Notes: Thank you as always for reading! Transitional chapter here, but also a major one for several reasons, as you will see.

Chapter 21: Forged Anew

I covered my face, fearful,
But the Lady took my hands from my eyes,
Saying, "Remember the fire. You must pass
Through it alone to be forged anew.
Look! Look upon the Light so you
May lead others here through the darkness,
Blade of the Faith!"
~Canticle of Exaltations

The "General Assembly," as they began calling it, was not going to be formed immediately, because it would take time to get all the parties to "yes," and in the meantime, there was always more to do. The Inquisition, under Josephine's careful diplomacy, sent out feelers to all the human nations, as well as certain non-state entities including the Grey Wardens, the Free Mages, both chantries, and VMTO itself.

The Inquisition had to send out many more invitations than they had initially expected. Someone finally recalled that there were other nations in Thedas than just human ones, and that it would be a grievous insult not to invite them. Therefore Orzammar, Kal-Sharok—which still existed—and the Dalish tribal council received letters too. Merrill had told them that her people could hold a council of all clans, which they typically used to "reallocate" mages if there was a surplus in one clan and a shortage in another, but it could be convened to discuss any Dalish issue. It was hard to say whether it would be a greater insult to invite the Qunari after the Waking Sea fiasco or not invite them. Finally they decided to send a letter, but Iron Bull warned that the Qunari would very likely ignore it. Max figured that he had done his duty by them.

While they all awaited responses, Max turned his attention to tying off the loose ends in the eastern Marches. He was glad that he had had a civil conversation with his father and that he was not writing to the Bann after the last thing they had said had been at that awful meeting at Skyhold months ago.

Ostwick was prepared to ally with the Inquisition—Max knew that; it was why his father had come to Skyhold, and it was proven by Volant's presence in his camp—which meant that Ostwick was starting to let go of its resolute isolationism. Starkhaven was now in VMTO, and Wycome soon would be indisputably so. Max pulled out a small map of his homeland that he kept in his quarters and put a red mark on each city that was in the treaty. Only Bastion and Ostwick remained. Max did not know much about Bastion's politics, but it was close to Wycome.

Dorian spent his nights in Max's room now, of course. One evening, after they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, Max pulled out this map and regarded his many crumpled drafts of his letter to his father. Dorian eased over on the mattress and glanced over Max's shoulder.

"Ah," he said. "The difficult relative. But it should be easier now."

Max nodded. "I just need to get the language right. My father's political position is significantly raised in Ostwick due to his presence at the battle and his ties to us, now that I've acknowledged those ties. If my father can be persuaded that VMTO is not futile, he might be able to sway the Teyrn of Ostwick to sign the treaty. Of course, there'll have to be an Inquisition alliance too. But that's all right now."

"What about Wycome? Have you convinced the Orlesian Duke to share power?"

"He is... surprisingly pragmatic. I think he wanted absolute power if he could get it, but if he can't, he figures it's better to share power than to have none. But he will only share power with a council that truly represents Wycome and is not in the pay or blackmail of the Inquisition."

"Understandable."

"I've sent a letter to Keeper Istimaethoriel with the official seal of the Inquisition, explaining to her that there were Venatori agents manipulating her clan, but that the leaders of that plot have been confined and we are rooting out the underlings. I've also insisted on access to the financial records. All of them." He smirked. "They know from the Winter Palace that I know how to read ledgers. Leliana swears that they did not actually have to bribe anyone in Wycome to join the Council, but I want to confirm that for myself."

"So nobody gets exactly what they wanted in Wycome," Dorian mused.

Max raised an eyebrow. "I do."

Dorian laughed, throwing a pillow at Max, who put it aside. "But you are not intending to use that victory," he said, his face bearing an expression of awe. "You don't mean to wield it. That is very rare, amatus, stepping away from power or refusing it altogether."

Max sighed, putting the map back in his side table and closing the drawer. He stretched out on the mattress. "Sometimes it is the right thing to do, but I don't want it to be made into a universal virtue," he said. "It was the right choice to fix the mess in Wycome and Kirkwall, but it was also the right choice later to return here and take ownership of this organization."

Dorian nodded. "That is what I meant. You know when to refuse and when to claim."

"I feel like I'm fumbling through, winging it, as I go along," Max confessed. "The Canticle of Exaltations says that Andraste spoke to Drakon telling him he had to pass through the fire alone and then lead. I wish she'd tell something like that to me."

Dorian smiled wryly. "We do not believe that Drakon was Andraste's Chosen in Tevinter, needless to say."

"And I suspect you're right. He was a warlord who used religion to conquer people and establish an empire. He made his general the first Divine—the first Orlesian Divine, I should say—and the two of them put together the books that we southerners consider the Chant of Light. Not the best origin. Establishing an empire doesn't seem like what Andraste would want, and we know that lords use religion to support their goals." He sighed. "But stripped of that context, the verse is... well, I've been pondering it a lot lately."

"Might I see it?"

Max fumbled around for a copy of the Chant—not a hard thing to obtain in the Inquisition's castle. He passed it to Dorian after finding the verse in Exaltations. "It was supposed to mean Drakon, but... well, look at it."

Dorian read the verse, his eyes widening. "I see what you mean," he said, returning it to Max.

"So... even if I don't believe it in a literal sense, I'm letting the idea behind it guide me now. I won't be afraid. I had to act alone—not literally, but without the Inquisition behind me—and now I must face the Light and lead others through this darkness. And that means I must be very judicious about how much power, and what powers, I arrogate to myself. I don't want to become Drakon now that I'm asserting my will more."

"I won't say that you couldn't ever do that," Dorian said gravely. "You could, no offense. So could I. Anyone with a strong belief in their own rightness could."

Max nodded. "I know, so I'm not offended at all."

"But you are aware of the danger. Deeply so. That counts for a lot."

"Well," Max announced about a week later, "we have a deal in Wycome."

They were gathered in the council room as he read off the letter. "'The City Council, acting on behalf of the people of Wycome, has elected Prosper de Montfort as Duke of Wycome. A formal Constitution detailing the Duke's powers and the powers of this Council has been drafted, in consultation with delegates from our ally Kirkwall. Clan Lavellan is granted a deed to land outside the city. Irrespective of race, all owners of land, home, or business property who are citizens of Wycome will have the right to vote in periodic elections for their council representatives, and there will be no laws restricting property ownership or professional guild membership by race.'" Max raised his eyebrows. "This is remarkably good."

"There will not be many elves who own property yet," Leliana cautioned. "But with the restrictions removed, that can change. It is striking how many elves are kept from obtaining coin and property because they are not allowed to practice many trades as masters—and not because of laws, but rather, guild rules. It is different in Ferelden, Kirkwall, and a few other places, where the law requires guilds to admit elves at all ranks, but most guilds have had that kind of restriction. I am glad that Wycome is prohibiting them from doing so."

Varric spoke up. "Maybe we should have laws to let people enter a profession without joining the damn guild. Supposedly the guilds exist to make sure nobody cuts corners and has an unfair competitive advantage, but seems to me that they could handle that sort of thing with official laws."

"Suggest it to Hawke," Max said. "Let Kirkwall set the example."

"I just might, Inky. I just might. We're forging a new world, after all."

"What else is in the Wycome deal, Inquisitor?" Vivienne asked.

Max returned to the letter. "They will be back in VMTO, as we expected. The Council has the power to override the Duke by a two-thirds vote. And..." Max grimaced, but he supposed this was to be expected. "A Wycome bride for Cyril de Montfort and another for Duke Prosper himself if his son's marriage proves childless after three years." He sighed. "I understand why, I suppose. They're being ruled by Orlesians otherwise. But I just want this woman—these women, as it may be—to enter into such marriages of their own free choice."

"There is a tradition of that among the Dalish," Leliana said gently. "They choose their own spouses, and gender is irrelevant. Keeper Istimaethoriel would not sit by as a woman, even a human noble, was forced. But some people want to enter marriages for politics, Inquisitor. You cannot force people to marry for love if they value other things more."

Max nodded. "I know."

Kirkwall.

It was astonishing to Caitlyn Hawke that Sebastian Vael was visiting Kirkwall as an honored guest for political consultation, but so it was. Something had to be done about Tantervale and Hasmal. She would not rely solely on his advice about Tantervale, but he likely knew more about the place than most people she could speak with in a trusted capacity.

"Tantervale and Hasmal's leaders and their governments clearly cannot be trusted," she said bluntly to him when she and Anders were alone with him.

He agreed, nodding gravely. "Their conduct is shameful."

"And they should be shamed for it. Due to the treaty terms, and the historic independence of each city in this region, I am not able to oust them militarily—or, all right, I could"—she exchanged wry grins with Anders—"but it would basically destroy the treaty if I did. So instead I think we should rely on public opinion. They attacked a Free Marcher city on false information, trying to wipe out an innocent elven clan. All this because of some Venatori agents and other provocateurs."

As she uttered the condemnation, she felt a pang of embarrassment. She too had been part of the Venatori scheme to start a horrendous, destabilizing war. Corypheus's agents had been using her aggressive tendency, her inclination to strike violently—especially now that she had an army of mages and terrifying weapons—to initiate that conflict. I believed I had to blast Skyhold off the mountain because the Inquisition was too dangerously compromised to exist, she thought, and... in a way, that is true... but my solution to the problem would have played right into enemy hands. She was all too aware of the fact that she had nearly been used as a pawn for the darkspawn magister's agenda, and it deeply embarrassed her. Never again, she vowed. I will not be that reckless again. I will look to other approaches and use these weapons only as an option of last resort—as Anders and I promised each other we would when we first got them. And that means getting everyone in the treaty and replacing these worthless leaders in Tantervale and Hasmal.

Sebastian was speaking, and she forced herself to attend it. "I know of some possibilities in Tantervale," he said, "though I will need to confirm that they did not hearken to the lies from those deceased Wycome nobles first."

Caitlyn nodded. "Do so. We will shame Chancellor Orrick and his Council of Fools, while working with whoever we select to position as an alternative." She exchanged a grimace with Anders about what was coming next. "As for Hasmal, I don't know of anyone who would be better than Brycen. He is a good leader, and his heart is in the right place. He has not shown any prejudice against elves. The only issue is the fact that he is a Templar. I will not have a VMTO member whose leader may have to answer to someone else, and as long as he remains a Templar, he will be subject to orders from the Knight-Vigilant or Lord or Lady Seeker, whenever they are chosen."

"If they are chosen," Anders said. "If what Varric says is true about what Trevelyan and Cullen are planning, I don't see why the new Templar Order will need all these ranks. If they're going to be local law enforcement with the ability to deal with criminal mages, they shouldn't have leaders who answer to Knights-Divine and a Knight-Vigilant. The highest authority should be the local Knight-Commander, who answers to the head of state."

"The Inquisitor and Commander Cullen's plan also would require them to withdraw from lyrium after a fixed term of service—and to retire," Sebastian said. "Who will enforce that if there is not a single Templar authority, but many, one for each nation?"

Anders huffed. "Fine, but that just reinforces our point that Brycen needs to resign. As for the Seekers, what good are they? It's on their watch that all the corruption among the Templars happened. The problem is that the Chantry tried to police and investigate itself, and that doesn't work. Even if the investigative body is internal, there has to be outside oversight. I hope the Seekers are disbanded."

Sebastian seemed vaguely scandalized, but he did not object vocally.

Caitlyn nodded. "If Brycen wants to lead Hasmal, he must resign from the Templars. I repeat, I will not have a Marcher head of state in VMTO who answers to the head of a stateless organization."

"What about his ties to the Inquisition?" Sebastian asked. "He has some, you know."

Caitlyn sighed. "I allowed him to live in Kirkwall during the war knowing that he was Divine Justinia's man. I did it because we were not antagonistic to her. If the Inquisition will continue with its recent internal reforms, we don't have to be antagonistic to it either. But I will make sure he knows that we're aware of his links. He'll be careful of what he does if he knows we're watching him closely."

Later, after Sebastian had been shown to his guest quarters, she reflected with Anders about the heavy irony of all this.

"We're relying on him to be a better ally than Orrick," she said in partial disbelief in bed. "Of course, Orrick was our enemy too during the war. We've only thought of him as an ally because he joined VMTO as soon as he could. But he did it because he is a weak-minded, cowardly person."

"It's what the Chantry wanted for Tantervale," Anders said. "It's what they had in Kirkwall in Viscount Dumar, for that matter: a weak leader that they could manipulate and bully, while they ruled in reality behind the scenes."

"And given that fact, it's also ironic that we're relying on Sebastian." She considered. "On the other hand, he has a strength of character that Orrick doesn't. He defied that Red Templar Denam and dueled him to the death. And I wanted to set him on fire the night that he broke Elthina out of Kirkwall's jail and spirited her away, but... as much as I despised the action, it was taking the initiative to achieve something. Orrick would have let her languish there until she was executed. The world would've been better off, admittedly, but it would not have indicated a strong character on his part."

"Sebastian is a desirable ally and a dangerous enemy," Anders concluded.

"Exactly. Just ask Denam about that... oh, right, we can't."

Anders chuckled.

"So I'm glad we are obtaining him as an ally. Something has to be done about Tantervale. Honestly... if I didn't believe it'd give him dangerous ideas about power... I'd let him annex Tantervale."

Anders shook his head. "Maker, no! We've already got one power-hungry lord in Duke Prosper."

"Well, that's why I'm not going to allow that. As you said, we already have one potential future rival for leadership of the region. I won't have another. We will consult with him, and hopefully he will offer advice that we can use and will be satisfied with that so that he won't feel the urge to challenge us. I don't think annexation would occur to him unless he believed it was the only choice."

"Let's not even think about that right now," Anders urged her. "He hasn't suggested it. There's no indication that it has occurred to him, and if we can find someone to replace Orrick, it won't. We're about to unify the region in a treaty, achieving what no one thought possible. Let's enjoy our triumph."

She murmured her agreement, nestling against him. As he held her, he felt a pang of guilt about the letter from the Free Mages in his table. He would have to tell her about it tomorrow, and he knew that she would not like his decision.

Skyhold.

In the end, the meeting-place for the General Assembly had to be deep in a vault at Skyhold. The delegates from Orzammar and Kal-Sharok, but the former in particular, had a dispensation like the dwarven armies during Blights to walk on the surface to get to Skyhold, since the Deep Roads did not connect to it. But the King of Orzammar insisted that any meetings for which his delegate would be present would be held underground.

"That's patently arbitrary and absurd," Dorian exclaimed. "If he can say it's all right—it doesn't 'cast them out of the Stone'—to travel on the surface in some circumstances, then either he is lying and it does do the worst, or, more likely, there's no inherent power in doing things underground, just a custom."

Varric agreed. "This is why I don't want much to do with them. Insane, the whole lot of them. And if you want to see the real craziness, go to the Deep Roads around Kirkwall." He reconsidered. "Actually, don't. That's where the original red lyrium thaig is. You got that sealed off, Cassandra?"

"It is sealed, yes, Varric. Not that it mattered to prevent the stuff's spread."

"Elissa and I really thought that this man would have died by now," Leliana complained. "He implemented one reform, making loss of caste a punishment for crime rather than inborn, and putting most of the former casteless into the servant caste, but other than that, he has been rigidly isolationist and traditional. The dwarven people's population problem continues—"

"Researchers in Tevinter think that's because of their constant proximity to the Taint," Dorian said.

"Very likely. It's been hypothesized that residue from Blights is the reason there are not that many huge families even in the surface races of Thedas, since not all people have access to contraceptive herbs. But—Orzammar. The King has not implemented any changes that are liberal toward surface dwarves, who don't have the severe reproductive problem that Orzammar does, so noble-hunters—that is to say, women of low caste who offer themselves as royal and noble mistresses in the hope that they will bear sons who have the father's caste—are servant caste now rather than casteless." She sighed. "It is better for them if they have only daughters, at least. They can be maids and the like, or follow their mothers' footsteps, rather than being consigned to Dust Town. But it is not the reform Orzammar needed." She sighed again. "We just have to hope that the King's heir, Endrin Aeducan, isn't being brought up that way. It depends on how much influence he has and how much the lad's formerly casteless mother has."

Cassandra sighed. "I would have made the same decision that she did at the time, choosing the honorable candidate rather than the kinslayer who wanted to dissolve the dwarven Assembly, but I do not know if I would now. King Harrowmont gave trouble as well during the Mage-Templar War. He worried that the war would destroy the dwarves' lyrium industry."

Max spoke up. "We knew that we would be inviting people from nations that had... problems. I was thinking Tevinter and Orlais, but Orzammar does too, apparently. Hopefully this exposure to other ways of thinking will help a bit, and the same for Tevinter and Orlais, but that's not its chief purpose now."

"Long-term, perhaps," Dorian offered.

"Perhaps," he agreed, "but for now, it's just a body of representatives who can speak for their nations and organizations directly to us." He raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "On that note, have we convinced the land-rich nations that this is not a voting body and they need not worry about the Free Marches?"

Several of the geographically large nations had objected to every Marcher city having the same single delegate that they themselves had—and a delegate to represent VMTO to boot. This, they had said, would give the Free Marches the ability to outvote everyone else. The new Emperor had said that if they were going to represent cities, Orlais should send one delegate for each of its cities too. This just further reinforced to Max that Gaspard did not see any state but his own as a real nation, but then, he knew about Gaspard's beliefs.

"We have managed to smooth those ruffled feathers," Josephine, ever the diplomat, replied. "It required a compromise. We told the large nations that if different regions have different concerns—or urban versus rural—then they could send delegates to represent those concerns, provided that they explain exactly what each delegate would speak for and we approved it. That should make it harder for anyone to use that offer as a way to pack the council."

"And the non-states? Other than VMTO?"

"The Dalish are convening a meeting to choose their representative." She consulted her list. "No response from the First Warden, but I did not expect one. Their loss. Elissa has decided to let Darrian Tabris represent the Wardens instead. She thinks it would be better than placing Carver Hawke there, given his family ties. He might be accused of having dual loyalty... which, rationally speaking, he would." She scanned her list again. "We also invited the Orlesian Chantry, Imperial Chantry, and Free Mages of Thedas to send people. No response from Tevinter or its Chantry. The Chantry in Val Royeaux has designated Mother Giselle, who is already here as well." She smirked; she had applied pressure herself to make that happen. "And..." She shook her head in partial disbelief. "The Free Mages are sending Anders."

Varric whistled. "That's news to me. I bet Hawke doesn't like that. He must've wanted to go, to speak for the mages."

Leliana nodded. "That... was what they implied."

Max beamed. "I can't wait to meet him! When are they all set to arrive?"

"In about a month."

"Regarding Tevinter's silence," Dorian interjected, "I frankly did not expect them to respond. They would have squawked within an inch of their lives if they were snubbed, and the Venatori faction would have used that to argue that this was 'proof' that the south did not respect them, et cetera, but I did not expect them to actually participate in this council if they were invited. However, their silence—and Warden-Commander Cousland's solution to the First Warden's silence—provides an opening." He smirked, exchanging glances with Max. Max had been startled at first when Dorian explained his full plan, but it had only taken a few moments for him to see its cleverness. "If the Senate itself will not choose a delegate, the Lucerni will fill the void. And they have chosen my good friend Maevaris Tilani. As for the Imperial Chantry, the same applies. If they will not choose someone, I suppose I will have to speak for Imperial Chantry concerns."

Josephine, Cullen—indeed, everyone except Leliana, Vivienne, Solas, and Max gaped at Dorian. Naturally, the shrewd Game-players, he thought. "You and your friend are not official," Leliana warned. "That is well for now, since this council has no legal authority, just diplomatic... but if it were to evolve in the future, as we hope it will..."

"Then Mae and I will be in place already," Dorian said bluntly, "and the fools back home will have to oust us if they want to send their own people, thereby offending two altus houses. Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

Max grinned. "Let them turn their noses up at us. We'll have the last laugh. The world is changing and those who try to hold it back will be left behind."

Halamshiral.

Briala strode confidently about the Winter Palace. Now that Celene and Gaspard were not here, but were instead in residence in the Imperial Palace of Val Royeaux hating each other's every waking second, Briala had assumed residence here. Her title was new, so she did not yet have an official seat—but she intended to make that a moot point. Halamshiral had been the elven capital, and she was going to reclaim it. She was not the owner of the Winter Palace; she was just permitted to reside here, but she had taken full advantage of that to staff the palace with her people as servants and guards. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, she thought, unknowingly echoing Dorian. Celene will rue the day that she let me have command of the Winter Palace. I am keeping it.

She stepped into the grand ballroom where Celene had held her ridiculous fete. Far fewer guests were assembled here tonight, but there were enough for Briala's purposes. She relished the ascent to the same balcony where Celene had made her pathetic nothing of an announcement and nearly been assassinated. No one would be sticking blades in Briala's back tonight. She took her security more seriously than that.

"Lords, Ladies, and people of the Dales," Briala began, "friends, peers, and subjects. I come before you today with glad tidings, a diplomatic achievement for which we can all give thanks. As an Ambassador, I have successfully persuaded the Crown of Ferelden to return the land extending as far east as the western edge of the Frostback Mountains. These areas, formerly occupied by Fereldan troops, have been returned to this country with not a single drop of blood shed or a single copper of treasure spent!"

"Hail, Marquise and Ambassador!" someone called out as cheers erupted.

"Hail the great diplomat!"

Briala basked in the applause before speaking again. "Their Fereldan Majesties have agreed that, since the lawless chaos in these lands has ceased, and the people who live thereupon are satisfied with the Marquisate, it serves Ferelden ill to continue to spend coin on an unlawful occupation. All the ancient lands of the Dales are part of the Dales again! Let us celebrate."

It was no accident that she referred to "the Dales" rather than "Orlais." There had also been no freak of madness on the parts of Anora and Alistair to return the land and withdraw their troops while getting nothing in return. Briala knew very well that if she had been an enemy of Ferelden, they had blasting powder that could win the fight. In fact, her real purpose for going to Denerim had not been about that little strip of land at all. That was a steak to toss to the Empress, Emperor, and their loyalists to keep them off her scent. But speaking of the secret treaty she had signed with the Fereldan Crown would reveal her as a traitor to Orlais according to the law. An unjust law.

When Briala had all her cards in hand and she made her declaration of secession, Fereldan weaponry would be ready to support her cause. In return, Fereldan imports would have preferential treatment in the Dales, with duties even lower than their imports at Kirkwall, Ferelden's other principal ally. There would also be a right of mutual resettlement for anyone who wanted to emigrate except Imperial loyalists.

And then there was that other, more important matter. It had been a wrench for Briala to give Ferelden the secrets of the Sending-Stones, but the King and Queen had insisted on it. She was glad they had not asked for an eluvian, at least, but Queen Anora had considered it a security risk to have a magical door into her country. "We cannot know who, or what, may enter through it or what capabilities they may have," she had said. "But after the near disaster on the Waking Sea, and the potential of these new weapons to unleash war more terrible than we have ever experienced, we believe it is very important to have instant communication over long distances. If you want our support and your land, Marquise, we insist on having this information."

Briala had reluctantly passed a pair of Stones and the magical lore of crafting and using them to the handful of free mages who resided in Ferelden. At least some of them were elves.

It is worth it for Dales independence, she thought, and the Queen did have a point about the necessity for communication. The world has changed.

Skyhold.

"Well," Leliana began when the council had gathered, "just as things settle down in the Free Marches, they... become interesting... in the Dales."

"'Interesting' in the sense of the Qunari curse? 'May you live in interesting times'?" Iron Bull asked darkly.

Several people chuckled. Leliana was among them, but she could not maintain her laughter. It really wasn't amusing. "I hope not but I fear so," she said. "In short—Marquise Briala announced in Halamshiral that the border between Ferelden and Orlais has shifted again."

Max frowned. "I haven't heard of any new hostilities in that region."

"There haven't been any. Briala went to Denerim as an Ambassador of the Empire and negotiated with the Fereldan Crown to return all the land west of the Frostbacks. The new border that they agreed upon is the western foot of the mountain range. A natural border for Ferelden," she said with a shrug, "far more defensible than a border extending into the eastern Dales themselves."

"That's odd, though," Max said, frowning. His heart was thumping; he had a guess as to what had happened, and it was rather frightening even though it was what he had wanted. "Why would the King and Queen just... give her that land? It may not be as easily defensible as the mountain boundary, but they were holding it." He raised an eyebrow at Leliana. "Did Briala go to Denerim and treat with them alone?"

Leliana understood where his thoughts were tending. A grim smile came over her face. "There were guards and support staff in the embassy, as is always the case, but as a noble ambassador treating with foreign monarchs, she would have been alone with them behind closed doors."

"Sounds like how the Tevinter Senate makes deals," Dorian remarked. "And sometimes details come out later that were kept secret at first. We say that it's 'how the sausage gets made,' a rather unpleasant metaphor."

"I understand exactly what you both—and several others, I see," she said, observing their expressions, "are thinking. It is my suspicion too. King Alistair might be persuaded to surrender the land, but Queen Anora would not—not unless Ferelden got something out of it." She folded her hands on the tabletop. "I strongly suspect that Anora and Briala have a secret agreement, perhaps even a secret treaty. And if so, it would encompass more than just land cession. If there is such a treaty, Ferelden will support Briala's eventual war. What I cannot quite guess is what she has promised Ferelden."

Solas spoke up. "The Marquise has control of a network of elven artifacts called eluvians. She also has knowledge of other ancient magical technology of Arlathan. It seems very likely to me that she has given Ferelden some of it."

Leliana nodded. "I have received a letter from Elissa Cousland. I sent Vigil's Keep a raven very soon after I learned of the new border and Briala's diplomatic achievement. Her letter is brief and careful, but she does say she does not know for sure about the Crown's deals because she has stayed out of politics."

"Do you believe her?" Vivienne asked.

"I do. Her entire reason for avoiding communication with us has been to keep Grey Wardens away from political matters due to the risk she believed existed in the connection Corypheus may have with Wardens' minds."

"What do you suggest we do?" Max asked baldly. "Anything? I know I am ultimately responsible for setting this in motion."

"We do not know for sure if there is a treaty or verbal agreement," Leliana said, "and if we openly speak about the possibility, it could endanger Briala's life." She gazed out at all the others. "That means that what you have heard here must not leave this room."

"Yes," Max agreed at once. "Let's not even talk about it among ourselves, in case we're overheard. We know we had Venatori spies in the castle, and it's all but certain that Celene and Gaspard have them here too. No one will utter a word about this outside this room."

They all agreed.

"As to your question, Inquisitor, I will consider our options. It may be best to tell the King and Queen of our suspicions. For as long as the Dales remain at peace, it would give us leverage: They would know we could expose it to Celene and Gaspard. But of course, once war erupts, if Fereldan arms start pouring into the Dales, the treaty would no longer be a secret, so our knowledge of it is then moot. I just hope that it doesn't happen until after we have dealt with the Elder One. I will look into delaying tactics."

Gwaren.

Teyrna Cauthrien Mac Tir stood smugly as the King and Queen approached. The monarchs had separated from their retinue, because what Cauthrien had to show them was secret information. Only she, Loghain, and the weaponsmith who had designed this new weapon knew about it. With the stunning intelligence that the Inquisition had been so thoroughly compromised by the enemy that it had nearly been used as a tool to start a war, Cauthrien did not want to risk anyone knowing about this except a very select few.

The fact that her husband and the King were both Grey Wardens alarmed her a little, but not that much. Loghain had assured her that he had not been hearing the Wardens' false Calling in Gwaren. It appeared that the focus of whatever Corypheus was doing to cause it was centered in Orlais, around Montsimmard. Warden-Commander Cousland's and Warden-Enchanter Aldebrant's companies of Wardens were close enough to feel it, but Gwaren was too distant, it appeared. As was Denerim.

Alistair looked visibly interested and eager. Anora was more sedate, but Cauthrien believed that her stepdaughter was just as eager as the King, only better at concealing it.

Cauthrien and Loghain took them out on horseback to a private clearing in the woods around Gwaren. A set of five straw effigies had been erected at one end of the clearing, three of them donning scrap armor. As the four people dismounted, Cauthrien lifted the long box that held the—item—she wanted to demonstrate. Loghain carried a more compact and square box—very, very carefully, Cauthrien noted. They brought the boxes to the other side of the clearing opposite the effigies.

Queen Anora spoke first. "Teyrna Cauthrien. I presume this is the new weapon that you wished to show us?"

Cauthrien unlocked the latches on the long box. "It is, Your Majesty. You are no doubt aware of the fact that Ferelden's recipe for blasting powder was not as explosive as the formula that Kirkwall uses for its stationary bombs."

Anora nodded.

"It turns out, however, that it is ideal for another purpose." Cauthrien lifted out of a softwood-carved fitted housing a very peculiar weapon. It was a long metal tube with a wooden stock and a complex metal mechanism between the two components. "We believe that, in fact, we have a formulation similar to that used in the first version of Kirkwall's rockets. However, we don't think rockets are an ideal weapon for Fereldan use." She turned to Loghain.

He began speaking in his gruff voice. "They are good for creating terror in cities, blasting buildings, and the like. They're very good at sea, though I think the Qunari cannons are too—and what we have can be readily adapted to reproduce the cannon design. Kirkwall's rockets are probably acceptable for use against massed armies, though Hawke didn't do that in her war. But the most suitable use for them is against cities, and in this part of the world, it's more rural, with a few exceptions. And more importantly, nations are spread out. Striking one city would not necessarily mean defeating the enemy as it would for the Marchers. Warfare here is different, and that means that my wife and I decided this weapon would be better for Fereldans to use."

Cauthrien finished. "In addition, this weapon can be carried by soldiers to fire upon each other individually, so it allows for more honorable warfare than attacking civilian centers indiscriminately. It could also be a form of civilian self-defense if it is one day produced in bulk. If Your Majesties disagree, of course, we can certainly try to develop rockets, though Kirkwall has quite a head start on us, and we do not have powder that can match the current range of their rockets, nor do we have their chemical... payload."

Anora waved her hand. "Your reasoning is sound. The King and I would like to see this weapon in use. You said, Father, that its design can be adapted to produce cannons of our own. I presume it uses blasting powder to propel a metal projectile of some sort forward through that tube."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Cauthrien turned to Loghain, eyebrows raised. He opened the box he was carrying and carefully removed two items from it, which he passed to her.

Cauthrien held them up. "This metal round is the projectile," she said, referring to a cylindrical metal object ending in a cone. "And this is the propellant." It was a finger-sized glass container with a layer of glass dividing the two sections. One side, the larger, held what was very obviously black powder. The smaller side held a bright red liquid. She snapped open a cover on the metal mechanism and put the propellant inside it, the red part facing toward the stock. "It is black powder and firebomb mix."

"Extremely dangerous," Loghain growled.

"Now we load this," Cauthrien said, putting the projectile into the tube. She held the weapon up and put a finger on the trigger. "When I press the trigger, a lever inside smashes through the glass container, causing the firebomb to ignite the black powder." She aimed at one of the effigies and pressed the trigger.

A loud shot pierced the air, startling Anora and Alistair. A fiery flash and a cloud of smoke erupted from the end of Cauthrien's weapon, but when it cleared, everyone could see what had happened. The projectile had struck the effigy, which was now headless.

Alistair was gaping. "That's amazing!" he shouted. "And scary."

Anora's eyes were wide too, a rare loss of composure for the Queen. "The explosive is very risky, stored in glass," she managed. "Is there no better way?"

"We are working on it. It needs to be something that can be easily shattered by a pull of the trigger. The alternative our engineer proposed was to have just the black powder and a mechanism, like flint, inside the weapon to produce a spark. But that is dangerous too. It could produce accidental sparks."

"We're also looking into ways to load the projectile in the chamber end," Loghain growled. "It's inconvenient to load it backward, and if it can be confined tightly in a chamber until it's fired, that would be better. This is a work-in-progress, Anora. But what we have is ready for battle use."

"Clearly!" Alistair exclaimed. He approached Cauthrien. "Might I?"

"By all means, Your Majesty. Do be careful with the explosive."

With Anora's eagle eyes on him, he carefully loaded the weapon before aiming at the next straw man. He pulled the trigger and fired. Another loud blast and a cloud of smoke erupted as Alistair stumbled back from the recoil, but this effigy had lost its right arm.

To Loghain's surprise, Anora wanted a go. "You're sure?" he said. "You saw how the King jumped back. It packs some serious recoil."

"I expect I can manage if the King stands behind me. I want to shoot it."

Cauthrien was not about to deny the Queen, so she handed the weapon over. With Alistair standing behind her for support, she aimed at the third effigy, blasting a hole in its chest even as she stumbled from the recoil and coughed from the smoke.

Deeply impressed, Anora handed the weapon back to Cauthrien. "Even if this is continually under improvement, I agree, we need to have a small force in the army trained to use it. It could make a difference in the next war."

Loghain was already imagining Orlesian chevaliers' heads exploding. "That said, we're not giving it to that Marquise. Only Fereldan hands will touch this."

"Naturally," Anora agreed completely. "We've given her enough. We are not giving her this. We are not giving Hawke this, either. If they develop it independently, so be it, but for now, this is ours. What are we calling it?"

"Our smith is a Nevarran surface dwarf, and he used a term from his own language—well, the human surface language—that we've taken to using. He calls it the 'arquebus.'"

Anora nodded. "It trips off the tongue easily, and its meaning is not obvious to those who do not already know. Very well. Teyrna Cauthrien, have him make fifty of these in whatever design he deems best."

Lydes.

Duchess Monette de Lydes, the young ruler of the city, waited nervously for her court to gather. After her elevation, Mother Renette had accompanied her to her palace as her personal priest, and that clever operator had managed this affair, making sure to invite exactly the right people.

The court was a mix. The majority of the Duchess's courtiers were petty human nobles of the Dales who were thrilled to have received an invitation to a court function of such a highly ranked person. "That will help ensure their loyalty to you, Your Grace," Mother Renette had said. "They will not forget who gave them notice and showed them favor at a high court, and their views will adjust accordingly."

There was also a trio of lords that Marquise Briala had newly minted, one human and—shockingly—two elves. They milled about the Marquise herself. Duchess Monette was technically higher-ranked than Marquise Briala, but the elven marquise held more land; the young duchess's power extended only to Lydes. And Marquise Briala had the loyalty of the elven population. Even to this day, the Dales' population had the highest percentage of elves in Orlais. "They are Children of the Maker, we must remember," Mother Renette had said, "and the world is changing. Either my good friend Petrice will become Divine—and you know that she cares not what race someone is, just that they walk with Andraste in the Maker's light—or that Inquisition spymaster will, and she installed a Grand Cleric in Ferelden who opened the priesthood in that country to non-human women. We must make a place for ourselves in this new world, Your Grace, not resist it. Andraste had friends among that race who marched with her, after all. Who are we to imply by our actions that she was wrong?"

Monette agreed. She had not met many elves during her novitiate at the Chantry, but she had known many who served her when she was a young girl living in her father the Duke's estate. Her dear dressmaker Ailine, her lutenist Parla... They had been her friends, whom she permitted and actually wished to call her by her given name in private, who giggled and gossiped with her, with whom she secretly shared luxury dishes that they were not permitted to eat. Her father had dismissed her entire staff when he forced her into the Chantry and sent them to Halamshiral to serve the royal family as an attempt at garnering favor. Most were later slaughtered brutally by that murdering bi—by Celene in her horrid purge, but the handful of survivors were now with Briala.

Monette upbraided herself for thinking of elves as servants when an elven Marquise and two elven Barons stood in her court. Briala and her guests each wore a silver ring with an emerald on their index fingers. This was the agreed-upon sign of... loyalty. Monette quickly scanned the crowd to observe that several of her own lieges wore emerald rings too on that finger.

And amid the friends and tentative allies were also a handful of rigid Crown loyalists, invited nominally because they were her peers in rank, but truthfully to dispel any appearance of openly fomenting—

The emcee was calming the chatter, which subsided as the young duchess herself emerged from a heavy drape. She was a very pretty woman, with dark gold curls, deep brown eyes, and bronze skin from an Antivan grandmother. Her green-and-gold gown set her coloring off to perfection. She took a deep breath as she was announced.

"Lords and Ladies of the Dales," Monette began, her voice wavering. She took a quick breath to steady it. There, that was better. "Most loyal subjects and friends. I thank you for coming to this Court and I hope that the hospitality and entertainment of the Palace de Lydes have pleased you." There was a general murmur of agreement at this routine piece of nothing. Monette continued, feeling stronger. "Now, it is my great pleasure to announce my betrothal to Lord Evariste Lemarque of the Tombes d'Emeraude!"

As they erupted in applause, Fairbanks—exceedingly well-dressed—emerged from the drape, raised his be-ringed hand high, a half-grimace on his face. He took Monette's hand in his and kissed it in a courtly display. As he looked away from the court and at her face, the grimace melted.

"Out of respect to the Duchy of Lydes, our wedding will be held in this city in two months," she continued, smiling at her handsome betrothed. She genuinely liked him, although she knew that this match had been recommended by Briala for political reasons, and she hoped they would be happy together if—if everything that they meant to do went well.

"Lord Evariste was born to a daughter of the noble Lemarque family. He was restored to the family title and lands by our illustrious Empress"—the courtiers from Val Royeaux smiled smugly, though many of the others knew Monette had just said this for show—"following his heroism in protecting the good people of the Dales from bandits and criminals. Upon our marriage, he will be elevated to become the Comte of the Tombes d'Emeraude."

There was more applause.

Monette smiled as she and Fairbanks held hands. He raised their linked hands high, smiling as well. The couple met the eyes of Mother Renette, Marquise Briala, and the emerald-bejeweled people who had already sworn loyalty to—the cause. The faintest ghost of a smirk formed on Briala's face before vanishing.

Skyhold.

The eyes of Max, Dorian, and all three advisors were wide as they all filed into the war room. Those five had heard the stunning news out of Lydes already and understood full well what it signified.

Dorian gave Max a look of sympathetic understanding. "You look so nervous," he said, "but this is not your fault. Others made their own choices. This announcement simply means that we must accelerate our plans."

They all took their seats at the war table. Leliana gave Max a nod, indicating to him to preside this time. He returned a swift nod of his own.

"Well," he began, "those of you who don't know already—Fairbanks, or rather, Lord Evariste Lemarque of the Emerald Graves, is engaged to Duchess Monette of Lydes. The young lady we installed months ago. Marquise Briala and several of her allies were at the betrothal announcement."

After Leliana's remark about Fairbanks's allegiances following the Wycome fiasco, not a single person in the chamber missed this betrothal's implications. Several people's eyes widened.

"Well, shit," Varric swore.

"Holy Maker," Cassandra said.

Max nodded. "I don't think there can be any doubt of what it means. Duchess Monette supports... the Dales."

"Why would she care about that cause enough to risk herself so?" Cassandra exclaimed. "If she joins such a war and it fails, she becomes a traitor. What convinced her to do this?"

Leliana took a deep breath. "I have a theory. The late Duke Remache sent away all the elves who had been in Monette's service when he put her in the Chantry years ago. He 'gave' them to Halamshiral to serve the imperial family. Celene later had most of them killed in her crackdown on the elven rebellions in Halamshiral. It is entirely possible that Duchess Monette mourns them, wishes to avenge them, and despises the Crown for this. She is a kind soul and likely would have had friendships of a sort with them."

"People who abuse others and regard them as 'inferiors' may ultimately live to regret it," Solas said darkly. "This may be such a case for Celene."

Leliana nodded. "That is only my theory, but it would not shock me."

"Do you think Fairbanks could have proposed to her to make the alliance without telling her about his intentions for rebellion?" Dorian asked darkly. Max gave him a surprised glance, but his amatus merely gazed back in resolute cynicism. "That can happen, you know."

"If it were another nobleman, that would be a possibility," Josephine spoke up, "but not Fairbanks. It is not what he would do, marrying a woman and risking her life without telling her. I am with Leliana and Max in this; Duchess Monette has knowingly joined the Dales' cause because she agrees with it."

"Well, this... escalates things," Cullen said.

"It does," Leliana said, "and it introduces a lot of political complications."

"What is odd to me is that a duchess is higher than a marquise," Josephine said. "I am surprised that Briala would cede leadership of her cause to humans, even allies like Fairbanks and Duchess Monette."

"Fairbanks will not become the Duke of Lydes," Leliana corrected. "He will be elevated to be the Comte of the Emerald Graves. But yes, a duchess outranks a marquise. However, Briala commands more land and people. The limits of Lydes circumscribe Monette's authority."

Max spoke up. "They may not be thinking of it in Orlesian terms," he suggested. "In the Free Marches, we don't necessarily use Orlesian rankings. There is no one with a higher title than 'Prince' in Starkhaven, or 'Duke' in Wycome, but elsewhere... Kirkwall, for instance. There's a Comte de Launcet. But their head of state is still the Viscountess." He shrugged. "It's arbitrary, when you think about it. The Orlesians have a certain system of rankings, but there is nothing intrinsic about it. Other states don't have to use that ranking themselves, and it may be that Briala intends for the title of the head of state to be 'Marquise' and for 'Duchess' to be a lower rank—in the Dales."

"Perhaps so," Leliana said after a moment's consideration. "Still... this betrothal is—unsettling. Especially after the new border Briala negotiated with Ferelden and what that strongly suggests."

"I agree," Max said somewhat ashamedly. "I did not want war in the Dales this soon."

"No one did, but we must adjust to the reality. Trying to stop it now would endanger the lives of too many friends and allies. Something else occurred to me, though, and this gets to the political complications I mentioned. Monette's involvement does make a certain kind of sense given that her priestly mentor, Mother Renette, is an old friend of Petrice, and Petrice and Prosper de Montfort are aligned."

"Prosper de Montfort gave his verbal support to Briala in the aftermath of the Winter Palace ball," Max said, recalling that evening. "'Maker turn His gaze upon your cause, my lady,' that was what he said. And something about allies 'to her northeast,' which shows he had his eye on Wycome—or at least the Free Marches—for quite a while."

"I remember," Dorian said.

"So do I," Leliana said. "If he holds to that promise, then between him and the likely Fereldan support—which may include blasting powder—Monette will have plenty of support to hold Lydes even if some of its people don't support the rebellion, as undoubtedly will be the case." She rubbed her forehead. "This rebellion is going to happen. I think we should accept that as a given now. We have to settle Corypheus quickly."

Max nodded in agreement, glad that no one—not even Vivienne, Josephine, or Cassandra—was proposing some dubious means of staving it off that would only cause further problems.

"On the other hand," Leliana continued, thinking aloud, "if Prosper and Petrice do tacitly—or not so tacitly in the end—support the Dales, it could benefit us. It would normalize that stance, make Celene and Gaspard's position very obviously poor, and make a neutral stance acceptable as a result."

"True," Max considered. "We're under far less pressure to back a pair of monarchs if they appear likely to lose anyway."

"And it could help the Inquisition in the Divine stakes if Petrice makes such a declaration," Leliana said. "It would make... our candidates... look more like faith leaders and less like politicians and warmongers."

"I agree," Max said firmly. "This can be a good thing for us if we don't create unnecessary problems for ourselves. If we focus on defeating Corypheus and his forces, we can point to that if anyone does ask us to take a side. Would they ask the Grey Wardens to do so? No, they have other tasks—or they should, at least." He smiled confidently. "And on that note, I think we should follow up on Warden Andras's lead, and take down the Red Templar and Venatori leadership."

Notes: The arquebus is a fifteenth-sixteenth-century firearm. This isn't exactly how it was designed, but we don't have firebomb mix in the real world. And yes, even if the developers will not take this setting to a realistic level of technological advancement for the groundwork they have laid (Qunari cannons, Anders' explosive, Orlesian fireworks), I will.

The bits about the Free Marches were all indicated, but I hope the news about Fairbanks and the secret treaty between Alistair/Anora and Briala were surprises. (That treaty is inspired, ironically, by the treaty between France and the American colonies during the Revolutionary War.) I think Fairbanks and Monette could be a very happy couple if what we're told about Monette is accurate, and her position here as Duchess of Lydes is ideal for the political purpose. And since I made her mentor, Mother Renette, a friend of Petrice, that came with political implications that accelerated the rebellion.