Notes: Thank you for reading! I hope this chapter meets your expectations. And please keep in mind as you read this chapter (and several in the future, I have to warn), I am not going to use this fanfic to metaphorically incinerate my painstakingly written "fix-it of sorts" million-word AU. But that doesn't mean there won't be conflict and drama in the meantime.
Chapter 9: The Empire Strikes Back
Max was disgruntled with the Inquisition's political meddling in the Free Marches for some time, but he had no idea how to handle it. He knew that if they were all determined enough that an idea was the right one, they would do it behind his back. Cullen seemed to be more on Max's side than the rest, and sometimes Cassandra as well, but Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne often formed a group of hard, sharp political operators. And the late Divine's Left Hand, the former Imperial Court Enchanter, and a professional ambassador would not obey a twenty-three-year-old just out of a Circle if they were sure that they were right and he was wrong.
He might have the authority to simply dismiss them all from service, so that whatever they did would not be done for the Inquisition, but then what? He couldn't run the Inquisition alone, and while—of his chosen "faction"—Dorian could likely handle some of the politicking, he couldn't handle it all. More to the point, he was Tevinter in an area of Thedas where that was a stark negative. That was the problem with Max's group as a whole. Those who were sharp enough to match Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne did not have the cachet they did—and Max could not deny that the Inquisition needed their shrewdness and ruthlessness even when he disagreed with their ideas.
And then there was the matter of the next Divine. If Max did dismiss his advisors from the Inquisition, that would not stop Leliana from putting herself forward and making the contacts and alliances she needed. It might even cost the Inquisition Cassandra, since she had agreed to urge her supporters to back Leliana. Could the Inquisition make amends with Kirkwall or Ferelden convincingly enough to protect Max and his friends from being just flotsam adrift in a political sea? Whom were the Fereldans supporting for Divine, anyway? Alistair and Anora had worked with Leliana in the Blight. Alistair had counted her as a friend. And while Leliana and Elissa Cousland seemed to be estranged for now, were they so estranged that the Hero of Ferelden would not back Leliana for Divine? Max doubted it.
Max was not sure what to make of the fact that Viscountess Hawke had not yet endorsed her own Grand Cleric. Varric had confided to him that Hawke had misgivings about Petrice's use of the auto-da-fé during the Mage-Templar War, and that while Petrice was pro-mage, it was due to her reading of doctrine; she did not favor religious liberty, while Hawke did. Still, it was an alliance of nearly ten years. And then there was the Inquisition's conduct in the Grand Tourney. If Hawke and Anders did not see the Inquisition as a geopolitical foe after that, it would be little short of a miracle.
Max was therefore unsurprised when news reached Skyhold that, at last, the Viscountess of Kirkwall had endorsed her Grand Cleric. He was a bit surprised to see that Anders, her consort, had signed on as well—and that surprised Varric too—but he, Varric, Dorian, and their close friends all glumly agreed that it was a sign of just how thoroughly the Inquisition, and its unofficial candidate Leliana, had antagonized the Kirkwall couple.
Hawke and Anders had done this despite their concerns about Petrice. That was food for thought. They chose not to alienate someone who had stood by them and protected their position, Max thought, even if they don't like everything that person believes. Maybe I should take a leaf from their book and do the same. These people have stood by me. They've protected and empowered me.
I don't want the Free Marches weak, he thought in conflict. They are a bulwark against the Qunari and the Venatori. My advisors think that backing the Free Marches would weaken Orlais... and I suppose they're right, now that Prosper de Montfort has entered the picture. Before he got involved, they would not have felt the need to interfere with VMTO expansion. But now, what benefits the Free Marches benefits him, and not just as a player in that region, but for the Orlesian throne too.
A doubt intruded on Max's mind. But why are they against him being on the Orlesian throne, really? Even if he would "use Orlais" against the Qunari, do they really think he would be worse for it than its civil war has been? Or is it the other thing they said—that if he gets the Orlesian crown, the Inquisition itself will be isolated and vulnerable?
Max realized it was the latter, and the weight of that realization felt heavy. So they are afraid of being a pawn for others instead of a power-player. I don't suppose I can blame them for that. I understand that quite well.
He had basically talked himself around to not opposing their plans—up to a point; he did not think he could go along with it if they harmed the rising order in the Free Marches. But he didn't like seeing them take actions to stagnate it either, so instead, he chose to focus on the red lyrium cleanup operation.
There was an important logistical matter about the cleanup that concerned Max: namely, how to keep thousands of soldiers safe from contamination. It was challenging enough to keep their own forces from being infected. Red lyrium was incredibly virulent, and once it had attached itself to a life form, there was very limited time to excise it before the host was doomed. It could be frozen to death if one could get the entire deposit in the cold blast, but that was not viable for the Emprise, where the roots had burrowed deep into above-freezing soil. Fire denatured it, and according to Dagna, so did corrosive chemicals. Of course, none of those methods could be applied to the entire organism of a living thing without killing it; and even if they were applied just to a small area, they would all burn flesh, so they could not be used to prevent infection. Max then recalled that Dagna had faced the problem of avoiding contamination and had found a solution.
"Oh," Dagna said eagerly, "yes, I worked that out early." Her eyes gleamed with the zeal of research. "I discovered that the body parts of animated corpses warded the red lyrium away! The heart and brain worked best. I preserved some into... runes, I guess? They were not elemental runes, but they functioned the same. When I put one next to a tendril of red lyrium, the lyrium shrank back and shriveled up! So I made a set of runed gloves. These runes glowed yellowish-greenish-white after I crafted and enchanted them, for some reason."
Solas had been listening with a growing glower. "They glowed because they are not just the hearts and brains of the dead," he said sharply. "These are fragments of spirits, shattered into wisps when their hosts were cut down."
Max glanced at him. "You're certain of that?"
"I am positive."
When it was laid out like that, Max found it distasteful too. That seemed awfully close to keeping spirits enslaved, and possibly tortured, depending on how the red lyrium affected them. Rainier, Cassandra, Vivienne, and Cole looked troubled as well. But others in the group—Varric, Sera, Iron Bull, and Dorian—were unperturbed.
"I am a necromancer," Dorian said with a shrug. "Compelling spirits into magical service is nothing new to me. Spirits are often so eager to enter the world that they don't mind. And the ones you're talking about chose to possess those corpses anyway."
Max cringed, suppressing his thought that this was awfully like Dorian's prior view of slavery. They needed to prevent the spread of red lyrium, and, as he had said, these were spirits—or demons—that had chosen themselves to possess bodies and then fight.
"You have a point, both of you," he said at last. "I'm sorry, Solas, but I'm afraid I can't muster much sympathy for spirits who took over corpses and then used them to fight the living. But we won't summon any from the Fade."
"Will there be enough to protect the army, in that case?" Dorian asked.
"Oh yes," Dagna said eagerly. "I can divide the flesh. Hearts and brains are the best, but every bit of tissue has a value."
"You're dividing spirits too," Solas said. "Destroying their individual sapience, weakening them into fragments of wisps."
"Demons, I'd say," Varric put in. "I think my people made this same discovery independently of yours, Dagna. The leaders of the Kirkwall army were using the hearts of arcane horrors to protect against red lyrium in the Battles of Dairsmuid and Tantervale."
"Those are also pieces of spirits, or demons if you insist. I dislike this."
"I'm not overly fond of it either," Max conceded, "but if it's a choice between living people and demons that possessed bodies to attack the living, I choose us. Dagna, as Inquisitor I commission you to make these runes."
The Emprise du Lion.
The Orlesian contingent included the commander of the Imperial Army, a chevalier named Ducet, who—for this one mission—had been given authority over both Celene and Gaspard's legions, a clear message to Ferelden. As the force, four thousand strong in total, marched on the Emprise, the commanders tried to assume a facade of easy camaraderie and unity in a humanitarian mission. It was so transparently fake between the Orlesians and Fereldans that it was almost painful to Max, Cullen, Sebastian, and their companions.
Imagine how the Orlesians must feel, he thought. Ferelden embarrassed them in front of all Thedas by taking some of their borderland and a city of theirs. But if they have any self-awareness, they'll know that not too many decades ago, the roles were reversed. And are the Fereldans aware that the very thing Orlais wanted to do during the Blight—sending armed occupiers under guise of "help"—is what Ferelden tried to do with the Emprise?
They're all aware, he realized, stealing a glimpse at the commanders' faces. They all know what utter hypocrites they are being. They just don't care, because securing their national interests comes first.
He felt uncomfortable, recalling his thoughts and resolution about the Inquisition once more. But he could not dwell on that. He had a task and he needed to lead, as a figurehead if nothing else.
The Orlesian forces were armed with belts full of firebombs. Oxen pulled several heavy wagons filled with vats of oil, which would be spread over the land and archers would set alight with fire-tipped arrows. It was the expected set of weaponry for this task, carried openly. In contrast, whatever the Fereldans had brought, they were keeping a lot of it secret. They also had firebomb corps, but their heavy wagons—of which they had many more than the Orlesians—were topped with steel plating that concealed whatever was beneath. Varric frowned in contemplation at this sight, but said nothing.
They would march generally north to south across the Emprise—which had already been evacuated of people and untainted animals, to the extent possible for the latter—and burn it, ending at Suledin Keep. From there they would work back northward, seeding the burned land with poison—which the Fereldans said was "most" of what they were carrying in their wagons.
"What poison is it?" Ser Ducet asked Teyrna Cauthrien, the Fereldan commander, rather sharply. "Since this is our land, we have a right to know."
The warrior teyrna gave him a cool, contemptuous, smug smile. "We call it orange vitriol oil. Highly concentrated—as ours is—it kills red lyrium on contact and shrivels it to crumbs. It burns any tissue it touches, in fact."
Varric was frowning heavily by now. He was ready to do his part with fire arrows, but it was clear to Max that something else was on his mind.
Max, Dorian, Vivienne, Solas, and a couple dozen mages who had joined the Inquisition—though none of them were from the Free Mages of Thedas—supplemented the force as they began to set the land ablaze. Smoke began to fill the air as they slowly marched forward.
The mages quickly found that the soldiers preferred to hold their firebombs and fire arrows in reserve, since magic was a renewable weapon. But when they approached large red lyrium deposits, the commanders ordered the soldiers to annihilate whatever remained. If a red lyrium deposit was still identifiable as such after magefire, then it likely had burrowed deep.
During a lull, as the army—parched and dehydrated—took a much-needed break for water, Varric voiced his concerns to Max and his friends.
"If the Fereldans' poison is what I think it is, there's a damn good reason they're keeping those wagons covered," he said in a very low voice.
"What do you think it is?" Max asked.
He hesitated for a moment. "I'd really rather not say."
"What do you mean?"
Varric considered further. "If my guess is right, there's a reason Cauthrien didn't identify it by a recognizable name to the Orlesians. And for them to have produced this much of it... They did some serious mining, and I do not think it was just to make this poison. But if I'm right, we'll see at Suledin Keep."
Max was extremely intrigued now, but he supposed he would find out what Varric meant when they reached the castle.
Suledin Keep.
"You have been profligate," Commander Ducet snarled at Teyrna Cauthrien. "Your soldiers have no firebombs or arrows left, yet here we are at the keep!"
Cauthrien smiled enigmatically again. "We planned this. I promise you, we have what we need. I strongly recommend that you and your soldiers stay well away from the keep. You too, Your Highness, Inquisitor."
The Orlesian almost drew his blade on her. "You mean to trick us! You want us to depart so that you can steal this fortress right under our noses!"
Cauthrien gave him a withering look. "We're not going to take it. This is for your own safety. We're friends for this mission, are we not?" she mocked. "And I would rather not endanger Starkhaven or Inquisition forces."
Cullen frowned. "Teyrna Cauthrien—"
"We're not taking the castle," she snapped. "We're destroying it, as we agreed to. It is unsafe for you to be too close."
"Holy mother of Andraste," Varric swore under his breath, "they did it."
Max watched, transfixed, as something suddenly occurred to Cullen as well, and Sebastian, and shock spread over their faces. They quickly gave the orders, and their forces backed away as several Fereldan wagons rolled inside the keep.
"What is going on?" he asked Varric urgently. "What do they have?"
"You'll see."
The idea must have struck Dorian too, for he drew his breath as well.
In about half an hour, the Fereldans emerged, hurrying back to the front lines packed in the now-empty wagons, the drivers lashing at the beasts of burden ferociously to speed their progress. Their faces were frantic, as if they were racing time. Cauthrien looked inexpressibly smug.
But they made it out. They leaped out of the wagons and crouched down.
A minute later, the castle exploded, a blazing fireball hot enough to kill anything alive within. Rock bits flew through the air and crashed to the ground.
Max understood at last. Ferelden had Kirkwall's explosive now. It had to. That explained Varric's wariness and awe.
Ser Ducet stared at the ruin of Suledin Keep, now a blazing crater of dust and rubble, his mouth agape with dismay and fear. Sebastian and Cullen, both veterans of the Mage-Templar War, were grimly unsurprised. So was Dorian.
Ferelden had not needed to take any land here. It had made its point.
The march back to the Inquisition installation was nearly silent. The Fereldans opened their remaining wagons, those that held their poison, and deposited it wherever they saw suggestions that there might be red lyrium under the surface—sprinkling lightly or pouring liberally, as needed. The chemical desiccated or dissolved every organic material it touched. The fire-parched soil soaked it up, and Max imagined fungi and spores—and, hopefully, red lyrium fragments—shriveling on contact. But he knew that it would also acidify the groundwater and kill this land for several years to come.
"'Orange vitriol oil,'" Varric muttered in an undertone to Max and Dorian. "That's what they're going to call it? Good luck to them keeping the secret."
"The ingredients of the poison are also ingredients of the explosive?" Max guessed. Dorian appeared interested as well.
Varric gave them a hard stare. "One ingredient, and the chemical is pretty well-known by another name."
"Its effects make it very obvious it's drak—" Dorian began.
"Nope. If you don't say it, I won't have to confirm it," Varric said.
"Drakestone acid," Dorian whispered to Max.
"I realize that the Inquisition isn't on the best of terms with my friends Hawke and Blondie right now," Varric warned, pretending not to hear Dorian, "but I do not want this information used against them."
"I'm on your side in that," Max said. "I want a strong Free Marches too."
"I know." He sighed. "Anyway, Ferelden figured it out independently."
"You don't think Hawke gave it to them?"
"No. She doesn't share military secrets in the first place, but also, the blast wasn't nearly as big as what Kirkwall could do, so I don't think the Fereldans have the optimal formula. Yet," he added darkly. "It's a matter of time."
"It always is," Dorian said. "Someday everyone will have this."
Halamshiral.
After the shocking demonstration in the Emprise, the Orlesians demanded a private audience with Inquisition leaders. Leliana and Josephine were their contacts rather than Max, and a part of Leliana hated to keep him from participating in this meeting—or even knowing about it—but sadly, she felt it was necessary. He probably would not like what anyone had to say.
She, Josie, Vivienne, and Cullen—the latter reluctantly—agreed to meet with a delegation of Orlesian nobles in nearby Halamshiral. Lord Esmeral Abernache, the one who had wanted to lead the effort against Therinfal Redoubt and had been rebuffed in favor of Prince Sebastian, was the representative. He had also been the Inquisition's contact to arrange the joint effort between Celene's and Gaspard's forces. He had a summer chalet in Halamshiral, where he was joined by the chevalier Jean-Gaspard de Lydes and Lady Eustace Richelieu, a minor but ambitious noble from Val Royeaux.
"I am surprised that the Inquisitor himself is not present," Abernache began when they were all seated.
"Inquisitor Trevelyan is an idealist," Leliana said diplomatically. "He proposed the alliance—in good faith—in the hopes that it would let the Emprise be purged while also dissuading Ferelden from its territorial ambitions. He prefers 'clean' solutions like we hoped this would be."
"Ah," Abernache said in superior disdain. "I see. Well, I do not suppose I need to explain why we are gathered here. Both the Empress and Grand Duke Gaspard have been concerned, between Ferelden's land seizure and Duke Prosper de Montfort's recent speech. When they learn of this blast, they will be even more alarmed. The Fereldans acquired the formula from Kirkwall, no?"
"I do not think so, actually," Leliana said. "The reports from Kirkwall spoke of far larger and louder blasts than this, meaning that Ferelden does not have Kirkwall's exact formula. And all intelligence is that Viscountess Hawke does not share military secrets even within her Vimmark-Minanter Treaty Organization, let alone a country outside the Free Marches... ally or no."
"If so, Ferelden discovered it independently," Abernache said in displeasure.
"But it means Ferelden does not have Kirkwall's other weapons," Leliana said. "Otherwise we would have seen them launch rockets at Suledin Keep."
Abernache nodded. "I concur. But while that is well, it is also beside the point—the point being the threat to Orlais that Ferelden poses."
"Lord Abernache," Leliana said, "I assure you that the Inquisition supports strengthening Orlais. As I said, this alliance was the Inquisitor's idea to prevent Ferelden from gaining more Orlesian land. We had no idea they had this weapon, or obviously we would not have suggested this."
"Nonetheless, this is further humiliation for Orlais," Abernache declared, as his co-conspirators nodded behind jeweled masks.
"Since we believe that Ferelden developed the explosive independently of Kirkwall," Josephine said thoughtfully, "Viscountess Hawke might be alarmed when she learns of yesterday's events, particularly in light of Ferelden's territorial aggression. She... does seem to have some sort of alliance with Duke Prosper. Might..." She hesitated. "Might it be possible to broker an alliance between Orlais and the Free Marches? Could Duke Prosper be persuaded to act in the best interests of Orlais if he were to..."
"Assume the throne?" Ser Jean-Gaspard de Lydes asked roughly. "I think not. The man supported the Empress throughout our war. If he meant to make a play for the throne himself, he should have built up a support base in Orlais for that. He did not. Prosper de Montfort wants to kiss Marcher boots in the hope that the Kirkwall priest will gain the Sunburst Throne and then she and Hawke will menace Orlais into crowning him. It is an insult to Orlesians, and we will not tolerate it. If he likes Marchers so much, let him become one."
Josephine backed down. "I understand, ser."
Leliana gazed at the nobles. "What do you have in mind? You must have requested this meeting for some reason other than to express your displeasure."
"We did," Abernache confirmed. His gaze grew very conniving. "Sister Leliana, are you aware of the situation in the Emerald Graves?"
"With the so-called Freemen of the Dales?"
"Indeed. They are preying on peasants and villagers. Ordinarily that would be little cause for concern, but with Orlais being humiliated so often, every instance of civil unrest, every breakdown of law and order, is alarming."
It is about time, Leliana thought. To him she replied, "I suppose you are implying that you would like the Inquisition to deal with them."
Abernache, Lady Richelieu, and Ser Jean-Gaspard smirked at each other before Abernache explained just what he had in mind.
When he was finished, Leliana drew back, stunned and trying to keep a straight face.
And I thought I had done some slimy things in service to Marjolaine and, later, unfortunately Justinia as well. This...
The plan Abernache had suggested almost took her breath away. Cullen looked disgusted, and even Josephine and Vivienne were troubled.
Finally Josephine spoke. "I suppose it is better than all-out war between Ferelden and Orlais," she managed.
"We speak as representatives of the Empress and Grand Duke Gaspard," Abernache said. "So, needless to say, this was something they had agreed upon before the... event... in the Emprise yesterday. The situation was already that dire by their reckoning."
"At least Her Majesty and His Grace found a point of agreement," Lady Richelieu said simperingly. "That counts for something."
"It is still a mission that must be handled very carefully," Vivienne said gingerly. "But... yes, it is good that they agree. And this plan, if it works as you hope, would strengthen Orlais' image."
"And after their demonstration yesterday, it seems that Ferelden might still be emboldened to go after more territory otherwise," Josephine mused. "Corypheus could exploit the rebellion that would inevitably arise if Ferelden tried to take more Orlesian cities or clear-cut ancestral Orlesian land. No offense," she said to the nobles, "but the Frostbacks and Dales are not."
"Precisely," Abernache said. "This is a good plan, we think. We hope you will agree."
Leliana could see the argument—truly, she could—but her heart ached. This will hurt Elissa deeply, she thought with a pang. This will feel like a personal betrayal to her, because even if these Orlesian nobles do the part that will be worst in her eyes, she will know I gave my assent to it.
But what does that matter? she suddenly thought with a surge of anger. She has not written to me, and Warden Carver says she won't. I understand the security concern even if it turns out not to be a real risk. I understand her position. But what would it have hurt to have been there for me when Justinia was murdered? How would it have helped Corypheus to know that I was grieving? She has turned her back on me. She can be cold and dutiful; this I know, but this is too far. She has put the mission ahead of our love and our family. Why should I not put the Inquisition's needs ahead of her country?
"Orlais does need to do something to save face," she finally said to the nobles. "And this would let it do so without starting a war with Ferelden."
"So Her Majesty and His Grace can count on the Inquisition?" Lady Richelieu asked.
Leliana breathed deeply to still her protesting heart. "Yes."
Skyhold, later.
"Inquisitor, you need to hear this. This is bad."
Max was trying to break up a spat between Dorian and Mother Giselle in the Skyhold library when Varric—accompanied by Sera—interrupted him. Despite Varric's dire introduction, Dorian looked relieved. He had been on the verge of biting the priest's head off—Max had already overheard him snapping that she was "clucking at him like a hen"—but he also did not want to tell Max about the problem. Max realized this likely indicated that it was something that made Dorian uncomfortable, perhaps something to do with the father that he hadn't wanted to talk about. He filed it away in his mind to ask about later, as he and Dorian turned to their friends.
"Bad news? Thank the Maker," Dorian said with heavy irony. He turned to the priest. "Good day to you. And do not bother me with that again."
Max wished he would open up about the issue, but that was not going to happen right now—and it seemed, from the expression on Varric's face, that the news really was bad. The four of them tramped downstairs. "We'll let Rainier in on it later," Max said as they ushered into Solas's quarters. Solas looked up from painting a mural on the wall, unsurprised at being included.
"All right," Varric said. He took a deep breath. "It seems that Ferelden's stunt got Orlesian attention. A group of nobles, including that one who wanted to attack Therinfal Redoubt, have started a rumor that these bandits in the Dales—you know about them, right?" he interrupted himself.
"The Freemen of the Dales? It's come up in meetings," Max said. "A gang of Orlesian army deserters who have turned to banditry and rape. Nothing like the other big group with 'Free' in its name."
Varric chuckled, one corner of his mouth edging upward in approval. "I like you, Inky."
"Inky?" Dorian repeated dubiously under his breath.
"Anyway," Varric continued, "these nobles have started the rumor that the 'Freemen' are Fereldan agents."
Max frowned. That rang a bell, though he could not recall the details.
Sera took up the account. "So the little people sign up with Ferelden because their houses are getting burned down, soldiers attacking them, bandits and so on? And the stuffies in Orlais don't care, but the ones in Ferelden at least pretend to care, so the little people join them, right?"
Max managed to follow this. He nodded.
"Abernache and his associates are spreading the rumor—apparently with the full agreement of Celene and Gaspard—that Ferelden is paying the Freemen to foment chaos, commit crimes, do the very things that have driven so many peasants and elves into Fereldan arms," Varric clarified.
Max's heart sank. "Is there any evidence of it?" he asked.
"Doesn't seem so. But Ferelden can't prove they're not doing it, and the rumor feels plausible to disgruntled Orlesians. It's really quite clever of them."
Suddenly Max remembered why this felt horribly familiar. "You have been found guilty of hiring thugs and bandits to prey on innocents!" the envy demon's image of Leliana had snarled at Alistair and Anora.
A chill shot down his back as he recalled the other things it had shown him. A dark aftermath of Hawke and Anders striking Skyhold with their rockets. That is no longer unthinkable if things continue to escalate. Some people, including a tall Dalish elf, declaring that they would not obey me—and then the envy demon killing her with a red lyrium staff. Shivering, he recalled Dagna and vowed to keep a very close eye on her work. And my closest friends, including Dorian, locked up in a cell. At this, relief filled him. Only the envy demon would have done that, though. I would never. I won't let this happen.
"What's wrong?" Dorian asked, giving him a gentle shake.
Max blinked. "Oh," he said, "sorry—I was preoccupied."
Solas nodded gravely. "I fear that this rumor is spreading with the knowledge and assent of some of our colleagues."
Max shivered. He had told his friends of some of the scenes that the envy demon had shown him, including Empress Celene's assassination, but he had not been able to tell them about the horrible images of darkness and tyranny it depicted. How could he tell Leliana that it had shown him a vision of her sentencing the King and Queen of Ferelden—a friend and a colleague of hers in the Blight—to death? It had seemed laughable then, impossible.
It's still impossible, he told himself firmly. Whatever game they are playing if they're allowing this, it does not end that way. Not on my watch.
"All the more reason to put an end to this banditry and terror," Max finally said. "I think we need to go to the Emerald Graves as soon as we can."
The Emerald Graves.
The Emerald Graves were a place of great beauty and great sadness. Long ago, the elven kingdom of the Dales had existed here, a reward for those who had stood with Andraste. But it had not lasted. Now, the abundant verdure—a stark contrast with the Emprise—covered hills, elven tombs, and weathered statues of the elven trickster god, Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf. And this was human land now. The peasants who had lost their homes to the civil war were mostly human, and the Freemen of the Dales were all human, as the Orlesian army did not admit elves as anything but camp servants.
Max could not help but reflect on the history. The Dales were a beautiful dream, an act of respect for a people who had not had any respect from humans in ages. Now all that is left of that dream are ruins, graves, and weathered statues. Is that what will come of our efforts to build a better world? A misunderstanding, a betrayal, violence, and then ruin?
That thought was too dark for him to face, so he shoved it out of his mind. He was pleased, at least, with the companions who accompanied him. Dorian, Sera, Rainier, and Cole were with him, and it was refreshing to be surrounded by kindred souls while focusing on a humanitarian task.
The refugees had coalesced around a leader, a handsome and surprisingly well-dressed young man called Fairbanks. After the Inquisition had cleared out a band of Freemen holding it, he and the refugees had moved into a compound called Argon's Lodge built of planks and sticks, which concerned Max. But the refugees had no alternative, and in any case, they would have been prey for the Freemen by now if not for Fairbanks.
"Inquisitor," Fairbanks said to him abruptly after Max had finished leading a refugee named Clara into the lodge. "Might we speak privately?"
Max had no objection, so he and the refugee leader headed into an alcove. "There is a rumor," Fairbanks began, "stating that Ferelden has funded these so-called Freemen, for the purpose of driving more refugees to switch loyalty."
Max nodded. "We've heard that too. We don't think it likely."
"Nor do I. I suspect, unfortunately, that the Freemen leaders are in league with the Red Templars and Venatori." He sighed. "War is a terrible thing, and politics sometimes feels even worse. When I quarrel with my cousin, wine is spilled. Perhaps someone loses a tooth. When Celene feuds with hers, a country is torn apart. And who suffers most? Those who can afford it least."
"I agree completely and so do my friends." Max shook Fairbanks's hand. "Thank you for what you are doing for these people."
He milled about the lodge for a bit with his companions, thinking about what he had just heard—before the refugee Clara approached him, a favor clearly on her lips. Max forbore from sighing.
"This Fairbanks is a good man," she said. "And there is a rumor that he is of noble birth."
Max scanned Fairbanks discreetly. Yes, that would explain some anomalies: his fine clothes, his non-Orlesian name...
"If this rumor could be proven," Clara continued, "it would help these poor people so much. The nobles do not care about anyone except their fellow nobles, but Fairbanks is different. If he were one of them, he could advocate for us." She gave him a pleading look. "The only alternative so far has been to take the oath to Ferelden. Ferelden helps the refugees, yes, but it also gains land. Fairbanks has no other motive than to help."
Sera and Rainier were ambivalent about the opportunity. "No," Sera said when they had moved away from Clara, "don't do this. Don't drag that man into that same shite that you hate too."
"Are you sure?" Dorian challenged. "I think the reason politics is so foul is that so few good people want to get involved in it."
"Or it takes good people and makes them bad people."
"Is that what you think of me?" Dorian said. "And our Inquisitor?"
Sera cringed. "No! But you're the exceptions. You're not like them."
"Maybe Fairbanks would be an exception too."
Max sighed. "We have to go to that mansion, Villa Maurel, anyway. That's where the Freemen are headquartered. We'll look around and see what there is to see, and make a decision then."
The Freemen had taken over the abandoned estate, but it was also a haven of Red Templars. Then Max found a Venatori officer, Duhaime—and that told him everything he needed to know. Fairbanks had been correct.
Celene and Gaspard must not have expected that we would find actual evidence against their rumor, he thought after killing the Freemen leadership. It was only after he had left the area where Duhaime had been lurking that he realized its name: Fair Banks Cottage.
Feeling conflicted about what he was doing, but ultimately seeing it from Dorian's point of view, Max combed the estate. It did not take long at all to find exactly what he sought. "Fairbanks" was born Evariste Lemarque, the illegitimate son of a noblewoman named Bernice Lemarque. She had been dispossessed, thrown out of the house, and her lover murdered by her own father. Max and Dorian were both deeply troubled by this story.
My father got rid of me as soon as I showed magic and sent Evelyn to the Chantry as "penance," Max thought. She eloped with a merchant and had a child that my family refused to support after she died in childbirth. Dorian has some sort of bad blood between himself and his father too... but unless Magister Pavus had a lover of Dorian's murdered because of their "scandal," nothing either of our fathers did is as evil as this. They were bad—at least I know for certain mine was, and his probably was too—but not this bad. No wonder Fairbanks wanted no part of this.
Perhaps an ennobled Fairbanks could turn Orlesian noble opinion to care about the poor—or perhaps, and this seemed more likely to Max, his peers would say that they supported the peasants while actually just taking the side that happened to be popular at the moment. Max realized that he could not act without consulting the man himself first. He hated being used as a pawn; he would not do that to another person of like mind.
He had resolved to give the documents to Fairbanks himself when they returned to the lodge, when shouts suddenly broke out. All of them scrambled to the nearest perch on the grounds to get a better look.
A group of frantic peasants were running up the road, kicking up a cloud of dust, their meager possessions in their arms. Behind them, jeers and shouts sounded bloodthirstily, but their source was not yet visible.
"Stragglers!" Rainier shouted, drawing his sword. "The last Freemen! They're chasing refugees!"
Max made an instant decision. "There aren't enough of us to keep the Freemen off the refugees, so we focus on getting the refugees to safety."
The Inquisition had set up camps around the region, and an Inquisition supply wagon was close by. Max rushed over, commandeering it. "People!" he called out to the refugees. "In here!"
It was cramped, but there were no more than about two dozen, and none of them had more than they could carry. Cole perched on a corner of the wagon in a way that no mortal human could. Rainier crammed himself into the front and began to drive it. Sera nocked an arrow, and Max and Dorian readied their staves, each of them finding a place in the very back where they could shoot at the incoming Freemen if need be.
Only to see them fail to materialize. Rainier drove the horses onward as fast as they could safely go, which was notably slower with the crush of people packed into the wagon. But the Freemen still did not appear on the road behind them, though their hoots and insulting cries continued to sound.
The wagon continued its bumpy trek toward Fairbanks's compound. Max waited anxiously for the Freemen to finally catch up. He exchanged a look with Sera and Dorian. They were all baffled too—and suspicious.
Finally figures emerged out of the cloud of dust behind the wagon. People dressed and armored as the Freemen raised spears and swords high in the air as they rushed the wagon on foot... but they were not catching up.
A Freemen archer shot an arrow, which fell well short of the wagon.
What in the Void? Max thought. The others were not this incompetent. Or are they? Are they just chasing us to Fairbanks's compound because they mean to attack it instead, and need us to lead them to it?
That grim thought consumed him until they reached that site. The Freemen continued to pursue them, but they did not approach the wagon itself. Max felt a sick feeling in his gut for the trouble they were bringing to Fairbanks.
The Freemen fell back a bit further as the wagon neared the lodge, vanishing behind the hills once more. Rainier drove the wagon through the gates in a rush, barely clearing them as Fairbanks's people pulled them open.
"We're being pursued!" Max exclaimed. "Freemen are not far behind us."
Fairbanks looked grimly unsurprised. "Then we will fight them."
"The Inquisition stands with you," Max said.
The refugees at the lodge were helping those in the wagon to get out. "None of you are injured!" Clara exclaimed.
"They did not kill anyone," a refugee explained. "They chased us."
Max was thankful that no one had died in this latest attack, but that too was odd. He put the thought out of his mind, though, and readied himself for combat. The cries of the Freemen were again approaching.
And then, the enemy was upon them.
Max and his companions were prepared to stand with Fairbanks and fight, but instead, the smell of smoke began to fill the air. A gray plume rose into the sky just behind the wooden gates. Flames appeared at the top, then quickly spread around the structure.
"They are burning it down!" Fairbanks exclaimed in dismay. "Cowards!"
The fire continued to spread. The wood was so flimsy that it was kindling, and before long, an entire semicircle was aflame. Dorian tried to put it out in sections with frost spells. Max noticed and took up the effort himself, but he was quickly sweating, his mana low, and with no discernible change in the fire.
"We can't let them burn and suffocate," Rainier said of the refugees. "And they will if we don't get them out."
"The Freemen are waiting just outside," Dorian said.
Fairbanks shook his head. "There are other entrances, and I do not hear Freemen at every wall. Let them out a side entrance."
The Freemen continued to yell and hoot, banging on the walls and setting fires around the gates, as Fairbanks and the Inquisition hustled the refugees out a side entrance. "Make for the Inquisition camp," Max told Fairbanks.
But it seemed that the moment the last refugee had gone through the doors, and Fairbanks took up his weapons to defend them, another cry pierced the air.
"Stand down! In the name of the Empire!"
Max thought he recognized the voice, and sure enough, he eased open the flaming, crumbling gates—or what remained of them—to see the chevalier Ser Ducet, Commander of the Imperial Army. There had been no sign of them in the Emerald Graves, but they had arrived just in time to capture the Freemen, who were putting up feeble fights or throwing down their weapons.
A dark feeling nagged at Max throughout the operation. This all feels very staged, he thought. Not the events at Villa Maurel and the fights preceding that, but everything that happened since then.
Ser Ducet and his troops soon took control of the situation, though there was no saving Fairbanks's lodge now. The feather-capped chevalier strode through the crumbling fortress to where Fairbanks himself stood next to Max.
"Ah, and these are the heroes of the hour!" he boomed. "Inquisitor. I shall take that." And without asking, as if he knew what he would find, he pulled the documents out of Max's arms that identified Fairbanks's heritage. He turned to the man himself. "Evariste Lemarque. Your noble deeds befit your noble blood. The Empress knows of you and wishes to see you rewarded."
Fairbanks tried to wrestle away, but the chevaliers had him surrounded. He gave Max a desperate, wretched look as they hustled him off.
Skyhold.
By the time the team returned to Skyhold, word had already arrived there that Celene had revealed Fairbanks's noble heritage to the Orlesian aristocracy, paraded him before her court, and was even talking about arranging a marriage for him—a second one, as he turned out to be a widower. "This man will be rewarded grandly for his work defending innocent Orlesians," Celene had announced, "and the Inquisition deserves credit as well for aiding this great hero of the people." Max felt horribly guilty, even though he knew that he had not personally caused this. This hadn't been what Fairbanks had wanted, and if Max's dark suspicions proved correct, he understood exactly why.
He also learned that his proof that the Freemen were actually being used by the Venatori and Red Templars would not get anywhere. Ser Ducet had found—or, more likely, bards working for the Empress had manufactured—receipts from the Freemen they had captured "proving" that Ferelden was the funder.
Max wondered what Gaspard thought of all this. He hadn't gotten to use Fairbanks himself, despite backing the rumor about Fereldan support of the Freemen. Celene had knifed him in the back.
Max, Dorian, Sera, Rainier, and Cole had not been back more than an hour when a guest appeared at the gates: Teyrna Cauthrien, acting as an ambassador for Ferelden. This could not be good. But she could not be turned away. Max prepared himself for a grim discussion as he gave the orders to admit her.
"My King and Queen—and I—see no point in dissembling," Cauthrien said without introduction. "You know why I am here, and you know what Ferelden can do. Everyone does." She smiled thinly. "Know this: My sovereigns will not tolerate a military organization with foreign alliances residing on Fereldan soil while also committing sedition against the Crown. And that is what this lie is when repeated inside Ferelden. It is an attempt to subvert new Fereldans against their country."
Vivienne cleared her throat. "Pardon me, but is it not the case that Ferelden subverted Orlesians in the Frostbacks and the Dales?"
"The Frostbacks were disputed between Ferelden and Orlais for years. We had every right to settle that dispute. If Orlais asserts that its claim was unchallenged, that is another lie. As for the eastern Dales, the Crown offered the locals protection from the civil war, additional rights to the surviving elven rebels from Halamshiral that Celene so brutally repressed, and safety in their own homes and land. The local residents accepted our offer and swore allegiance to Ferelden. We spread no lies; the truth of their abominable treatment was what made them no longer desire to be Orlesian."
"What of Jader, then? It is not in the Frostbacks or the Dales, and the lord of Jader mysteriously died."
"The lord of Jader was assassinated by local residents who resented him for the military draft, the loss of their sons to a foolish war, the deprivations, and the nonstop flood of war refugees from the Dales into the city with no attempt to provide for them," Cauthrien said coolly.
Vivienne looked as if she wanted to continue that argument, and Max instantly saw the danger. He too had heard the rumor that Queen Anora had had the Orlesian lord of Jader assassinated when he refused to swear to her, and he would not dare say it, but that rumor, he believed. And he also knew that bringing it up explicitly would be disastrous.
"Thank you, Teyrna Cauthrien," Max cut in at once. "As Inquisitor"—he gave Vivienne a pointed look—"I realize you are not here to argue with us about borders. I apologize for my advisors. We are drawn from all over Thedas, since Corypheus threatens us all... and the First Enchanter loves Orlais as you love Ferelden. As for the Freemen, we found proof that they were in league with the Venatori and Red Templars. This information must not have reached the Empress yet." He did not believe that for a minute, but he knew he had to say it to avoid offending Celene when she inevitably heard. It disgusted him to have to coddle the pride of such a person.
Cauthrien scoffed. "All I have to say is this. Ferelden has spies just as you do, and we have reason to deploy them here now. So if you were complicit, I suggest that you reconsider future involvement in such things, because if it happens again, we will know, and you will have to find a new fortress."
"We understand perfectly," Leliana said.
"Good." The warrior teyrna turned, and, her armor clinking with each footstep, she headed for the heavy doors. She halted and turned around. "I do not require accommodations. My horse and guards are waiting and will see me safely to Redcliffe. Arl Teagan is aware of my journey." Smiling thinly, the message—that if she did not make it to Redcliffe, he would know why—perfectly clear, she departed Skyhold.
Max had hoped that his advisors really were not complicit in the rumor and that the final rescue in the Emerald Graves was not as staged as it appeared to be. When they called a meeting with him alone—though they "permitted" him to let Dorian be there too, as if they were in charge, he thought in disgruntlement—his heart sank. He knew then. When he and Dorian shuffled into the room, he noticed the look of concern and sympathy on Dorian's face. The clever Tevinter politician had figured it out too.
Leliana, Josephine, Vivienne, and Cullen all sat at the table. The women bore various expressions ranging from stubborn pride on Vivienne's face to cynical resolve on Leliana's to genuine conflict and shame on Josephine's. Cullen's face bore nothing but shame.
"Inquisitor," Leliana began. "Dorian. I am sure you have guessed why we requested this meeting. It is wrong of us to keep important secrets from you, and—after today's visit—potentially dangerous. On behalf of us all, I apologize for keeping you in the dark."
Max gave them all a sharp look. "I think you had better confess fully."
"Yes. Well. As you have clearly guessed, Cauthrien's accusations about us were true. The four of us did know that the Orlesians were planning to spread that rumor. They told us in private after Emprise."
"I had figured that out, but I hoped I was wrong."
Cullen then spoke up. "There is more... unfortunately. When you were in the Emerald Graves, did anything about that operation seem... strange to you?"
"Yes, it did. It seemed almost stage-managed to prevent fatalities and maintain very convenient timing for who arrived when," Max replied. His heart began thumping. "Please..."
Cullen looked sick. "First—there really were a lot of Freemen, and you did fight them for most of the mission. Your efforts mattered. But the final chase toward Fairbanks's lodge..." He grimaced. "Those were Imperials."
Max was stunned. He was not sure exactly what he had suspected, but it was not that. He gaped at his advisors. "Imperial soldiers?" he sputtered. "Disguised as Freemen?"
Cullen nodded shamefacedly. "Specifically from Celene and Gaspard's trusted personal guard, who already know many of their secrets. They wanted a—stunt—that would make them look good, and they wanted to control it."
Shock was rapidly turning to betrayal for Max, and beside him, Dorian was growing equally outraged. "So—you risked my life and the lives of everyone with me?" he exploded. "I had already guessed that you'd made a dupe of me in front of the Fereldan ambassador, but this—" He broke off, almost too furious to form coherent sentences.
"Your lives were in danger from the real Freemen, not the staged attack," Josephine said, trying to be soothing. "The Imperials had strict orders not to kill Inquisition members."
"The refugees—" Dorian began.
"They were also commanded to focus on chasing the refugees toward Fairbanks's lodge and then burning it rather than killing them. It was meant to make Celene and Gaspard look good—that the army prevented more deaths."
"You couldn't have controlled everything that happened!" Max shouted. "No one can have total control in that type of situation, with live steel, magic, and dozens of genuinely frightened people! If my friends had gone after the soldiers instead of trying to keep the refugees safe, they might have had no choice but to fight back in self-defense."
Leliana then entered the fray. "This is why we made sure that the people going on the mission would be you, Dorian, Sera, Rainier, and Cole—the ones most likely to focus on helping the refugees rather than pursuing the soldiers."
Max gaped at them, enraged. "You used our compassion," he spat. "You used us all in order to help a couple of genuinely terrible people who have all but destroyed their country fighting over a crown. I understand why you think the Inquisition should support strengthening Orlais. And believe it or not, I have no problem with that as a concept. We're seeing the consequences of an Orlais in disarray. But methods like this? You know that I don't approve of this sort of thing, or you would have told me in advance."
"We were wrong to keep the knowledge from you," Leliana said, "and for that I apologize. But the alternative to this was all-out war between Orlais and Ferelden. Celene in particular had to do something to save face, and better a stunt like this than an actual attack on Ferelden like Gaspard would do."
Max glared back at her. "Have you prevented war? This has deeply offended Ferelden, and it seems that you've forgotten that Orlais is not the only nation that can make a first strike. Ferelden can too, and I'd say this has raised the chance that they will. And they have an explosive like Kirkwall's now."
Dorian edged closer to Max in support and faced the advisors with a resolute face that Max caught out of the corner of one eye. It raised his confidence and courage. "I ought to expose this myself," he spat, noting with grim pleasure the look of fear in their eyes as he spoke, relishing the moment of power over them for a change. "Give me one good reason not to."
Leliana glowered back, her voice now as angry as his. "We now have blackmail material over Celene and Gaspard from this," she retorted. "Far more than they could claim over us. Their guards attacked the refugees; our forces defended them—and killed real Freemen too. We need to settle the civil war, and this gives us some power over them. If you want a reason, there it is."
Max and Dorian were silenced. Max felt like a cold stone was dropping down his throat. Dorian stared at the tabletop, his supportive bravado vanished. "That's a good reason," Dorian muttered emptily, eyes wide.
"So," Leliana continued, sapphire eyes fixed on Max, "we have your silence, Inquisitor?"
Max felt dirty even as he spoke. "Yes," he growled. For now, he added.
"We can use this at the proper time," Josephine assured the pair. "Celene and Gaspard planned this out of desperation. They had to know that it would put them in our power. They just deemed that better than being further weakened by Ferelden. The reason is that they know we are friends of Orlais, Inquisitor," she urged. "That is what made it possible for us to acquire damaging information on them."
Max understood, but he hated it. Dorian looked conflicted—fascinated with the Game, but also disgusted by it.
"And with Grand Cleric Iona's assassination, we have another reason to invest power in Orlais," Leliana said. "The clerics who supported her have no candidate now. We cannot make concessions to them, but we can put pressure on them. And that is only possible if we are a power in Orlais."
Max did understand their reasoning, but the very fact that he did only disgusted and disgruntled him further. But at last, the meeting was at an end. He rose from his seat with the others and headed out the doors as quickly as he could, Dorian hurrying to keep up with him.
"Trevelyan!"
Max continued inexorably upward to his chambers, lost in his own mental turmoil. Dorian's use of his surname did not pull him from the fugue. Someone was always calling for him, it seemed—either by one of his two titles or his surname. They could bloody well wait.
"Max!"
That got his attention. He halted on the stairs and turned around. Dorian was gazing at him in concern.
"It upset me too," Dorian continued, "but what do you gain by storming off like this? Why don't we talk about it?"
Max sighed heavily, running one hand over his dark hair. "I have a lot of feelings about this, honestly. It upsets me—it disgusts me—I feel betrayed—but, Maker help me, I get it too. I understand why they did it."
Dorian nodded, relaxing against the stone wall. "Me too. All of that."
"I feel dirty and used, though, still." He suddenly shivered. "And there's something else, another feeling I have, which I'd bet you don't share."
"I could if you told me about it."
Max considered. He wanted to tell someone about the envy demon vision—all of it. Why not Dorian? Really, who would be better?
Cole already knows, he suddenly realized. He was there. Wherever he is at the moment, he will come when he is needed... and I need him now. He should be here for this too.
And then no sooner had he had the thought than the spirit boy appeared.
"You remember," he intoned. "Watching, climbing, finding shadows of what could happen, terror filling you because you know—you see—"
"Yes, thanks, Cole," Max cut him off.
Dorian was watching, mystified. "I gather that this is about something that happened at Therinfal Redoubt?"
"Yes." Max gazed into his eyes. "The envy demon showed me a vision of a dark, cruel Inquisition. There were... specific scenes. And I'm afraid some of them are starting to come to pass."
Dorian's eyes widened. "We could be overheard," he said in a hush.
Max nodded. "My room."
As he unlocked the door, he reflected on the fact that this was how Dorian first entered his chamber—to discuss a terrifying vision of a demon, in the company of another spirit. Dorian raised an approving eyebrow at Max's furnishings: the Free Marches-style four-poster bed and chairs, the hardwood desk, the heavy dark curtains.
But Max could not think for more than a moment about that circumstance. He took a seat in one of the chairs, Dorian in another, and Cole—for some reason—crouched on the rug. Max took a deep breath before sharing the envy demon vision in full.
No one had known it all until now. It felt good to get it off his shoulders at last.
Dorian bore a look of deep concern after that. He furrowed his brow. "You know," he finally said, "you should tell them if you haven't yet. Tell them as a warning of what they could become."
Max gazed back bitterly and hopelessly. "I thought about it, but I'm not sure anymore about some of them. I'm afraid that if I told them, Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne might argue that they 'had' to go right up to that line, while assuring me that they wouldn't cross it—and that all would be well because the vision would keep them wary. I'm afraid I would put ideas into their heads if I told them the details, honestly."
"That's pessimistic," Dorian said, eyebrows raised. "And yet... a part of me cannot argue with you."
"After what they did, what they risked in the Emerald Graves—they did risk me, all of us, whether they accept it or not—I just can't trust them with that vision," Max said. "They knew that they were risking our lives, Fairbanks's life, all those refugees' lives, even the soldiers' lives—and they did it anyway because they thought they had it all under control. If I told them about that vision, why wouldn't they think the same way? They would know what the envy demon depicted, but they would think they had it all under control with that knowledge." He sighed heavily. "Their methods... sometimes have merit. I hate conceding that, but it's true... sometimes. It's just up to us to stop them from going too far, and I don't think we can do that by showing them the worst thing they could become."
Dorian sighed. "I suppose you're right."
Notes: This is obviously AU, but I think the move, slimy though it is, makes sense for Celene and Gaspard in the situation I've set up. I also tried to give the advisors a logical reason for permitting this—"better this than war"—though it is certainly dark.
"Orange vitriol oil," or sulfuric acid (drakestone has to be sulfur, based on Anders' formula, and sulfuric acid was called "oil of vitriol" in ages past). In Kirkwall drakestone is yellow, the color most familiar to us, but what we see in Ferelden and Orlais in DA:I is red-orange. I am assuming it's a sulfur allotrope or a sulfide compound, some of which are this color, south of the Waking Sea.
And just to head this off at the pass—because there is a history of people thinking if I write characters doing something, it means I would endorse that occurring on 21st century earth too—I do not condone environmental or groundwater poisoning. But what else can these characters do, in Thedas 9:41-2, against this threat? There is no reason to believe organic biological pest control would work with red lyrium, which consumes any and all life it encounters.
Thanks once again to Gene Dark for discussions about several topics that come up in this chapter, and for giving me the nerve to let Ferelden make their statement at Suledin Keep. Her fic Veins of Blue Lightning has this occurring under somewhat different circumstances (check it out!), and that gave me the mental push to go for it here too and have the evolution of warfare spread.
Next chapter will be very Dorian/Max-centric!