it seemed to him.

"And because of that, Hasmal's lord has decided to sail as well. Hearken to the voices that know best, I say. The nobles of Tantervale are calling for vengeance for their slain cousins," the Defense Councilor continued. "I think we should march. And if you look at it right, it's an attack by the Venatori, the Inquisition, and a bunch of knife-ears on a Vimmark-Minanter Treaty signer."

"But," Orrick blubbered, "but Hawke is the leader, the Secretary-General, and she hasn't authorized any retaliation against the Inquisition for that. And those elves, I thought they were her allies during the last war."

"They can't be trusted," the Councilor for the Faith said. "They are born sly, deceitful, and inferior. Remember the Dales! They were given land, even allowed to practice their heathen religion on it, yet what did they do in our hour of need in the Second Blight? They reneged on their treaty! It's what they do!"

Orrick took a deep, shuddering breath. He did not like the idea of sending a military force to Wycome, which Hawke held was still a VMTO member, without her express authorization—particularly not to attack an elven clan that had once been her allies. He was afraid of her arsenal and her mage army, particularly after the terrifying demonstration that indicated her rockets had notably increased their range since he had last experienced them. The trauma of those memories—the shaking of his Keep, the blasts night and day in his city, the screams, the fires and smoke, the terror of wondering if the next minute would be his last—

But what if his advisors were right and Clan Lavellan had betrayed everyone to align with the Venatori? Wycome's nobles had given their lives for that belief. Surely several score of the best-born people in a great city, who were willing to die for an idea, couldn't all be wrong?

"All right," Orrick decided in a shaky voice. "Tantervale will sail down the Minanter with Hasmal to deal with the threat at Wycome and avenge the dead."

Hercinia.

Margravine Anabela Campos pored over the war map with her advisors as she considered the dire news she had just heard and what she should do.

Joffrey Orrick, Chancellor of Tantervale, was an idiot, Lady Campos believed. A weak-willed idiot. He had capitulated to Hawke at the very first opportunity, not because he suddenly had a change of heart or principle, but because he was terrified of her. He had capitulated to the good and dead Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch not too long before that when the Templar had put a blade to his throat in his own damned keep, threatening to assassinate the Chancellor unless he went along with the Templar's war plans.

It had certainly been convenient for Hawke at the time to have the Lord of Tantervale sign her treaty as quickly as possible, but Margravine Campos did not respect it. She did respect Sebastian Vael, who, from all accounts, was having a genuine conversion of both principles and allegiance. She did not respect someone who changed his allegiance at the drop of a hat because a bigger bully appeared in his path.

How times change, she thought with irony, reflecting on her own rise to power. I acquired this position because I changed my allegiance to Hawke due to the presence of her army outside the city gates. But that was a matter of life or death for Hercinia. Orrick had to surrender to Hawke, because the war was over, but he did not have to immediately join "her team" by signing the treaty. Vael didn't, after all. But Orrick did, and it is not because he suddenly had a change of heart or a vision from the Maker about mage rights. He did what cowards do, and so he is now. Whatever is going on in Wycome, it certainly isn't life or death for Tantervale. Or Hasmal, for that matter.

So it did not surprise her to learn that the Coward of Tantervale, as she called him privately, had let his council manipulate him into sending armies he could ill spare to Wycome. She was also not surprised to learn that Hasmal had overreacted to the mere rumor of elven-Venatori collusion. It still had a very weak lord after its occupation and sacking in the Mage-Templar War, and the council that had held power until that lord was chosen was far stronger. Many of its members no doubt recalled the real collusion between the Venatori and the deserter mages under Fiona. But that had nothing to do with the Dalish. Dalish clans didn't even want to set foot in Tevinter because of its practice of slavery. The idea that one would team up with the Elder One was ludicrous, but two Marcher cities had enough people in power who believed it that they were advancing on another city. The question now was how Hercinia should react.

"Margravine Campos. Do you think those Dalish really were conspiring with the Venatori?" her militia captain asked.

"No, I do not. Clan Lavellan was loosely allied with our side in the last war. The nobles of Wycome claimed that they suspected the Dalish based on the word of some provocateur who reminded them of Grand Enchanter Fiona's betrayal. But all that Fiona has in common with Clan Lavellan is that they're all elves. That means nothing. An elf would be a fool to ally with the Venatori. They see elves as nothing but blood magic fuel."

Her advisors and captain muttered in general agreement.

"And why the Coward of Tantervale would listen to anyone repeating the words of Wycome's nobles, I cannot say. They were obviously half-mad from red lyrium poisoning. Nothing they believed can be taken seriously." Lady Campos shrugged. "As I see it, Orrick has made his own bed, and he'll be lucky to avoid being deposed by Hawke after this. Attacking the Inquisition is one thing; attacking a Dalish clan who used to be Hawke's allies and who are probably Inquisition hostages is quite another."

"Could the Inquisition or the Venatori be behind this?" someone wondered. "Someone inciting him to do it?"

"It would be very convenient indeed if Tantervale's forces clashed with Inquisition forces in Wycome," someone else observed. "They might try to install a lord of their own choice in Tantervale if anything 'happened' to him."

"And even more convenient if Duke Prosper died 'in the crossfire.'"

"It's certainly possible that someone has manipulated Orrick into doing this," Lady Campos said, "but the fact remains that he has made the decision to do it. Is he the lord of his city or not? The Inquisition holds itself accountable to no one, but those of us who wield power as leaders of nations must be accountable for our actions. We are going to send forces to Wycome to defend the city—against that fool and against anyone else who may cause trouble."

"I completely approve, Your Grace," the captain said. "I think I can speak for us all that we've had enough of provocateurs interfering in Free Marches business. It's as if they don't even see us as real nation-states. 'Oh, let's meddle in a tournament that isn't meant for us, let's send assassins and spies about, let's manipulate this one fool into attacking his own ally, let's send in a thousand troops to take over a city to which we have no right.' Enough of it!"

"Many entities in Thedas don't see us as real nation-states," the Margravine said. "That's why VMTO is so important. We have to make them respect us."

Kirkwall.

"Joffrey Orrick has to go," Caitlyn Hawke declared. "And his entire wretched, idiotic council. And that weak government in Hasmal."

"The same kind of government that the Inquisition likely wants to install in Wycome," Grand Cleric Petrice intoned, "instead of a strong lord."

"I can't blame the Inquisition for Hasmal's government," Caitlyn said reluctantly. "It just descended into squabbles after the last war, and there is no one there who's strong enough to lead... except, perhaps, the Templar, Knight-Commander Brycen." She exchanged a sour, reluctant, almost resentful look with Anders, who returned that same look. Brycen was the strongest leader in Hasmal, and was basically a good man too. He had led the effort to restore order after the attacks by Venatori and mage deserters that had left it in chaos. She just hadn't wanted to place a Templar officially in charge of ruling a city while the Mage-Templar War was ongoing. She still balked at the concept on principle, though she knew she could set the condition of Brycen's resignation from the Templar Order if he actually were to take the reins. In any case, the outcome of weak and divided leadership was before her now.

"But something has to change," she continued. "Tantervale and Hasmal are embarrassments to our treaty, and frankly, in my view, their leaders deserve a court-martial for insubordination. Of course, it's an open question about whether VMTO has the authority to convene a court-martial, particularly for heads of state and their councilors."

"I wouldn't push it," Aveline advised. "I disagree completely with what they are doing, but they could just withdraw from the treaty, and then what?"

"And the reason we got people to sign was that we convinced them we would not usurp their authority," Ser Marlein Selbrech reasoned. "We persuaded them that we were not making Your Grace into the 'Queen of the Free Marches' by stealth. Court-martialing the Chancellor of Tantervale under the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty Organization would undermine that work."

"You are both right. But there do need to be consequences for this behavior. I am no friend of the Inquisition, but Clan Lavellan are very likely their hostages, not Venatori allies. Wycome is an occupied city that remains a VMTO member, and they're not limiting this attack to the occupiers. And I do not—yet—even authorize war against the Inquisition, for that matter."

Everyone in her Council agreed.

"I am going to send a part of the army to support Margravine Campos and Duke Prosper," she decided. "Some mages and some non-mages."

"Rockets?" Comte de Launcet asked.

She considered. "The only real purpose they would serve in this mission would be to menace our enemies. I'd prefer not to use them within Wycome's city limits, for obvious reasons. And it could hurt us if we brought them out for every little conflict, but then didn't use them. When we bring them out, it needs to mean something. It needs to strike fear in people's hearts, and if we start bringing them out without using them, they will lose that punch, and we'll lose our credibility."

Anders spoke up in agreement. "You're right, love. Everyone in Thedas knows we have the rockets. We don't need to tote them around every time we are offended, and it does just undermine us if we take them out without actually deploying them." He smirked at her and gave her a wink. "There are sayings about men who constantly talk about the size of certain... attributes of theirs."

Grand Cleric Petrice huffed, while the rest of the Council chuckled and smiled, Caitlyn included. I can always count on Anders to lighten the moment when we need it most, she thought affectionately.

"All right," she decided. "No need for pompous, vulgar shows of force. Quiet strength instead, the strength of our confidence that we don't have to prove a thing. We'll send bombs, but no rockets. Everyone knows we can use them if we have to." She turned to Aveline. "General," she said formally, invoking Aveline's military rather than her civilian title, "activate five hundred battlemages, three hundred non-magical soldiers, and ready fifty bombs and the necessary trebuchets and other weapons."

"Yes, Your Grace. Understood," Aveline said equally formally.

Caitlyn faced her Council again. "We now need to consider replacing the leadership of Tantervale and Hasmal."

"From the sounds of it, the nobles of Tantervale goaded Orrick's council into this," Anders said. "Who are the alternatives?"

"I'll ask my cousin," she said. "She lived in Tantervale for a time. And there's someone else who might have some good ideas of replacement leaders for Tantervale, and whose judgment in the matter I... rather amazingly... would trust." She shook her head in partial disbelief. "Sebastian Vael."

"By 'replacing,' I assume you don't mean militarily," Aveline said.

"Oh, definitely not. I mean shaming them, creating a pressure campaign. They are making an attack on a VMTO member based on a lie."

What has happened? she thought. I'm seriously considering installing a Knight-Commander as the head of state of one city, and I'm going to consult with my former enemy about who should lead another. It really is a new world.

Ostwick.

"Show her in," Bann Reginault Trevelyan told his doorman.

The door to his audience room opened to admit a very fine woman. The bann could tell that even though she was garbed in the clothes of a spy. Her skin was soft and well-cared-for, and her scent was expensive. This was likely a noblewoman, he realized.

"Lady Wingfoot," he said once they were alone, using the woman's code name. A part of him was offended that she knew exactly who he was but he did not know her real identity... but such was how spies had to operate.

"Bann Trevelyan," she greeted. "Thank you for having me. I regret that the Teyrn will not speak to me, but I hope that he will hear you."

"Let us not waste any time," the bann said. "You wrote that..." He picked up his letter. "Armies from Tantervale and Hasmal are headed for Wycome?"

"Alas, yes."

"And that armies from Hercinia and Kirkwall are sailing to Wycome to do battle with them?"

"That is what we fear."

The bann shook his head in dismay, setting down the letter. "So that means some of those mages and Hawke's weapons, most likely! Tantervale and Hasmal are in that... treaty of hers." He scoffed. "So much for that! It clearly isn't worth the paper it's written on."

Wingfoot nodded gravely. "We suspect that your wayward son and his... friends... were going to try to get the Teyrn of Ostwick to sign."

"You're probably right."

"This entire 'project' is a dangerous distraction," Wingfoot declared. "With all due respect to your region, my lord, Marchers are simply too independent for this to ever work. Hawke has an ambitious dream, but it is only that, a dream. She is a mage, after all," the lady insinuated. "We know that sometimes they have difficulty distinguishing dreams from reality, and imagine themselves larger than life in terms of what they can accomplish."

Bann Trevelyan scowled. "My rebellious son is a mage."

"And he is, as you say, a rebel. Against you and now against his own organization." Wingfoot gazed pointedly at him.

The man sighed. "Go on."

"I would advise you to speak to the Teyrn of Ostwick yourself, and to urge him to align with the Inquisition instead. It is the way forward."

"What of my son?" the bann said roughly. "He is on his own rogue mission to do Maker only knows what."

"I hope to have him apprehended in Wycome and returned to Skyhold. He will not be harmed, my lord. You have my word about that."

Bann Trevelyan considered for a moment. "You won't intentionally harm him, but things happen. I would rather send some of my own people and members of my family to be sure of it. He is a self-assured, rebellious young man, but he is my son."

Wycome.

Margravine Campos had decided to lead Hercinia's army herself. She had rebuilt it, after all, since it had been nearly destroyed in the Mage-Templar War. She had not expected to be granted access to Wycome through the harbor, since Inquisition forces controlled the city, so instead she sailed up the branch of the Minanter that emptied into the Amaranthine Ocean south of Wycome, and joined the main river west of the city gates.

No one was there yet. That didn't surprise her, since—of the known combatants—Hercinia itself was closest to Wycome. It also meant that she would be able to form a defensive position. As her troops disembarked, made camp, and began digging in, she waited for the Wycome... authorities, she supposed she had to grudgingly acknowledge... to address her presence.

That did not take long. Within six hours, a cocky-looking officer in Inquisition regalia approached Lady Campos on horseback from the east, a small force surrounding her.

"Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre, Inquisition," the officer snapped. She eyed the Hercinia and VMTO heraldry on this force and sneered. "You are not granted access to Wycome, Margravine."

Lady Campos regarded the lieutenant icily. "I haven't requested access. Though someone should, because the Inquisition is occupying a VMTO member state illegally."

"The late Duke Antoine was a Venatori agent! His signature is meaningless. We are keeping the peace in Wycome until all threats have been neutralized. That includes threats from the surrounding cities in this region, Margravine. Threats who have listened to the foolish words of bigots addled by red lyrium!"

Margravine Campos laughed. "So arrogant," she sneered. "We are here to defend Wycome and Clan Lavellan! And it is very interesting that you know about that, since the other armies have not arrived," she added.

"We have spies throughout the region," the lieutenant said. "We know what is coming."

"Spies who are clearly not good enough to tell you that my army is not here to attack Dalish elves. We're doing more to protect this city than you are. My troops are setting up armaments and digging trenches."

"So you claim. But as far as the Inquisition is concerned, you are setting up to join the siege until you prove otherwise. We are watching you, Margravine," Lieutenant Chambreterre said disdainfully, turning her horse aside.

Margravine Campos sneered back silently. If you didn't have those elves and Duke Prosper as hostages, I would be inclined to let Tantervale and Hasmal have you, she thought. Well played, I suppose. But if I have the opportunity to take hostages of my own, I certainly will.

Bann Trevelyan also led his militia, with his sons—minus the youngest—and Lady Wingfoot in his company. His force was small, since he was not a head of state, and he could fit them all onto a single ship that his House owned. Though he did not know it, he took the same route that Hercinia's forces had, choosing to approach Wycome from the western gates rather than the harbor. When the Thoroughbred landed, he instantly saw that another force was already there—a much larger force. He squinted, recognizing the VMTO sigil and that of Hercinia.

"This is somewhat unexpected," Wingfoot said in low tones. "We should approach the gates, my lord. The Inquisition will let us in."

"The question is, will that army let us pass?" the bann muttered.

He had his answer very soon, as the Hercinia leaders approached his ship rather menacingly before his forces could even get their equipment unloaded.

"Bann Trevelyan of East Peak," a Hercinia captain said, "you and your forces may not pass through ours."

The bann drew back. "I beg your pardon?"

Wingfoot glared out. "You do not hold the cards, Captain. We are here on behalf of the Inquisition, the lawful authorities in Wycome. You appear to be here to attack the city. In the name of the Inquisition, I demand that you let this militia pass through!"

The captain laughed. "A headless body can't make any demands, lady. Or have you replaced your Inquisitor already? If you have, what an utter disgrace that his own kin have sided against him!"

"Enough," Wingfoot declared. "The Inquisitor will be returned to the fold soon. Let us pass. Lieutenant Chambreterre is running the city for now, and she is expecting me."

"And just who in the Void are you?" the captain said with a shrug. "You want to open the Wycome gates, you'll have to fight your way through." He regarded the paltry Trevelyan militia with a smirk. "I don't recommend trying."

"Are you taking us hostage?" the bann demanded.

"At Margravine Campos's orders. You'll be treated well. We don't harm prisoners." He smiled. "Of course, our leader is reasonable. She'll let you pass if you and this Lieutenant Chambreterre agree to our demands."

"What demands?" Bann Trevelyan snapped, to Wingfoot's dismay.

"The Inquisition will release Duke Prosper de Montfort, his household, his wyverns, and his militia from captivity in Wycome, first. Second, they will release Clan Lavellan, who the Margravine and Viscountess of Kirkwall believe are the Inquisition's hostages. A hostage for a hostage, my lord."

"How dare you?" Wingfoot replied. "The Inquisition army is protecting Duke Prosper from the angry citizens of Wycome, and it is protecting Clan Lavellan from armies of would-be murderers!"

"Which do not include this army," the captain said. "So how about you let them decide if they want to continue under your 'protection'? I'd bet they don't." He smiled darkly. "Take your time, my lady, but don't take too much time. Viscountess Hawke sent forces too."

Bann Trevelyan was beginning to think it hadn't been the smartest idea to trust someone whose true name he did not know. He had not expected to be made a hostage of Hercinia's army. They were supposed to retrieve his son and aid the Inquisition, its titular leader restored. He was certainly comfortable, and his people were being treated well, but hostages they unquestionably were. They hadn't even seen the inside of Wycome's gates. This was a fiasco.

He sucked in his breath hard as a fleet of several ships docked at the river. The flags were unmistakable: Kirkwall, VMTO, and the Free Mages, who remained a distinct military under Hawke's authority.

Wingfoot suddenly looked alarmed as she too identified the flags of the new fleet. "This is not what I expected to happen," she said.

Bann Trevelyan gave her a cold stare. "You knew who would be the combatants. Did it really not occur to you that the Inquisition might not be able to crush every army that showed up at the gates?" He scowled. "Maker preserve us once the Tantervale and Hasmal forces arrive! The loyal VMTO forces have reasons to keep us alive. The disloyal do not."

Max had concluded that, of the possible ways to enter Wycome, it was actually better for him to try for the harbor than the gates. He had Sebastian's troops, and there was the possibility that the Inquisition forces would admit the Herald. If they did not, Max would have proof that the Inquisition now regarded him as an enemy, and that would ease some of his own misgivings.

Or if nothing else, the Inquisition forces might imagine that they could take me captive, Max thought grimly as the fleet approached the docks. They'll learn otherwise, hopefully, but they might think this is an opportunity to retrieve their wayward Inquisitor. If nothing else, we'll have an easier time making a quick escape if we aim for the harbor rather than sailing up that Minanter branch and then making for the gates.

The harbormaster and port authorities were a mix of Inquisition and Wycome officials, he noted through his spyglass, and they looked exhausted, worn out, and frightened. He, Dorian, Sebastian, and their companions waited as the captain and the harbormaster consulted.

Their captain then gave them the news, a look of shock on his face. "We've been granted the right to dock and unload," he said in astonishment.

Max was instantly suspicious, and beside him, Dorian's gaze also narrowed in wariness. "What's the catch?" Max asked darkly.

"No catch that I can tell."

"What is going on, then?" Dorian demanded.

"They're probably going to try to capture me and force me back to Skyhold," Max muttered to him. "That's probably what the catch is."

"Not if my troops and I have anything to say about it," Sebastian declared.

The captain shook his head. "I don't think so, Herald. The Inquisition forces here are spread thin. They can't stop us and they know it."

Max gaped. "Spread thin? Doing what?"

"There's a battle at the gates, Messere. Several armies have shown up and they're all going at it. The Inquisition only had a thousand people here, and they can't control this situation."

"What? Which armies, and why are they battling?"

"Lots of them from around the region. Seems that those dead Wycome nobles told their relatives across the Free Marches that the Dalish were to blame for the red lyrium poisoning, or had allied with the Venatori, or some such nonsense. Tantervale and Hasmal believed this and sent forces to attack."

Sebastian gasped. "They are in a treaty!"

"They think this is upholding that obligation. But nobody else does. Kirkwall and Hercinia heard about it too. They sent forces and weapons—"

"Kirkwall is deploying rockets at Wycome's gates?" Dorian exclaimed. "Amatus, we may have made a mistake—"

"No rockets," the captain assured him. "They didn't bring those. Must not've wanted to use them for this or even have them about. But battlemages, soldiers, and bombs, yes."

"And they are fighting Tantervale and Hasmal at the gates?" Max asked.

"Aye, Messere Herald. The Inquisition forces here are badly outnumbered by all that chaos. They can't stop us from entering the city." He wavered. "And... there's one other group that's fighting at the gates."

His voice was too nervous. Something was wrong. Max's heart skipped a beat. Who could it be? Could his own Kirkwall embassy have been involved? "What group?" he asked, fearing to hear the answer.

The captain took a deep breath. "Your family from Ostwick, Herald. Tantervale and Hasmal are targeting them because your folks are openly pro-Inquisition and they regard the Inquisition as the enemy too for protecting the Dalish. They think the Venatori compromised the Inquisition."

Max exchanged looks of horror with his companions. There's a decent chance that they did, he thought, aware that Dorian and most of the others were thinking the same thing, but it certainly wouldn't manifest in supporting a Dalish clan. That idea is nothing more than rank bigotry and paranoia. What an utter disaster! And my family is in the crosshairs now! I still resent my father, but I did mean to talk with him... and now I just hope I have the chance.

He took a deep breath, deciding on his course. "We're going to enter the city, then. I will want Duke Prosper de Montfort, his wyverns, and his militia released. With the combined strength of his militia and Prince Sebastian's added to the fight at the gates, we will force the Tantervale and Hasmal armies to surrender." His gaze hardened. "And then we'll do the same to the Inquisition forces."

Deep depression came over Max as the awful situation truly sank in.

Armies from across the Free Marches have come to blows, he thought. Even those who are treaty-bound not to attack each other. I hate to even think this, but... what if the Inquisition people were right all along about Marcher unity being impossible?

That was too bleak for him to accept yet, though. This was surely still salvageable. Tantervale and Hasmal just had bad governments... right? If they were replaced with better people, this wouldn't happen again... would it?

Or would it? For the first time, Max grudgingly understood the Skyhold advisors' reasoning that a single strong imperial power was the only feasible way to keep the peace in Thedas. That was deeply discouraging to him. He did not want that to be so. It went against everything he believed as a Marcher.

"You know," Max said wearily to Sebastian, "I may decide to take you up on your offer of sanctuary in Starkhaven when this is over."

Sebastian realized that Max was not saying this out of pleasure or gratitude, but rather, discouragement. "The offer does remain open," he said, "but let us see how things stand first."

Max sighed, his breath rattling as he did. "I'm just afraid I've made a big and irremediable mistake, doing this."

Dorian gave him a look of sympathy. "We could also go to Tevinter, to the home of one of my friends and political allies, Maevaris Tilani. But I realize this is not an ideal solution."

"There is no such thing as an ideal solution anymore," Max murmured. "Maybe there never was. I just hope I can somehow salvage this mess."

"Let us retrieve Prosper de Montfort first and defeat the hostile armies at the gates. One thing at a time," Dorian urged. "That is all we can do. It is too overwhelming otherwise."

"That is altogether too true."

Max, Dorian, Sebastian, and Prosper led the force quickly to the gates of Wycome. There had been no difficulty from the skeleton Inquisition force left inside the city, who had recognized a hopeless fight. Max had not seen or heard of any sign of Clan Lavellan, and feared the worst, but hopefully they were in a secure location somewhere. For now he just had to stop the battle at the gates.

"Tantervale and Hasmal have to surrender," he reasoned to Dorian as they marched for the western gate. "They're overwhelmed now that fifteen hundred more have joined against them from the other side of these walls."

Dorian nodded. "I hope that your relatives are all right," he said quietly.

Max gave him a grateful look. Dorian understood him so well; he had instantly detected that Max's comment about tactics was a way to avoid speaking of the possibility that his family had not survived the battle. But he had also realized that this meant Max was indeed thinking of them.

"I hated my father," Dorian continued, "and although I do not hate him now, I can never trust him again. But that does not mean I want him dead."

Max squeezed his hand. "You do understand."

"Far too well," Dorian said sadly.

They reached the walls of Wycome, where the Inquisition guards were wearily awaiting them. They were too busy defending the walls against the hostile forces on the outside to start a fight with a force coming from the inside.

"Herald! Your Highness!" one of the guards called down. "Hostile forces from Tantervale and Hasmal have been pinned against the walls. About two thousand combined. If we open the gates, can you hold them?"

"That's more than we have, but if Inquisition, Kirkwall, and Hercinia forces are crushing them from the other side, we can manage it," Max replied. "Open the gates!"

The sounds of heavy machinery clanking filled the air as the guards began to pull the gates open. Max, Dorian, Sebastian, and the others steeled themselves. Max gripped his staff, determined not to use the Anchor unless he had no choice, mindful of Solas's warning.

The hostiles initially seemed to believe that the opening of the gates was a sign of Wycome's surrender. Loud cheers erupted from the armies—they rushed forward into the city just a bit, yelling and roaring in triumph—and Max and the others noticed the very instant that their expressions changed.

Eight hundred from Kirkwall, five hundred from Hercinia, seven hundred Inquisition forces who had been pulled from their duties inside the city, and the small Trevelyan force of a hundred fifty had given this hostile force enough of a fight. With an additional fifteen hundred soldiers opposing them from the other side of the walls, the Tantervale-Hasmal forces' position became hopeless.

And they knew it. With looks of dismay on their faces, the enemy captains quickly surrendered. Max was a little disappointed that he had not even had the chance to fight them. But, he reminded himself, there were more important matters at hand. He needed to find his relatives, and he needed to convince the Inquisition forces to stand down and surrender Wycome. That, he feared, might be more difficult, even though they were badly outnumbered too.

"Herald!" someone called out from the other armies. Two more voices followed suit, one referring to him as Inquisitor. He suppressed a scowl.

Three women approached him, all of them bloodied and dirtied from combat. Two of them trusted each other, and the third—who wore Inquisition insignia—was visibly hostile to the others. But it was this last woman who spoke first.

"We're glad to see you alive, Inquisitor," she said, ignoring the mutters of disapproval from Max's group. "Lieutenant Chambreterre. I lead Inquisition forces in Wycome."

"Ahem," one of the other women spoke up. "There should not be any such forces here, and now that the rightful lord is free, I trust you will go on your way! Herald," she addressed herself to Max, "I am Margravine Anabela Campos of Hercinia. A pleasure."

Max shook her hand as the other woman introduced herself. "Aveline Hendyr, General of the Kirkwall militia."

"Ladies," Max said briefly in response. "I am glad to meet you, and glad that the enemy surrendered at last, but I'm afraid we have no time for pleasantries yet. There are too many urgent matters to address."

"You have no idea how urgent some matters are, Herald," General Aveline murmured darkly.

He wondered at that, but there would be time to find out what she meant. "My family," he began. "Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. Are they all right?"

"They were wounded," Aveline replied. "Over there, Herald."

"Son," Bann Trevelyan croaked.

His chest was bandaged with a bloody strip of gauze, and his hands were badly bruised, but his injuries did not appear to be mortal. Max struggled with his conflicting feelings, but he was glad that his father hadn't been killed.

It was hard to utter the word, but he knew he would regret it if he didn't. "Father," he replied. "I'm... glad that you are here."

The bann knew that his son meant "alive." He smiled wryly. "The same. You have endangered yourself terribly with this... rogue operation of yours. Why did you do it, son?"

Max scowled, even as Dorian put a hand on his waist in moral support. "I did it because the Inquisition broke my trust one time too many, in a way that I could not ignore," he replied. "There are things that people simply should not do, Father. And either they did do this thing, or they had no control over whoever was doing it. And if it's the latter, that means the Inquisition is compromised by the enemy."

Bann Trevelyan gaped. "Are you in earnest?"

"I am completely earnest. Since you must not have heard, the crew of a ship I was on revealed red lyrium weapons that I had no idea about and shot the stuff at a Kirkwall ship! Red lyrium, Father! They either violated a moral red line that nobody should violate—and then lied to me about it and even chose red lyrium over me, since I did leave—or they had no idea how it came to be, which means that the Elder One's forces were probably responsible."

Trevelyan grimaced as he turned his head, wincing at the strain on his chest wound. "You could've told me why he left," he snapped at someone. "Red lyrium? That changes things!"

Max followed his father's gaze to see whom he was addressing. A woman hooded and cloaked like a spy had just entered the Trevelyan tent. A look of shock, horror, and—Max's suspicions instantly skyrocketed—fright filled her attractive face. She tensed and made to sprint out of the tent—

Only to be frozen in place as Max and Dorian cast Force Field on her.

Max rolled up his sleeves and approached the suspended figure, his gaze hardening. This is one of the agents responsible for everything. She has to be.

"Who is this, Father?" he said in hard tones.

"The only name she would give was 'Lady Wingfoot.' Said she worked for the Inquisition."

Max regarded her with a cold smile. "Greetings. I think I may finally get to act as an inquisitor, and make some inquiries." He turned to his companions. "I want her unharmed and treated with dignity, but thoroughly searched."

"Andraste's bloody knickers," Sera observed.

"I'll second that," Dorian chimed in.

Max was gaping in disbelief and growing rage at the content of their captive's treasure trove of incriminating letters. This was far worse than he had dreamed even in his most cynical moments.

Their captive's code name was Wingfoot, but her real name was Guinevere Volant—an Orlesian name. Of course it is, Max thought. Volant—flying—wings. Of course. She was one of the advisors' agents stationed in Wycome. Max recalled their mentioning her months ago at Skyhold when Wycome's problems first began to appear on the war table.

Problems that were partially created by the Inquisition itself, he thought.

.

Lady Volant,

We are quite interested in your idea of integrating elven and working-class leaders into Wycome's government. Nightingale intends to reinstate the Canticle of Shartan as Andrastian canon if she becomes Divine, and to open up the priesthood to members of all races. Your goals are ours.

The Inquisitor actually shares your ideals, but his method lacks subtlety. As you likely know by now, he has had Amb. Briala installed as Marquise of the Dales with the ultimate intention of supporting a rebellion in the Dales against the Crown of Orlais. We believe his inexperience, youth, and dislike of Orlais have biased him to make a regrettable decision in this case. We do not think a violent rebellion under an elven leader is an advisable way of increasing equality in Thedas, but your idea, on the other hand, does have merit. An elven head of state is too much, we fear, but elven delegates on a council would be easier for humans to accept, particularly a council that has no designated leader.

We realize that the situation on the ground can evolve faster than word can travel. We trust your judgment and give you full authority over the Inquisition's Wycome operations, unless you receive orders from us.

Amb. Montilyet

.

"They thought to help the elves and install a representative council!" Max exclaimed. "They actually had decent goals! How could they have..." He broke off, shaking his head.

"The dream of more political influence for the bloody Inquisition corrupted everything," Dorian said.

"Naturally. That's always been the source of corruption, hasn't it?"

"It has certainly always been a source of corruption, but the belief that their goal was virtuous and moral—which, I will concede, it was—corrupted them as well."

Max spread out some of the other letters. "She played everyone against each other. She was dealing with Lavellan and those horrible nobles at the same time." His gaze hardened. "This entire conflict might have been the Inquisition's doing! Or at least, her doing and that of her fellow agents. My only question is just how much my former advisors knew about the specifics."

.

Amb. Lady Volant,

Please give our regards to Nightingale for the kind invitation to enter Wycome and the Inquisition escort. I hope I can be of some use to the poor afflicted, though if it is red lyrium, I fear that my options will be limited. At least I can ease their suffering, I think. That is something.

One of my trusted hunters, who excels in stealth and concealment, overheard a pair of Wycome nobles muttering a certain vile slur and alleging that the Dalish are in league with the Venatori because the late Fiona, an elf, allied herself with the Venatori. Apparently someone called "Wingfoot" insinuated this to them? I just wanted to let you know, so that you can pass on word to the Inquisition that there will be resistance to our presence in the city and that we may need additional support if the Inquisition wants us to stay for a prolonged time.

Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

.

Wingfoot,

Duke Antoine is a fool and an elf-lover, and we thank you for letting us know that he is sheltering the murdering knife-ears. We are mustering our forces.

Lady Babbitt, repr. the true and loyal Lords of Wycome

.

Lady Volant,

We are glad to hear that you remain safe and that the situation is under control! It was dangerous to face the wyverns, but the Duke proved rational.

Move forward with the plan to install a council. Keeper Istimaethoriel should be on it, as well as someone from the alienage, and any tradespeople you can find who support the Inquisition. If you must bribe some, so be it. It is crucial for this plan to succeed, for equality in Thedas, to defeat a rising order based on weapons that Divine Justinia had hoped to limit and restrict, and to further the reach of the Inquisition.

Ruffles & Nightingale

.

That letter was too painful for Max to focus on for long. Josephine was a politician, but Leliana was a candidate for Divine—and, even to this day, she had been Max's preferred candidate due to her radical reformist views. But if she had knowingly instigated this bloodbath—all the suffering from red lyrium in Wycome, the massacres at the Duke's Keep, the battle at the gates today—then whom could he support now?

He turned to the next letter, which at least answered one question for him.

.

Wingfoot,

I've copied the dwarven smith's papers. She doesn't suspect a thing. I already have an interested "customer," too—thanks to the backroom plotting by Cullen Rutherford and the Inquisitor to force embarrassment and shame upon the Templar Order. I confess to some concern about this particular Templar captain; she is a bit zealous, but hopefully no harm will come of it.

I have to ask, though, what exactly was your interest in red lyrium? There was a surplus of the stuff in Wycome! Do you just want to know how to protect yourself from it, or do you also want the troops to use it as a weapon?

Painter

.

"Indeed," Dorian murmured. "What was her interest in red lyrium?"

"This was written after it was discovered in Wycome," Max noted. "She didn't plant it here; the Venatori really did do that. So... good question."

"I hope the rest of these letters contain the answer."

"At least we know the code name of the agent responsible for the red lyrium weapons," Max muttered. "Painter, whoever that is."

.

Wingfoot,

I urge you to be careful. Trevelyan has stormed out of Skyhold, and he has taken Sebastian Vael's forces with him. Presumably he is headed for the Free Marches. I do not know what for, but be alert.

This development is a complication, but we can still work around it. You have already done good work stirring up the fool lords throughout the Free Marches to turn on each other. When the "treaty signatories" all go at each other's throats, it will prove the futility of the project. It is not even our doing; they retained the choice not to act!

It hardly matters how things turn out in Wycome. If the nobles win, your forces can reveal the truth, thoroughly shaming them and destroying the Marcher alliance that has rivaled the Inquisition. If Inquisition troops prevail, the council government will be leaderless and in the Inquisition's power.

But because Trevelyan has left, and is now a wild card, I recommend one more meeting to you: Bann Reginault Trevelyan in Ostwick. The family feeling there is not great, but I think it does exist. Get the Trevelyan militia thoroughly mixed into the fray. It would be best if the bann and his heirs were all killed by Hawke's allies' troops, forcing Trevelyan to take responsibility for the family, and would also leave him wracked with guilt and embittered toward our rivals. This is my recommendation for how to deal with his little revolt.

I notice that you were evasive in your response to my last letter. What do you need red lyrium for, Wingfoot? Please let me know your plans.

Painter

.

"I want his head," Max announced. "Whoever it is, I want to personally separate his head from his shoulders for this. He meant to get my father killed—my entire family killed—just to manipulate me and play politics!"

"If the advisors knew about that vile plot, that's unforgivable," Dorian said.

Max breathed heavily. "There's nothing specifically implicating them in this letter. For this... I will presume innocence. For now. He is clearly a nasty enough piece of work on his own to have come up with such a scheme without any prompting from anyone else."

.

Lady "Wingfoot",

Thank you for your information. If what you say is true, Hawke's project is an exercise in futility. Nonetheless it does appear that Ostwick's tradition of neutrality must come to an end, with the threats we face, so we need to look for allies elsewhere. My son has rejected working with the family, but if he has stepped down as Inquisitor, he has made himself vulnerable. He is petulant, but he is still my son, and I wish to protect him from his own folly and hopefully restore him to his duties, even if just in name only. There are too many in Thedas who would harm or exploit the Herald of Andraste. I understand that you have ties to some of the current Inquisition leadership. We should discuss this when we meet in person.

Bann Reginault Trevelyan

.

Max sighed over his father's letter, setting it aside. It was evidence, but it was also oddly sentimental to him. He utterly disagreed with his father's assessment of the Marches situation, especially now that he knew it had been a plot by Inquisition agents to stir up discord in order to discredit the idea of unity. His heart also warred with itself over his father's dismissal of him as "petulant" beside the—admittedly arrogant—expressions of concern for him.

But then, his heart warring with itself was the defining characteristic of his relationship with his father.

They reached the end of Lady Volant's correspondence at last. This letter was thick. Max lifted up the top sheet and scowled at the sight before him: He recognized the research and designs for red lyrium weapons. Glowering, he set down the cover letter and read it. It was from Volant herself and had not, obviously, been sent yet.

.

Argent,

The situation in Wycome is becoming more tense by the day. Prosper de Montfort and his forces are turning some of our soldiers, who do not choose to understand why they are being asked to guard him. Lieut. Chambreterre has had to replace the guard already. I have decided, reluctantly, that it is time to take more permanent measures against the duke and his forces: your specialty.

Because of the tensions, this must be done very carefully to avoid making it obvious that the Inquisition is responsible. Since the Venatori planted red lyrium in the water supply, and it inflamed the passions of the nobles—and Prosper is being held in a deceased noble's home—I think we can use this to our advantage. One of our agents has managed to acquire Dagna's notes on handling red lyrium safely. He has made a copy for me, which I have attached to this letter. I advise you to read about how to safely "take care of" Prosper de Montfort and his forces with the substance. We may also have to sacrifice the troops who are guarding the mansion to have plausible deniability. Simply assassinating Prosper himself in an obvious way will only make our problems worse, but if everyone in his estate came down with red lyrium sickness, it has a ready explanation. This would pave the way for our government to be installed in Wycome.

I know that this is ruthless even to you. The endgame of our presence in Wycome is worth it, however. If we can do this, we will have the opportunity to install a council government representing Wycome's trade classes as well as Clan Lavellan and the elven alienage—and, of course, the Inquisition will have expanded its own influence. Prosper de Montfort would bring nothing but bloody-handed tyranny and allegiance to Hawke's war-based international order. We can stand for peace and a new way forward. Please think about it.

Volant

.

They set this down, wordless for a minute or two. Finally Max had to break the silence.

"You know," he said, trying to control his feelings, "there is a part of me that wants to go to Starkhaven and say to the Void with Skyhold."

"You can't, amatus," Dorian said quietly. "This proves that 'Painter' and Lady Volant were up to no good, and that 'Painter' was the principal red lyrium agent. But these letters still don't prove anything about whether your advisors were complicit with all this."

"You're right," he conceded. "And one thing is clear: I can't do anything about this from here. We have Volant, but Painter is still on the loose. And we don't know how big their conspiracy at Skyhold is. I hope my old advisors didn't specifically authorize these horrible tactics, but they did support the overarching goals, and at a bare minimum they gave these agents leeway that is far too broad—and against my expressed wishes. We have to confront them about all of this, and we have to uncover the full truth... so we have to return."

Notes: If you find yourself variously annoyed and/or disgusted with everyone after this, that is exactly what I was going for. This is a geopolitical conflict. No pure heroes.

I know there is unfinished business about Hawke's deadline (which at this point is very close - the deadline was not a week after sending the ravens, because they would take some time to arrive, but two weeks is probably all the time they had before Anora would send her consent). But I had Aveline be present for a reason. Max doesn't know about the deadline yet, but he can now, and she can learn that he's got names.

OPTIONAL NOTE:

What follows is a long and rather uncharitable rant. Reading this is not required for chapter comprehension. I am not going to address complaints about this rant. I've given notice that's what it is.

Yes, this is AU. But could it have happened this way? Honestly, yes, I think it could have. One, no matter what the outcome—be that the nobles slaughtering the Dalish and taking Wycome, or the establishment of the City Council and the Marcher armies turning tail—the Inquisition profits, with whoever they shamed paying them off. So no matter what happens to the elves, the CartaInquisition Gets Its Cut. Two, the Inquisition does some very shady things in canon, which I needn't iterate to readers of this fic. And three, what the hell was going through Guinevere Volant's mind with the suggestion of having a Dalish mage treat human victims of red lyrium, a substance known to cause paranoia, instead of getting the clan out? What was Leliana thinking to agree with this? I find Lady Volant deeply suspicious. She is a catastrophically bad diplomat, failing at her official mission whenever she is used, and yet always survives unless she is used to reveal the initial Venatori poisoning. One of the advisors also claims, in utter defiance of the facts, that she is a great diplomat. It is to laugh. If her official mission is her real mission, no she isn't.

I've already said I call bullshit on the assertion that only the nobles formed the racist conspiracy theory that the elves caused the sickness, and that the good working people of Wycome all considered them heroes. It is hard to even read that claim without laughing, after vaccine conspiracies, QAnon, January 6, etc. But honestly, in all likelihood the devs did think this was plausible in 2014. The two outcomes from a complete playthrough of this mission series are so utterly, cartoonishly over-the-top "good" (a council filled with merchants, guild members, and elves) and "bad" (lyrium-addled racist genocidal nobles) that I'm forced to conclude they really did believe this arc made sense.

I don't. At least as presented. I think it does make sense when seen through a darker lens, however.

I am not positing that the Wycome City Council is evil, but I am taking a very honest look at just what it owes the Inquisition and what its own structure is. The Council has no designated leadership figure and it is protected by an Inquisition troop presence to whom its members owe their lives. I.e., this is a puppet government with no one who can clearly speak for it, propped up by the army of an organization accountable to nobody that has been spreading its influence as broadly as it can. If the Inquisition set this up in Orlais, we'd be told outright that it was to expand its own influence.

Which raises the question, just how much of the entire Wycome arc was that? The Advisors' decision to get the clan increasingly involved in a volatile, highly dangerous situation also raises that question. We're told "troops will just inflame people" early in the arc, but what happens in the end if the Dalish are to be saved? Troops are sent in. They are necessary to save the clan, rather than inflaming people to attack the clan. So, this is my explanation for all of this.