Notes: Content notice for fairly graphic violence in one section.
Thank you as always for reading! Please buckle your seatbelts and secure all your carry-on luggage, because things are about to get very, very bumpy.
Chapter 16: Taking Sides
Max felt somewhat better after his rendezvous and heart-to-heart talk with Dorian. The sun was on the other side of the sky, descending toward the mountain peaks, when the men finally decided that they should return. Max did not want to deal with the main court of Skyhold just yet, so he decided a refreshing walk around the grounds—checking in on the troops, meeting with people he hadn't seen in a while, breathing the crisp air—would be best.
As Max and Dorian approached the courtyard, they realized that Cullen and Carver were having a conversation. It was too late not to overhear.
"You really ought to write to my cousin," Carver chided. "She was afraid you'd been buried in the rubble at Haven, from what I heard. And she learned of your survival from Inquisition couriers rather than from you!"
Cullen sighed heavily. "Lady Charade is better off without me."
"She doesn't seem to think so. You know, Cullen," he said, pulling a muscular arm around Merrill and drawing her close to his side, "there was a time about ten years ago when I meant to break up with Merrill because I thought I knew what was best for her. Thought she didn't need a human partner who was a Grey Warden. She told me what was what."
"It's not the same," Cullen said uncomfortably. "My duty to the Inquisition isn't what's preventing me from seeing Charade. I have..." His voice dropped. "I have a problem, a habit, with lyrium."
"Well then, I suggest you deal with that," Carver said sharply. "Or are you saying that lyrium has more of a hold over you than she does?"
Cullen looked ashamed of that representation, but his gaze also hardened. "You don't understand," he said. "No one can except someone who has also faced addiction." He scowled and stormed off before Carver could reply.
Max wished he hadn't heard that, and his discomfort was clear to Dorian. The Tevinter cleared his throat, drawing Carver's attention to himself.
Carver realized that his conversation had been overheard, but he was not embarrassed. He released Merrill and gave a shrug. "I stand by it all."
"As you should," Dorian agreed. "In my opinion, he is using this lyrium addiction as an excuse. Do southern Templars really use lyrium so much that they get addicted? For a sopo—a non-mage to use lyrium... I've heard of magisters who have used it in such quantity and for so long that it altered their bodies permanently. It would be lethal to a non-mage if they used it enough to get addicted, I would think, even the conventional kind."
"Well... yes, they do, and from what I've heard, it..." He grimaced. "It is lethal to them after a few decades of use, and causes madness first."
Dorian's eyes were wide. "Maker's breath. We knew what the Red ones were doing, of course—just south of us—and we'd heard stories of the conventional Templars' abilities too, but no one wanted to believe that non-mages could have that kind of power over mages. They preferred to think it was brainwashing that kept you southerners in Circles for so long."
"It was not just that. So Cullen could have a real problem."
"He does," Carver confirmed.
After that, Max resolved to talk with Cullen. He did not want to approach the subject as a matchmaker, patching up whatever relationship Cullen had had, or casting judgment on him for a personal weakness. But if Cullen was truly addicted, that could affect his ability to perform his duties. Max decided to address it from that perspective.
Cullen had already holed up in his office, and he had a blue-glowing lyrium kit out, which he was glaring at hatefully as Max entered.
"Inquisitor," Cullen said. "I suppose you overheard that discussion in the courtyard, or talked with Warden Carver, and that's why you are here."
Max nodded, seeing no point in dissembling. "Please understand that I don't mean to meddle in your private business. It's difficult and challenging for us all, and there's a reason that a Chantry organization has permitted—no, welcomed—the presence of the Herald's Rest tavern here."
Cullen chuckled bleakly.
"But if it's enough of a problem that it could affect your ability to command the troops or be a military advisor..." Max trailed off. "And out there, it sounded as if you yourself might want to do something about it."
"I do," Cullen said with a long, rattling sigh. "But I don't know that I can, nor for that matter that I should."
There were two problems to tackle, then, Max decided. "When you say you're not sure you can... you have tried before? To break the addiction?"
"In Kirkwall, when I was on Viscountess Hawke's war council. She..." He sighed again. "She was very strict and punitive about addiction and abuse. Like it was a 'war on lyrium addiction' for her. She threatened to expose me and kick me off her council if my addiction became a problem that reflected badly on her. Of course, she was facing political problems with the Coterie—that's the human criminal syndicate, or was, before she reduced it to being just a street gang. The leader was trying to overthrow her, and there was a long-term lyrium shortage for mages and Templars due to the war and the difficulties Divine Justinia faced with her own inner circle. The Divine had to have it shipped to Kirkwall secretly, since it was going to mages who were officially in rebellion. So the Coterie filled the need with black-market lyrium."
"And you purchased from the Coterie?" Max guessed.
Cullen nodded shamefacedly. "And overdosed. They must not have been careful of the concentration level of what they were selling. I was found in my room, dead asleep, a filthy mess. It wasn't my proudest moment, and Hawke became enraged when she learned where I had bought the lyrium. I'm not blaming her, mind you. I can't blame anyone but myself for my addiction."
"You could blame the Templar Order for giving it to you."
"Most Templars handle it better at my age than I am. They decline when they are older, but I'm barely thirty. This is me, Inquisitor. But I was living with other Templars in a mansion in Kirkwall after the mages turned the Circle building into apartments and gathering-places for themselves, and being around those who could use it safely didn't help. I had to quit the Viscountess's council of my own accord at last."
"You are around Templars here too, but you do have your own quarters. Do you think that you could do better this time if you tried to break the habit?"
"I don't know. Having my own space would help, I think, but as I said... I don't know if I should."
"Why shouldn't you?"
Cullen gazed wearily at him. "Because of the war. Templars need lyrium to perform their duties. If they keep taking it, then someday—if they don't fall in combat or die of another illness—they will succumb to it. How can I ask my troops to make that sacrifice when I don't make it myself? What right do I have to set myself above them, to demand that they suffer this fate if I don't? I am not better than them, Inquisitor. If my life has taught me one thing, it's that."
Max considered Cullen's words thoughtfully. He actually made a decent point, and one that appealed to Max's own sense of morality and duty. The high-handed way that he had attempted to deal with Gregory Dedrick weighed on his conscience still, as did his dealings in the Orlesian nobility. When I forget that I'm fallible too, when I act like I am better than others, that is when I make these mistakes, he thought.
But a major power differential did create distinctions. It shames me to admit this, but it does not really matter much for the fight against Corypheus if a soldier or ten are killed in battle. But it would matter if I were killed. And there is absolutely nothing I can do to change that. It just is. It's the nature of power and authority.
Balancing the inherent separation from their subjects and subordinates with a healthy level of humility was a difficult question for all leaders. It did matter that Cullen was addicted to a mind-altering substance since he had been in a position of authority and influence on Hawke's War Council, and it mattered for the Inquisition too. If Cullen had been a mere ranker, it wouldn't have mattered as much, and that was the ugly but plain truth.
"This is a hard question," Max finally acknowledged. "You have a decent point, and it's commendable that you want to be just like your troops, taking the same risks they do." He gave his military advisor a sad look. "But you know it's not wise, Cullen. Even on the battlefield, you know you are less expendable than a Templar selected at random from the ranks."
Cullen bristled. "That's harsh, Inquisitor."
"But you know it's true. You sit on the Council directing troop movements, knowing full well that some people may die in your maneuvers. A general is a chess player... and so is an Inquisitor. We're the chess players, and we're also the king on the chessboard, the piece who can't be sacrificed."
"You are the piece who can't be sacrificed. I am..." He broke off.
"A castle rather than a pawn? I won't call you a queen if you don't want."
Cullen actually laughed. "There are several queens in this organization, I think. Leliana, for one." He gave Max a wry look. "Or Dorian? Would he be offended if I called him that?"
Max smothered his laugh. "I... actually don't think he would at all."
Cullen's smirk faded. "I take your point, anyway. I'm not a pawn. But..." He leaned in. "Pawns can still checkmate the other side's king if they are arrayed right. So they are not powerless throwaway pieces."
"Well, neither are real-life 'pawns.' We have to keep our forces with us."
"Exactly," Cullen said pointedly. "And setting ourselves above them doesn't seem conducive to that."
"But supposing a typical game of chess rather than the rather unusual circumstance of pawns checkmating the king on their own—in the general, expected case, a pawn is more dispensable than a castle."
Cullen sighed, rubbing his forehead. "That's true too."
"Cullen, don't take this the wrong way... but, given that you weren't able to break your addiction in Kirkwall, could it be that you have given up on the prospect and you want to feel better about it? And that's why you speak of facing the same risks your troops do?"
Cullen was startled, but after a moment, he hung his head. "I think there's something in that, yes."
Feeling encouraged by the admission, Max leaned in. "If you want to make a go of it, you would have support here. And you don't need to beat yourself up about creating a distinction between yourself and them over this. Chess wasn't a perfect analogy, but leaders just aren't subject to the same level of risk as subordinates. I'm struggling with the ugly reality of that too. I get it."
Cullen was silent for a bit before finally responding. "You're right, of course. It is not mission-critical for me personally to use lyrium. I do more military strategizing than fighting in the field, and lyrium use in a non-mage is a liability for thinking clearly. It makes Templars very good at following orders, not necessarily at thinking rationally." He chuckled darkly. "But I still can't just set aside the future of the others. Suppose we win. We get rid of Corypheus and try to finish what Divine Justinia meant to do at the Conclave. What about them then? If I do break the addiction, I have to help them."
"You can," Max said encouragingly. "You absolutely can—then. When the war is over. We'll offer assistance to any Templar who wants to quit lyrium."
"But what will they be then?" Cullen asked. "That was something Divine Justinia meant to address. I came to Val Royeaux before the Mage-Templar War ended—she summoned me there after the big Circle revolt of Bloomingtide 9:40—and there was some talk, but nothing was settled."
"What was the talk about?"
"Justinia had wanted my expertise as someone who had been on site in Kirkwall. The Templars there—those who had not sided with the late Knight-Commander Meredith and gotten killed for it in her defiance—had split into two factions, those who aligned with the Grand Cleric in hunting down schismatics, and those who wanted to stick closer to their original duties. I was in the latter group. Hawke had us hunting Tevinter slaver mages, blood mages that were too powerful or dangerous for the City Guard or Free Mages to handle... that sort of thing. Justinia was interested in hearing about that. It seemed like a hopeful possibility for the future of the Templars."
Max nodded, seeing it.
"And I was going to advocate for it. It was working. The number of blood mage criminals and slavers running rampant in Kirkwall was finally decreasing now that the Templars were tasked strictly with apprehending them rather than menacing any mage who wasn't in a Circle and driving them to turn to demons for protection. I see it now; when we pursued mages who did not want to be threats to the community, we made it easier for the ones who did to stay at large. We were actually making the streets more dangerous by going after average apostates, driving them to demons, rather than pursuing real criminals."
"Well," Max said, "with the Free Mages' victory, there wouldn't be any more 'pursuing average apostates' anyway. There are no apostates now. So if the Templars were to survive in any form, you'd have to restrict yourselves to fighting actual criminals that other forces cannot take on safely."
"Exactly. We had to adapt, and in Kirkwall, we had begun to see what that could look like." His gaze hardened. "And there were things that I saw in Kirkwall, in the Circle there, before it was reformed and then disbanded... There are Templars who bring shame and disgrace to the Order. The Templars have selected for three kinds of people: 'extra' noble children who are pushed into it whether they want it or not, highly orthodox religious fanatics, and thugs who want to be cruel with the full imprimatur of the law." He scowled. "Frankly, the reforms should not favor any of those. Certainly not the last. That trait should be disqualifying. The Templar Order should be a lot fewer in number and a lot more exclusive and selective, and recruitment should be focused on character and reasonableness."
"I like these ideas," Max agreed.
"But," Cullen said pointedly, "if they are still apprehending mages—even if that only means mages who use magic to commit crimes—they will need to use lyrium. Even after the war ends."
Max could not argue with that. If the new Templars were to be a highly selective force of good character that apprehended powerful mage criminals, they might even need to take more lyrium to be able to handle such targets.
"Fixed terms of service," he decided. "No more wearing Templars down until they have to be thrown away like a blade made brittle from honing. Mandatory retirement after some years, before the damage is irreparable, and a retirement transition that helps them withdraw gradually and safely."
Cullen considered it. "There'll have to be something like that. It's just too cruel otherwise. And then there are the cases like me, who need to be 'retired' from lyrium use before that fixed term. They would need to have people watching out for that too."
"And who better to set the example than one who suffered with it and defeated the addiction?" Max suggested. "You want to make a sacrifice by being like your troops. This turns on its head what the sacrifice has to be. You're sacrificing years of active service because of your personal difficulty with lyrium." Hope was dawning on Cullen's face as Max spoke. "If there are fixed terms in the future and assistance with withdrawal for retired Templars, those who have to be forcibly retired early will feel shame and inadequacy about it, not relief. You will be standing with them and reassuring them that it can happen to the best of them."
Cullen closed the lyrium kit, darkening its creepy glow. He rose from his seat looking hopeful and extended his hand for Max to shake. "That," he said in pleased tones, "is a reason to quit. Thank you."
Max met up with Dorian again after that, feeling glad that—for a change—his advice was going to benefit someone. It was ironic that he was planning the future of the Templars instead of the Free Mages, but someone would have to. And he was—hopefully—helping Cullen.
The two decided to have late-afternoon drinks in the Herald's Rest. Max was now used to the cheers and solicitations whenever he entered the bar, and he had steeled himself for more of that—but instead, he and Dorian found themselves facing Iron Bull, Sera, and Rainier almost as soon as they entered.
He raised his eyebrows. "What's up?"
"We have a special guest who wants to see you privately," Rainier said.
Who? Max wondered. "I presume this special guest has revealed their identity to you and you know they're trustworthy," he said.
"We'd really rather not say who it is here, where others might hear, but yes. Quite trustworthy."
"All right," Max said, mystified, as he exchanged a querying glance with Dorian. Who could it be? Someone from the Hero of Ferelden's or Viscountess Hawke's inner circle? Or one of those women themselves? It seemed unlikely, but he just couldn't imagine who would require such secrecy.
But he would not have to wait long. The trio ushered Max and Dorian upstairs to a private, quiet room and pushed the door open. A hooded and cloaked figure sat in a chair, the hood concealing the face, but the person's build seemed to be that of a man. Max's curiosity heightened.
The person turned around and lowered the hood, revealing a handsome face. Max needed a moment to recall, but then it hit him.
"Fairbanks?" he exclaimed.
The former refugee leader of the Dales rolled his eyes. "Lord Evariste Lemarque," he said derisively, "by the decree of Their Imperial Majesties."
Max's heart went out to him. "Ah. That's why all this subterfuge."
"Yes. I am not even supposed to be here. But I have been granted the holdings of the Lemarque family in the Emerald Graves, and I have every intention of using them. Just perhaps not for the cause that Celene and Gaspard would like me to."
Max suddenly realized what this was about. He gasped, eyes wide.
Fairbanks lowered his voice. "But as a lord of the Dales, I do not answer directly to the Imperial Crown." A grim smile spread across his face. "I answer to the Marquise of the Dales, and she recently approached me with a suggestion that I found myself liking very much indeed."
"You're—you are going to—" Max was afraid to even say it.
"Yes. I will be supporting Briala secretly as she gathers support for an independent Dales. Then openly after she is confident enough to declare independence and defend this claim. I acquired a lot of support from the human residents. Briala has elven support locked up, but most of the humans prefer to serve another human."
"But don't they realize that Briala is your liege? They're still serving and fighting under an elven marquise, even if you are between her and them."
"They know, but they still find it more palatable to serve directly under me. They just prefer to offer their personal oaths and armed support to a human even if that human is loyal to an elf."
"You don't think they will turn on you eventually?"
"No. I think they will soften with time and become accustomed to Briala as their Marquise. Particularly when she declares her rebellion. They think it is strange to have an elven marquise, but they do not hate her. They are afraid, however, that Celene and Gaspard will crack down harshly on the Dales now that the War of the Lions is resolved. And they still deeply resent and hate them for the atrocities of that war. The independence movement in the Dales just needs unity among the races, and people to lead. Briala and I will step into the role. And, if I may say so," he added with a wry smile, "we take great pleasure in using the power that Celene gave us to undermine and defy her."
"Makes sense to me," Sera said.
"Yes," Dorian agreed, smiling. "I would enjoy that too."
Max's mind was elsewhere. "Are you and Briala—how to put this—?"
Fairbanks realized what he was unable to ask. "Oh, no—Maker, no. We are simply political allies, and that is what we will remain. Briala prefers elven women and I am obviously neither. I will likely have to remarry, and... I just hope that I can find a wife whose alliance furthers the cause of independence and with whom I can share mutual love and affection." He sighed. "But if a lady and I have to make a sacrifice, at least it will be for a great cause."
Max gave him an encouraging look. "Don't give up on love. You will have whatever support the Inquisition can give you privately as you plan the rebellion." He added, feeling a guilty conscience if he kept this to himself, "But I should tell you, the Inquisition itself is divided."
"I had gathered that," Fairbanks said wryly. "But your support will be appreciated nonetheless, and events are in motion in the Dales that even the most diehard Orlesian Imperial partisans cannot stop now."
Max was wary and alert when he went back inside the castle to deal, inevitably, with the council of advisors. He regretted the fact that he could not trust some of his own inner circle with Fairbanks's presence and plans, but he knew he definitely could not trust Vivienne, probably not Josephine or Leliana, possibly not Cassandra either—who, despite her dislike for Orlais, would probably see Fairbanks's plans as treason against the Empress who gave him his title—and he was not at all sure what Solas would think of Briala's alliance with a human lord. It made him sad, but the goal was too important.
He did worry a little about Iron Bull's awareness of the plan. However much Max and his friends disliked Orlais, it was quite possible that the Qunari would see a splintered empire as fertile ground for conquest. Max was not completely sure of Bull's loyalties. There were times when he was convinced that, if put to the test, Bull would side with his friends in the Inquisition and his mercenary company the Chargers rather than the Qunari. But he was not certain of it all the time.
On the other hand, Bull was very intelligent, and if he hadn't been brought into the secret, he likely would suss it out anyway. And in that situation, he definitely would be more likely to betray information to the Qunari, since he would have known that the Inquisitor had meant to keep the secret from him. Max hoped that Bull's case would become a case of a spy turning his cloak.
However, before he could worry too much about that, he had to perform a bit of secret-keeping and intelligence work himself, and deal with the war council while not tipping them off about what had just transpired. He actually hoped that they would discuss Teyrn Cousland's letter. It would be awkward, but it would keep attention off unknown visitors in the Herald's Rest or any looks on the faces of Max and his friends that might give away that they were hiding something.
Fortunately, however, something entirely different was on the agenda.
"We have a guest who will give a report about Wycome in a bit," Leliana said, "but first, we have to discuss the information that Warden Sidona Andras has provided."
Max noted that she and the other four Grey Wardens were present, but that Leliana was not apparently inclined to let her give the account. Perhaps she was worried that Andras would offend someone with vulgarity and colorful but unnecessary insults. It was entirely possible.
"The Wardens of Orlais are at Adamant Fortress, which is where the Free Mages who joined the final revolt of 23 Bloomingtide 9:40 went until Fiona led them to Kirkwall. It is also where Divine Justinia set up research into reversing the Rite of Tranquility. Unfortunately this research weakened the Fade in the vicinity, so we think the Wardens have selected Adamant for this reason."
Max released an audible groan. "Especially if there is a Venatori magister involved. He'd know it."
Leliana nodded. "My agents have investigated the matter. The magister is named Livius Erimond. They think he is working for Corypheus of his own free will rather than being suborned or blood-thralled."
"What are the Wardens doing?" Max asked. "What's this plan to 'stop the Sixth and Seventh Blights before they happen'?"
"We think it must mean storming the Deep Roads by force, or—more likely—enthralling others to do it. As concerning as this is, a plot that certainly must be stopped, of almost equal concern is the mystery of the false Calling. No one knows exactly how Corypheus has managed to do it."
"He has made alliances with demons and spirits before," Dorian ventured. "Perhaps a fear demon that's manipulating their terror of the Calling?"
Carver Hawke then spoke up reluctantly. "They've already considered that at Amaranthine. Well, Vigil's Keep, to be technical, but anyway. Avernus made a potion to enhance courage. It had no effect. If Corypheus is using a demon, we think it's either not a fear demon or one that is far too strong."
"And it's worth noting," Tabris said, "that when we went to the Vimmark Fortress in 9:33 to pursue Corypheus, he was able to use the Taint to control Wardens. Hawke had to kill him because she wasn't a Warden."
"Hawke obviously did not kill him," Vivienne said.
Carver shook his head. "She did," he insisted. "She slew his body. He was dead, physically. He was able to survive because his soul jumped into the Tainted body of that old Warden, Larius."
Max sighed; he thought he had heard that, but had pushed it aside, its implications were so grim. "And that's another problem. Can he be killed?"
The Grey Wardens exchanged grim looks. "The Wardens have dealt with... this type of problem before," Tabris ventured.
"Oh, to the Void with it," Carver said. He stared out at the Inquisition. "This is a Warden secret, but that's how Grey Wardens kill Archdemons. They draw the essence of the Archdemon into their own bodies through the Taint. Both collide. Neither survives. End of Blight."
Max felt a darkness come over his sight. That's it, then. He tried to muster his courage. "If I have to sacrifice myself to end Corypheus for good, I will." Beside him, Dorian took his hand under the table.
The advisors exchanged glum looks.
Rainier then spoke up, frowning. "But wait. Lady Cousland—"
Leliana then cut in. "There was a special circumstance in her case. I know the details. And we do not know if the situation is the same for Corypheus as it is for an Archdemon. It is possible that he possessed this Warden Larius before his body actually died at the Vimmark Fortress."
Solas spoke up. "He did. We do not know what becomes of mortals' souls after death—"
The more devout Andrastians, such as Cassandra and Rainier, frowned.
"—but we do know that they do not remain in the physical world. Corypheus must have left his body just before Hawke killed it. He was able to find another host because there were those who shared the Taint nearby. If no one who was Tainted had been in the vicinity, I think his soul would have... done whatever souls do... the moment his body died."
Some relief came over Max—and Dorian—at that. "So keep Grey Wardens away from the final confrontation with him?" Dorian offered.
"Suits me," Carver muttered. "And I'd already realized I didn't want to be around when that happens, because of his history possessing one of us."
"This is all in the future," Leliana said, trying to get the meeting back on track. "As for Adamant Fortress and the Orlesian Wardens, we are going to deal with this problem, but we want to have as much information as we can before we send you, Inquisitor. It seems a very risky situation to venture into without knowing all the facts we can."
"I appreciate that," Max agreed, "but let's not wait too long. If the Wardens are going to perform some sort of mass blood magic to storm the Deep Roads, and they have a Venatori magister working with them, time is limited!"
"Agreed," Leliana said. "A time may come when we will have to simply go even if we don't know everything we would like." She cleared her throat. "Wardens, I'm afraid I must ask you all to leave the war room. The next matters are political concerns. I am not as afraid as Elissa Cousland is of the Elder One stealing intelligence through the Taint, but—"
Sidona Andras rose from her seat. "Politics, you say? You don't have to ask me to leave. I'm out. Fuck that shit in every hole."
Josephine put her hands over her face as the Wardens shuffled out, the others trying and failing to smother laughs and smirks.
"She had to get a comment in," Dorian finally said through laughs of his own when the Wardens were gone and the door was closed. "And she did."
"The Orlesian Warden takes the victory this time," Varric chuckled.
Leliana was shaking her head, trying not to laugh herself. "Second on the agenda... Bull, if you will?"
To Max's surprise, Iron Bull stood up. "The Ben-Hassrath have sent an offer to the Inquisition for an alliance against the Venatori," he said, sounding surprised himself.
"An alliance with the Qunari?" Max repeated warily. "Is that a good idea?"
"It would only be in the matter of the Venatori," Leliana said. "They are not asking for our support in their war against Tevinter—or in any other matter."
"What does this entail, exactly?"
"A meeting at the Storm Coast with some Qunari agents, to begin with. I think we should at least send delegates—and you personally, Inquisitor, with protection and support of course," Leliana said. "Let us hear what they have to say. We have listened to all kinds of people. We do not have to commit yet."
Max considered it. "All right."
"And finally," Leliana said, heading for the great doors to admit someone, "this is an agent we usually have stationed in the Free Marches." The new guest was a human man. "His name is Abernale Harish."
"Glad to meet you," Max said. "I assume that what you have to say is very important to keep secret, since you are here in person to tell it."
Harish nodded. "Inquisitor. The honor is mine. But yes, my colleagues around Wycome, Lady Guinevere Volant and... others"—he gave Leliana a knowing look—"have dire news to report." He took out a rolled document. "In short, the people of Wycome are suffering from what appears to be red lyrium poisoning. This includes members of the nobility."
Max groaned, as did Varric—loudly. "I was afraid of this," Varric said. "Have they ingested it?"
"It is... possible," Harish said through a grimace.
"Well, shit," Varric said. "If they have, there's nothing that can be done. This is going to look very bad for us."
Max thought unbidden of Gregory Dedrick's decision to drown the Blighted in Crestwood. He felt another sick pang of guilt about his own self-righteousness. In all likelihood, he would have to give a very similar order. Even the order at Haven would not compare as closely as... the one that likely loomed. It appeared that the Maker might have a twisted sense of humor.
"About that," Harish said. "My colleague Lady Volant has proposed an option that might... keep the blame away from the Inquisition directly, while also promoting goodwill among the races if things aren't as bad as they look."
Max's suspicions rose. That seemed like a cold-blooded gamble...
"Clan Lavellan, a Dalish clan that used to be loosely affiliated with Hawke—though not in a formal treaty—and which lost an important clan member at the Conclave disaster, is camped in the vicinity of Wycome. The clan is headed by a powerful mage," Harish continued. "An elven Keeper named Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan. Lady Volant recommends letting the Keeper into city limits to treat the sick."
Max could not let this go on. "I'm sorry, Serah Harish, but did you not hear Varric? What kind of 'assistance' can there be if this is red lyrium poisoning? Assisted dying, perhaps! Maybe I should send Cole?" he added sarcastically. "And if a Dalish elven mage 'euthanizes' humans, particularly human nobles, that could end extremely badly."
"But if there are victims who were merely around the miasma, they could be healed still, perhaps. The fact is that we just do not know."
"But if there are people who did ingest it, you propose putting this clan and this Keeper up as sacrifices, essentially? Rather than the Inquisition itself?"
His own words to Cullen then came back to him at that. "A general is a chess player... and so is an Inquisitor. We're the chess players, and we're also the king on the chessboard, the piece who can't be sacrificed."
Yes, the Maker had a twisted sense of humor.
But Max was not going to let himself be bound by words he said to Cullen to attempt to get Cullen to break a destructive habit. "I just don't understand why in the everlasting Void a Dalish Keeper has to do this instead of anyone else with the same expertise," he said. "Red lyrium causes paranoia as it is. You could hardly have selected anyone more likely to rile up people harboring a prejudice, and prejudices are extremely likely to surface in situations of widespread paranoia and fear."
Leliana looked uncomfortable at the points he was raising. "You have a valid point," she conceded. "I can give instructions to the Keeper not to put down any human victims of red lyrium."
"Even just nursing them will look bad if they then start sprouting crystals. And then who will take care of it? Someone will have to." He gave her a wry, dark, bitter look. "The whole fiasco with Mayor Dedrick made me see that."
"You are right," she said, "but the fact is that we don't have many good options. We do have agents in the vicinity, as Harish said, but they are not mages. And since most of the Free Mages returned to Kirkwall, this type of expertise is something we simply don't have. We could send in our own troops and kill them all, yes. That is an option, though not a good one."
"That wouldn't be better," Max agreed.
"But on the other hand, Keeper Istimaethoriel might be able to cure some. It seems the best option to me, despite its risks."
Max sighed. "As you say. But I do want this clan protected. This is a very volatile situation, it seems to me."
Painter—for that was his code name—emerged from the Undercroft with the notes that he had hastily hand-copied. The dwarven arcanist would notice if they were missing, and she would notice which ones were missing.
He had been listening at the keyhole of Cullen Rutherford's office and overheard the Inquisitor's discussion about lyrium—and plans for the Templars. Painter could use this. Some of the Templars would approve of the idea, but the Inquisitor had taken all the survivors of Therinfal Redoubt, and that included more than just the goody-goodies who never joined the anti-mage schism and wanted to live with the new order for mages. It also included those who had not rebelled but also had not wanted things to change. And it included the ones who had joined the schism, but who had not been accused of any atrocity for which they could stand trial at Ansburg and had not yet taken red lyrium.
And some of these were not happy with the leadership of Cullen Rutherford or Delrin Barris. Or Max Trevelyan.
Oh, they knew that the war against the mages was lost. They did not want to re-fight it. But their time alongside Red Templars and fanatics had given the former schismatics a taste for hard methods, and those who had stayed with Divine Justinia but were not pleased with the new order had taken a hard line in their own activities in the days of the Circles. They had advocated for harsh crackdowns, restrictions, and Tranquility. These Templars believed sincerely in the application of ruthless force. As part of the Inquisition now, they believed that the Inquisition needed to fight fire with fire—which it was not doing.
They loathed the Elder One and the Venatori, but Painter could work with their taste for cruelty and ruthlessness. And once they were in thrall to the substance, it hardly mattered what they thought.
Painter reflected on the possibility that, if the Free Mages had remained with the Inquisitor, he might have been able to persuade some of them too. These same ideas—support for ruthless methods against a foe—existed among the mages too, particularly after their leaders, Hawke and Anders, proved to all Thedas just how far they were willing to take that. But the Inquisition did not have the mages now. It had Templars.
He carried the notes to the secret meeting place he had arranged, a small room in the ancient fortifications sprawling around the mountain. Low fires did not lift the dark chill in the room as he entered.
"I have the dwarf's research," he announced to the disgruntled Templars. "And I have information about what the Inquisitor and Cullen Rutherford plan for this Order." Hiding his smirk, he told them about Max's meeting.
The leader of these Templars, Knight-Captain Briony, glowered at the end of this narrative. "So he means to have a lot of us dismissed because of 'cruelty,' to force all of us to retire when he thinks we're too old, and to take away the source of our powers at that time too."
"That is the future of the Templar Order under those two, yes. But you have an alternative now."
Briony glowered at the documents. "This is no future either! This is—"
"Dagna has figured out a way to control and isolate it."
Briony's face relaxed. "Has she? Well, that changes things."
Wycome.
Duke Prosper de Montfort, Salit, their wyverns, and the Duke's militia rode hard up the streets of Wycome. He had been astonished at the Inquisition's decision to ask a Dalish Keeper to "treat" human victims of red lyrium, and wondered once again just who was truly in charge at Skyhold—because it was perfectly clear to him that Max Trevelyan was a useful young figurehead and tool for someone, a naïve and sheltered lad whose optimism some cynical operator was using. His opinion of the Inquisitor had briefly improved at the Winter Palace when the young man had checkmated Celene and Gaspard, but that had not lasted, and it was back to the low level that it had been before. No one who had lived in the world and seen what people were like could have expected any other outcome than the one that was unfolding this dark hour.
At first, Keeper Istimaethoriel had managed to—if not save anyone, because they could not be saved, at least ease their suffering. She did have powerful magic. Duke Prosper acknowledged that. His approach would have been to simply cut the throats of all the red lyrium victims, but the Keeper had been able to give them a few more days before the substance took hold. A few more days to hold off the inevitable.
And when the crystals did start growing from people, the red lyrium making their veins glow, the substance taking over their brains and making them into monsters in thought, the inevitable occurred.
Duke Prosper realized that he would have to acclimate himself to Marcher culture, and one aspect that these people took special pride in was their "independence"—their refusal to bow down humbly before their "betters" or take a king, queen, emperor, or empress as the Orlesians did. But it still irritated him how damned quick these people were to pick up arms, or torches and pitchforks, and assail the homes of their leaders if they had a grievance. It had happened a couple of times in Kirkwall, and Prosper wholeheartedly approved of the way that Viscountess Hawke had dealt with it. But mass protests were not tolerated in Orlais. Prosper would have to adjust.
Still, there was a difference between a mass protest and a mob uprising. The latter was what was occurring tonight.
It had begun with a couple of nobles, raging and paranoid with red lyrium, shouting about the "knife-ears" who were "killing" everyone. It seemed that these fools really had not believed that their wells were contaminated. It was simply inconceivable to their bigoted little minds that anyone might want to poison humans but not care about the elves.
Power comes with consequences, you bloody fools, Duke Prosper thought as he spurred Leopold onward, Salit and Clothilde by his side.
And the uprising had not stopped with those two or three stupid nobles. They had mustered a mob of commoners, all human, to do their dirty work.
Prosper was not sure what to make of Duke Antoine's decision to try to shelter the Dalish from the rampaging mob. He had been convinced that Antoine was Corypheus's agent, but this decision did not square with that theory very neatly. Perhaps he was wrong. Or perhaps the Inquisition had applied pressure, or promised him something if he protected the elves. In any case, no one knew where the Dalish were anymore, but they definitely knew where Antoine was. The mob had converged at his keep tonight, not just standing at the steps yelling, but trying to break through the barricades and get in. By this time, word was that they had.
Leopold rounded a corner and screeched as he ground to a halt. Prosper gritted his teeth at the ugly sight before him. The steps in front of the keep were coated with blood, bodies, and broken weapons. Most of the bodies were not uniformed, but some were. And there were no uniformed people standing guard. It appeared that the mob had taken the keep.
The flags of Wycome and the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty Organization had been pulled down and trampled on. Someone had replaced them with a homemade banner depicting a vile sigil: a flayed body with pointed ears large enough to be a caricature.
Vile, ignorant, stupid filth, Prosper thought at this sight. Someone made that flag for this occasion. Have they nothing better to do? He directed Leopold to send a jet of poison at it. Well, the mob has certainly taken the keep. Duke Antoine is probably dead. He felt a mix of exultation and regret. This is my moment, but to seize it, I will have to ascend in a pool of blood.
He steeled himself. So be it. Violent rabble deserves it.
He spurred Leopold forward again. The wyvern screamed and bounded up the steps, where the doors to the keep were smashed open wide. Salit followed on his wyvern, then the militia.
As he had expected, a ferocious battle immediately ensued. Raging people, their minds warped with hate, fear, and red lyrium, attacked at once, flinging spears and any other sharp object they could find at Leopold. Prosper gave the order for his crossbowmen and archers to shoot back as Leopold and Clothilde screamed in fury and began spitting lethal venom at their attackers.
In short order, the great hall of the keep was even more blood-soaked than it had been, and wyvern venom and the bodies that it was gruesomely dissolving had been added to the foul layer of slime. Prosper hardened his heart and urged Leopold forward.
The main battle had apparently been in the great hall. The mob had been victorious, because there seemed to be no guards remaining whatsoever, but they had lost a lot of their people in the fight. Prosper and his people encountered a few dozen more raging Wycome citizens—and ordered Leopold to poison, bite, and fling them away one by one—but the numbers dropped as they made their way to Duke Antoine's private quarters.
He turned Leopold down the final corner—and there were the survivors of the mob. There was one carrying another flayed-elf flag, one in leathers and some sort of stupid horned helmet, and one who appeared to be defecating in the hall. Most of them, however, were armed, red-lyrium rage in their faces. They rushed Prosper and his force, spears and blades out.
And were instantly met with a volley of bolts, arrows, and wyvern poison. Leopold let out a screech as he grabbed two intruders and bit them nearly in half. The wyvern dropped the bodies; shredded skin, muscle, and entrails barely held them together.
This corridor became a slaughterhouse quickly, blood of the intruders coating the floor, walls, and even spattering the ceiling. The wyverns' poison turned their dying flesh to a slimy ooze. It was incomparably nightmarish, and Prosper did not envy the servants who would have to clean this horrendous mess. Perhaps it would be best to set it all ablaze.
But he would settle that later. With a roar, Leopold slammed the door to Duke Antoine's chambers open, letting his master see inside.
In spite of the horrors they had just seen, the sight was still shocking to several of the captains, who gasped in disgust. Prosper did not have to look too closely to see what had happened. The mob had torn Duke Antoine to pieces.
Anger surged in him, not for Antoine personally, but at the entitlement of people to think that they had the right to do this. Things were going to be different in Wycome from this point onward, that was certain.
"Captains!" Prosper barked. "Secure this place and close this foul corridor off. Duke Antoine is dead, and someone has to keep order in this city now."
He turned Leopold aside in disgust and contempt. Any qualms he might have felt about a harsh crackdown on Wycome, and rising to power in a pool of blood, were gone now. People who took their grievances to their leader in such an uncivilized, murderous manner—no better than darkspawn—deserved and frankly needed a dictator for a time until they were able to control themselves.
"Salit!" he said to his second. The qunari man looked up. "You are in charge of finding all the red lyrium victims and dealing with them. Captains—I want half the force behind Salit. This is going to be ugly, but it has to be done." He gestured around at the unspeakably horrible carnage. "This—this uncivilized display of savagery—is what happens when people ingest red lyrium. Better to send them to the Maker at once."
"Agreed, Your Grace," said a captain. "Salit. Lead the way."
By morning, Duke Prosper's people controlled the wealthy district, and they had a tenuous grip on the keep, but he knew that with his militia divided, he might be the next lord to fall if the common people of Wycome revolted against him now. All the more reason to crack down harshly and quickly.
At least they will not take me without a fight, he thought, feeding Leopold—not from the carnage, because there was a risk of red lyrium, but from the keep's kitchens. He observed from a throne-like chair in the great hall that he had claimed, as Leopold ate the meat brought to him.
"Duke Prosper!"
His gaze snapped up.
"A force is approaching! It appears to be the Inquisition."
Prosper instantly became alert and suspicious. That was probably better than a second mob of angry Wycome citizens, but only in that the Inquisition would not violently attack him.
"What size force?" he asked.
"Larger than ours, Your Grace. At least a thousand troops and heavy armaments. I see three ballistae." The messenger lowered his voice. "Apologies, my lord, but they could truly threaten Monsieur Leopold."
The wyvern looked up from its feast and bared its teeth.
"Leopold!" Prosper barked. "Continue your feeding! I will deal with this," he said to the messenger.
They admitted the Inquisition's leaders, who included a roguish human man, a well-dressed human noblewoman, and a military officer. They introduced themselves as Abernale Harish, Guinevere Volant, and Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre.
The noblewoman appeared to be the leader. "Duke Prosper," she addressed him, "the Inquisition offers its thanks to you for securing the Wycome keep. We will handle security and peacekeeping in this city now. You are free to go."
Prosper rose furiously to his feet. "What? How dare you? I took this keep," he snarled. "You have a thousand troops who did nothing to secure the peace!" He motioned to Leopold, who also rose, blood dripping from his teeth.
"The governance of a Free Marcher city will not be determined by right of conquest," Lady Volant scoffed.
Prosper bristled. "Apparently, you think the Inquisition will determine who rules every nation in Thedas!"
Lieutenant Chambreterre stepped forward, and behind her—guarded by soldiers—were a couple dozen Dalish elves, including a tall mage.
"We have secured Clan Lavellan," she said. "Duke Prosper, I strongly advise you against picking a fight with us about this." Behind her, the large Inquisition force loomed, spilling out the door and well into the street. The ballista bolts gleamed lethally.
Lady Volant regarded Prosper without fear. She unrolled a scroll that clearly had already been prepared in advance. "The late Duke Antoine had no heir. The future leadership of Wycome therefore will be determined by the Inquisition, as it claims jurisdiction over any affairs concerning the Venatori and red lyrium. In Wycome, both were present. We do appreciate your assistance, Duke Prosper, but this is Inquisition business now."
Prosper was almost ready to order Leopold to kill her and the other two leaders, but he knew what would happen. Those three ballista bolts would instantly be shot at him, and he would die. And probably Prosper too.
"Oh," Lady Volant added, "and since Duke Antoine's entire council consisted of Venatori, and this predated his signing of the Vimmark-Minanter Treaty, we have concluded that he signed the treaty in bad faith. Wycome is no longer a signatory. The future alliances of Wycome will also be determined by the Inquisition. Step aside, Duke Prosper."
Kirkwall.
"Who do they think they are?" Viscountess Caitlyn Hawke raged. She slammed the paper down on the tabletop in her Keep.
Anders, Aveline, Comte de Launcet, Grand Cleric Petrice, and the others in her Council agreed. "They had no right to pull Wycome out of VMTO," the Comte agreed.
"Or to expel Duke Prosper! I'm not necessarily advocating for right of conquest myself, but who the f—" She stopped, collecting herself before uttering the full word before Petrice. "Who do they think they are to step in and assert the authority to determine who rules Wycome? This will not stand." Her expression hardened. "The reason we did not openly support Prosper before is that Duke Antoine was still alive and we needed to avoid publicly backing a coup against a VMTO member-state's leader. That is not a problem now. We are going to throw our full support openly behind Prosper."
Petrice agreed. "And I am very glad that we have the Free Mages here."
Caitlyn turned to Anders. "Anders, love. Any updates on the new rockets?"
His face was hard too. "The Glavonaks have tested new mixtures and designs and have increased their range to eight thousand horizontal feet. The force mages are working on an enchantment that lessens gravity's pull, too."
"Not quite enough to hit Skyhold, then."
"No, but we're very close."
She nodded. "If the Inquisition doesn't have enough to do fighting Corypheus, and wants to pick a fight with us too, they'll get one. Let's keep the information about the rockets secret, but we're going to announce our full military support for Duke Prosper as leader of Wycome."
Skyhold.
Max's shouts of indignation—and those of his friends—sounded through the war room.
"What do you think you're doing?" Varric roared. "Inky and I—"
"And our close friends," Max put in.
"—were not consulted or even warned about this!" Varric continued.
Max slammed his fist on the table. "And I don't approve of it! They'll think I gave those agents the order to do that! I didn't! And I wouldn't!"
"It had to be done, though," Vivienne said. "Duke Antoine was compromised; the 'advisors' behind the red lyrium poisoning were Venatori, and these were the same ones he had when he signed that treaty. It is obvious he did it in bad faith, to let the Venatori have a foothold in the organization. Vacating the signature after his death is legitimate. And the Inquisition can claim jurisdiction over matters pertaining to red lyrium and the Venatori."
"But there's a difference between 'can' and 'should,' as you know damn well," Varric said. "This is brazenly throwing down the gauntlet before Hawke, for no reason that I can see."
"Nor I," Max added harshly. "Why are you so determined to make an enemy of her?"
"Hawke's organization is suspect," Vivienne replied tightly.
"In what way? Because of Duke Antoine? I think it's fairly clear that they didn't know the Venatori had gotten to him!"
"That is not what we mean," Josephine interjected.
Max could not help but note that she used the word "we," indicating that the advisors, Vivienne, and Cassandra were apparently all in agreement about this. His heart sank.
"Hawke and Anders fought a war for mage rights," Josephine continued, "but then, after they had won, they produced this treaty that would have the outcome of essentially creating a massive Marcher military. It seemed to come out of nowhere. And then, before anyone knew what was happening, she had five cities signed in addition to Kirkwall. We think that after she and Anders developed their weapons and gained the loyalty of thousands of battlemages, they formed the ambition of taking over the Free Marches."
Max and Varric gaped at her in disbelief. "I spoke to Hawke during that time," Varric finally managed. "She and Blondie said that they knew the Free Marches would never become a single nation. They just wanted a more robust alliance, a firm treaty, so the cities could all stand against future threats!"
"Which clearly include the Inquisition."
"If so, we've earned that designation by now," Max snapped.
"We did not begin this, Inquisitor," Josephine said. "Hawke never trusted us. The reason has now become clear: The Inquisition is the only power with a chance of putting the demon she and Anders unleashed back into the bottle."
"The new weapons will give them a power to force their will on every state in Thedas," Vivienne said. "We witnessed what the Fereldans did in Crestwood and Suledin Keep. We have all heard what Tantervale looked like after Kirkwall's assault in 9:40. Ferelden and VMTO will crush anyone else who pursues these weapons or dares to defy them, and with a ruthless man like Prosper de Montfort at their side, this will happen even sooner. Inquisitor, you have opposed the Orlesian Empire, but a worse one is rising. Orlais wanted to bring civilization to the early tribes. It is to this day a bastion of beauty, art, and culture. This new order is based on violent menace with unbeatable weapons."
"What are you talking about?" Max exclaimed. "Who's trying to force their will except the Inquisition? I accept the fact that Ferelden and Kirkwall have these weapons. I want to set up a nation in the Dales to dissuade Fereldan imperial designs—"
"And at this point, Prosper's possible designs from Wycome," Dorian said.
"Exactly! And to not make enemies needlessly. These explosives and rockets exist and they are going to advance further. You cannot stop this!"
Leliana then sighed as she spoke up for the first time in the discussion. "Inquisitor, I knew Caitlyn Hawke when she was just a lonely single mother on a farm and I was just a lay sister in a village Chantry. But she has changed. The Mage-Templar War did something to her—as it did to me." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "She became ruthless—and very ambitious. It is hard, even now, to square away my memories of her with the woman who engineered a rise to power, massed an army, brutally repressed opposition during the war, and used horrendous new weapons to end it. She may have formed VMTO to be a deterrent against Tevinter and the Qunari, but I too fear that its purpose has changed to aggression and intimidation."
Josephine nodded gravely. "And Duke Prosper cannot be allowed to rule Wycome. He will put it back in the treaty at once, and rule just as tyrannically as she did during the war. He sent his qunari agent and militia to kill everyone who had symptoms of red lyrium poisoning, Inquisitor. A far more brutal order than Gregory Dedrick's. We have an opportunity to make Wycome's government into a beacon for the rest of the Free Marches..."
Varric gaped at her. "Is there red lyrium in the water supply here too? This degree of paranoia makes me wonder. Honestly, have you all lost your Maker-damned minds?" Before they could answer, he rose from his seat in disgust and stalked out the doors, slamming them behind him.
Max glowered out. "All things considered, the alliance proposal with the Qunari is an incredibly poor idea now. If there is one thing that will basically guarantee that Hawke and Prosper see us as enemies, it's making a deal with the Qunari. Can we back out?"
"They are en route already," Leliana said. "We still have the chance to negotiate reasonable terms with them, and to frame the debate as being a matter of Qunari versus Venatori and choosing the lesser evil."
"The Free Marches won't see it that way. But fine," Max said. "I'll go to the Storm Coast. But I am negotiating this. If there is any interference there, or any surprises..." He trailed off darkly as a grim and frightening but perhaps necessary resolution filled his mind. Yes, I will if I have to. "Nobody in this council will like the result. That's all I have to say."
Notes: Apologies to any fans of Knight-Captain Briony, but I do not particularly like her. She's the one who is always used to suppress mage revolts in DA:I and disapproves if you ever go easy on the mages, so I think it's fair to say this is a character trait.
I have issues with the Wycome-Clan Lavellan official line. The explanation we're given for pushing Clan Lavellan in deeper instead of getting them out is "troops will just inflame people." But are we really supposed to believe that the Inquisition could not either protect the overt exit of the clan, or create a diversion that would allow them to slip away by subterfuge?
And I cannot believe that not a single red lyrium victim would need to be given a merciful death. The only way that works is if no one ingested it or otherwise became internally poisoned. I also don't accept that the nobles were the only people in Wycome whose paranoia manifested in the idea that the Dalish spread the sickness, and that to the working people of Wycome, the elves were "heroes." That's ludicrous. Any economic class can manifest racist conspiracy theories and mob violence, as we all know damn well.
Finally, Absolution ignores the choices of players who make Fairbanks a noble and do not recruit him as an agent (which are my choices now. The Inquisition can go to hell with respect to him. Better alive and unhappy than dead because of them). So I am returning the sentiment and ignoring Absolution. It's a side event for this AU, not part of this story's narrative, and Fairbanks has his own agenda here that has nothing to do with that series.