Chapter XI
The broken wheel shalt herald thy death
They entered the chantry and made their way to one of the rooms to the left at the ground floor. Their reception was just as warm as the bare, stone walls of the building. There the whole of five people awaited them - a somewhat troubled Ambassador who tried to smile very convincingly like everything was in order, the chantry sister that had tried to slap him yesterday with two of her followers and a fuming Chancellor Roderick.
"Finally! This is completely unacceptable, Seeker! I call for an immediate execution of this man!" shouted Roderick as a form of greeting. He was pacing from left to right side of the room, red as a beetroot. For someone who claimed to be the servant of the blessed Andraste, the man had such an unhealthy obsession with executions - maybe he should try one on himself?. "This murderous heretic deserves nothing more than a pi-"
"Chancellor, you are here only due to decorum." The Seeker shut the man up. "You have no decision making power here and you will remain a silent observer - otherwise I will have you removed immediately. Are we understood?" She walked up to the Sisters and the Chancellor so that she was now halfway between the opposing parties, probably to serve the role of a mediator. Or a judge. Cullen and the Templar stood flanking Solas at both sides, but did not invade his personal space. Roderick said something not very pleasant about the Seeker under his nose but did step down.
Cassandra's gaze swept over all of the people in the room, daring anyone else to challenge her authority over the proceeding. She found none such individuals so she went on.
"First of all, I want both Master Solas and Elder Sister Marie to swear to remain faithful to the truth. I sincerely hope we can resolve this matter and reach a conclusion that would satisfy both parties," continued the Seeker.
The Sister made an ugly smirk as she gazed at Solas from across the room. She chose to wear even more rings than yesterday, demonstrating the damage caused by too narrow jewellery to her bloated fingers - possibly as the sign of devoted piety. In the blink of an eye, her facial expression changed to a serene and only slightly deceptive - probably just an occupational hazard - as she stated. "But of course, Seeker. I, a humble servant of the Bride of the Maker, ask the blessed Andraste to be my guide in these troubled times and grant me her endless compassion and wisdom." Solas doubted even the Andraste could help in such a lost case, but the sister continued. "May the Maker be my witness, I vow to speak the truth and only the truth."
Cassandra didn't look at all convinced but she nodded nethertheless, satisfied with the answer, turned to Solas and hesitated. "I assume you are not Andrastian, Solas. When we first met, you had vowed on Mythal. Am I to understand you believe in Elven Gods and will swear upon them?"
Solas almost chuckled. "I do believe they existed, yes." It was hard to deny that when he used to meet them on a regular basis. He was very tempted to swear upon Fen'harel, but he doubted anyone would appreciate the joke. The elf stood straight, planted a his feet a little apart and put hands behind his back
"I swear by Mythal, All-Mother and the Deliverer of Justice to speak truth and only the truth." lied God of Betrayal.
The Seeker nodded again, satisfied with his answer. "Good. Now, Sister - what was that you have accused Master Solas of?"
"Before we start, I would like to request our case to be judged by His Grace Marquis DeReillion, as the crimes took place on his land," asked the sister, poorly hiding her smug face.
Solas knew little about the man and the lawful implications of the sisters' request. However, by a quiver of the smile on the Ambassador's face when she reluctantly agreed to the sisters request and sent someone to fetch the noble he knew that it was nothing good. The Seeker seemed to share his opinion as both of them walked to Lady Montilyet while they waited for Marquis to arrive.
"I do hope, Lady Ambassador, that you do not place your confidence in the vile lies the Sister is saying. I deny all and any accusations she throws at me, but I gather that it may not be worth much now. Forgive me my ignorance in the matter, but can the Marquis really be the judge here?" asked Solas, now completely unamused by the situation.
"Well, he can as this is officially his land by marriage," The Ambassador nodded and wrote something down. "Furthermore, if he is to be the judge, then he will most probably decide to carry the case out following the orlesian law," All three of them grimaced. The Seeker, despite her connotation to the chantry, was a just woman and Solas believed she wanted this matter to be resolved fairly. But if they were to follow the orlesian law, it would be not very fair by the definition and all of them knew it.
"The Marquis is a very respected man, but he is loyal to the values highly praised in Orlais." Lady Ambasador thought for a second. "He knows the Orlesian law as he has been a judge in many cases. "There was a pause in the Ambassador's speech and Solas highly suspected she wasn't to announce any happy news. "Well, I'm sorry to say that, Master Solas, but you would need five non–elven witnesses supporting your word to overweight Marie's testimony and dismiss the case without the trial. And by the way she had described the circumstances of the situation, you don't have them." She lifted her gaze from the papers and gave him an apologetic smile.
He had been sure that they could end this dispute swiftly, yet the Orlesians decided to surprise him with their bland discrimination yet again. At this point they were getting quite monotonous - he needed to sort up with his sarcastic jabs. One should enjoy simple things in life, like degrading one's enemies.
"Seeker, all I ask is a chance to defend my cause fairly. Is there anything you can do in that matter?" Solas was not sure if the Seeker would drop the charges, but if she were to decide his fate he would at least have a chance to defend his case. And if that would not be enough, then lie and cheat his way through.
"He is a Marquis, but I can ask him to pass me back the judgement. And if it was up to me only, I would dismiss this whole case." Seeker made a face when she looked at the Chancellor. "It is a disgrace to the Inquisition to accuse our members of such vile actions. It is plain as day that this Sister is unfortunately not behaving up to her station and is lying through her teeth." Cassandra eyed the woman angrily.
"And what about the Herald? Does he not have anything to say in it?" continued the elf.
"I haven't seen him this morning yet but I can send-'' started the Ambassador but was interrupted by the door being open with a crash. Through them walked a man with an ornate mask that Solas could assume was the Marquis. However, calling him the Marquis in these circumstances could be an... exaggeration. The man didn't have a jacket, opting out only for a half-open burgundy shirt. The shirt had a distinctly artistic blot of wine on the right side that looked like a male private parts. His mask was turned to the side and seemed to stick to his face by faith and tradition alone. Or, perhaps some dried, sweet liquor. The man also had a distinct sway in his steps that suggested that he was either a renowned master of dodging invisible attacks or he hadn't managed to sober up completely yet. He walked up to the table in the middle of the room, sat heavily on the chair and swept his blood-stricken eyes around.
Solas sneaked a glance towards the Sister. She was looking at the Marquis with eyes large as coins and her mouth open in shock. So this was not usual for the noble to appear in this state. It was to be decided if it was in his favour or against it, but at least she was as surprised as he was.
"So." Started the Marquis and tried to correct his mask. He had a very prominent accent in his Trade. "What is this all about?"
"Marquis, before we begin," interrupted Cassandra, "there is no need to engage Your Grace in this proceeding if you are otherwise occupied." A very diplomatic way of stating his current whereabouts. " If Your Grace agrees, I can pass the judgement in your name as the Seeker of Truth."
The noble's heavy gaze travelled to her. It was very hard for him to focus his eyes on her for long. "And you are?"
"Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast."
The noble stiffened upon hearing her name. "Wasn't your brother a dragon slayer by any chance?"
Now that was Cassandra's turn to sneer. "He was." She said quietly, " Have you known him, Your Grace?"
"My brother, my younger brother - Louis - met him once. He was really impressed by him and by his encouragement, decided to become the slayer himself." The Marquis paused and flexed his right hand. On one of his singers lay a ring of significant size. A family signet perhaps. "'He got himself killed a week later. Smashed by a dragon to a pulp. We had to look for his remains for deux heures to be able to organise a burial. Mon petit Louis." Lamented the Marquis, with a hint of anger rising at the end of the sentence.
That turn of events was prominently unlucky. One could hope that the Marquis had a good, traditional Orlesian family that hated each other and fought over power. But of course Solas was out of luck and this particular Marquis did actually like his brother and thus, had a reason to hoard animosity towards the Seeker.
The Marquis once again raised his head and looked Cassandra straight in the eye. Solas didn't have to hear the words to know what would be the answer. He saw it on the noble's face.
"So no, Seeker. You will excuse me if I don't want to put my trust in another Pentaghast. I will do-" the seriousness of the speech was destroyed a little by the nobles' hick-up, "the fucking judging." Probably in different circumstances, the Seeker would argue her point further. But this was personal. And Solas could see the wound that the mention of her brother had opened.
"So, what is the problem? And, Ambassador, some wa-water?" Marquis put his head against his hand to support himself and shot his gaze between the Sister and Solas.
The elf didn't have any good predictions on how this would unfold. He needed to weasel his way out of that ridiculous situation. Even if the law was not on his side, he was completely confident to be able to walk free out of this room. He was Fen'Harel. He had standards to uphold. And if they refused to acknowledge his superior mind and understanding, he could go for a diversion. For starters, he could make the Marquis sick and vomit so he could not pass the judgement - he certainly looked hungover enough to. It lacked his usual finesse but would bring desired effect.
Fenedhis. He could not. There was a Templar in the room that positively reeked of Lyrium and Solas was the only mage. The warrior - Rylen? - would immediately know that the elf had used magic if he tried to cast something. The Templar needed to be neutralised first, so he could not raise the alarm. But that also meant getting rid of two people, instead of one, and that could hardly be explained as a coincidence.
And then, there was the third problem - the Seeker.
Sweet talking it was, then.
"Ah, yes." Started the damned Sister and filled her voice with forced pity "Yesterday, when we were just about to perform a cleansing ritual on a poor, elven child when this apost-"
"Oh, don't tell me se whole fucking story! Cut to it, woman." Interrupted the Marquis with an impatient gesture and drank the whole glass of water in one go, soaking the top part of his shirt. It made a significant improvement for his demeanour.
"Very well." The woman changed her posture and pointed an accusatory finger at the mage. "This elf, this filthy apostate is a heretic who interrupted our holy service and violently assaulted me, breaking my wrist." The sister folded the fabric of her tunic. She then outstretched her hand ceremoniously and showed her very bruised and very swallowed wrist to the room. Her two cronies gasped dramatically for the effect.
Even without closer examination Solas could tell it was undeniably broken. Fascinating, since the last time he had seen the Sister, the bones in the wrist were still intact. He only caught it and held it to teach her a lesson to not slap him again, but he had hardly used any strength. He couldn't have broken it. Of course, he could not deny that he indeed had the strength to cause such injuries - but he was no animal. His self control was impeccable.
She had to be lying somehow - maybe she had broken it herself to strengthen her claim? The bruises on the wrist were not only long and horizontal, but also too straight to be done by hand. It looked like somebody hit the side of a table. Or, judging by the bruising on both sides of the wrist, put the hand between the door and the frame and very viciously tried to slam the door shut.
He would have respected such a level of committed pettiness if it wasn't directed at him.
"Well, that would be deux times death. By hanging or beheading. Fuck, I don't think a person can mourir deux temps. But, elf - you plead guilty to the charges?" Asked the Marquis as he accepted a cup of water from the servant and massaged his temples.
"I deny all of them. This is-"
"Oh, shut up. Has anybody asked about your opinion?" The Marquis interrupted him and Solas quieted. This was a farce, without any semblance of judicial order or fair trial. If it went on, he would probably be found guilty within five seconds.
"If I may, Your Grace." Interrupted Josephine with her best smile and passed another cup of water to the noble. "Master Solas has a right to state his explanations as a counterpoint to the accusations."
"Oh, you are the accused party?J'ai ou - hic - oublié." Thé noble took another swing of water in a hollow attempt to cure his hangover. Then, he made rapid and uncoordinated gestures with his hands. "Are you waiting for an invitation? Parler! I don't have all day!"
Solas took a few seconds to look at the noble with blank eyes and gather his thoughts. The punishment was entirely ridiculous, but understandable in the light of the great Orlesian law. He doubted the Inquisition would let the idiot actually execute on his decisions - and in the process execute him - but he had no desire to be in any form of debt towards them. It hurt both his pride and the success of his whole undercover endeavour. The point was to become respected, irreplaceable for them and not a damsel in distress.
"First of all-" Started the elf. "-by the definition, I cannot be a heretic since I'm not Andrastian. Lady Seeker, as well as any person in this room can testify I swore on Mythal's name. And not believing in the Maker is not a crime." Explained Solas and looked around the room at the couple hesitant nods. Even if the sisters started to nod, but got elbowed so she quickly corrected her moral compass.
"But you don't have the ... thingies." The Marquis's indicated at his face. Was he talking about his lack of vallaslin?
"Well, I'm a bit too old for it." Solas said with a small smile. "Vallaslin is a sign of reaching adulthood in a Dalish clan." Both sentences were true, although the conclusion one could achieve when combining them was not exactly accurate. It truly was such a pity that he was not the master of their minds and could not control where they wandered.
"Andrastian or not, that elf broke my arm!" Screeched the sister next to him. She took a step forward and I hailed a larger fast of air. She would look like a peacock preparing for a performance of their life - if not for the years of extensive alcohol usage that destroyed her feathers. "Nobody can walk safely through Haven as long as he also walks free among us! If he had no conscience against assaulting an innocent holy woman, who will be next - children? Elderly?" She paused theatrically and looked around the room, meeting the gaze of the assembled.
"I do not care for my arm - for the Maker, if such would be His will, will mend the bones of his humble servant. I only care about the poor, innocent souls around us that do not have any means of defence against his aggression. He is a safety hazard and should be taken care of!"
The noble signed resigned as his hope to close the judgement quickly and go back to his boring wealthy life vanished before his eyes. He took another sip of water and glared at the woman. "Quieter, for Andraste's sake. We are in one room, there is no need to shout! Why did you break her arm?" His eyes travelled back to Solas with perfect indifference towards sisters passionate speech and the whole case.
Solas grimaced internally. Answering the question truthfully would not benefit him. The two cronies would certainly advocate for the woman that he did break her arm. The problem, of course, was also the fact that the arm was indeed broken - it was hard to argue with "proof" however said proof came to be. Unfortunately, he had reasons to estimate that convincing the noble, or the majority of people in the room that she had broken the arm herself out of spite or need for triumphant revenge would be close to impossible. Well, maybe he could change the course of the discussion?
"With respect to your time, Your Grace." The elf deliberately lowered both the tone and the volume of his voice when he spoke to the noble. The ancient wondered - the man seemed genuinely moved when he had regarded his late brother. And alcohol made people emotional. Perhaps a little manipulation wouldn't hurt. "To avoid any prolonged and needless discussion, I would move on to asking why the Sister was trying to kill a child in the healing tents." Solas stole the theatrics of her style and added a note of dread finality to his voice at the end.
The elf could almost feel the shift in the atmosphere in the room. The gazes that were previously focused on him moved to the enraged expression of the sister, wondering if the holy woman really was capable of such atrocities. Poor lady Josephine looked like she had just seen a particularly petrifying demon - he didn't know if he should praise her for her morality or performance. Even Cullen now looked mildly suspicious at the elf's accuser - perhaps he and the other Templar remembered the hard love of the sisters' cane when they were children. Solas' statement even managed to be more interesting than the mug of water as the Marquis put it out on the table and tried to now concentrate on the matter.
"We tried to help her!" One of the cronies panicked and shouted from the back. Glorious, now it was clear that the girl existed and was the source of the issue as the Sisters tried to do something to her. How he loved when people were polite enough to dig their own graves.
"Elf, know you damn place! You are here not to ask questions!" The Marquis told Solas off, but was quickly silenced by Cullen's loud question."Is this true? About the girl in the tents?"
"It's true that there is an elven child in the healing tents. She was tainted when the explosion happened. Must be the demons. The child is on the verge of death already - we were just trying to help her before it would be too late! Cleanse her body and souls so she would find the love … of the Maker after… ehh, that is if..." The more the Commander glared at the Chantry woman, the more lost she became. Solas really wanted to smile, but he prevented himself - she had thought that he was an easy target. Unfortunately for her, being of higher intelligence and power tried and failed to make him fall.
"If I may explain a couple of things. Your Grace." Solas addressed his judge to get his attention. "Miss Marie seems to skip the medical aspects of the problem."
The Marquis had already taken a bigger breath to snap at him when the lady Ambassadors took a step closer and whispered something to the noble's ear. Whatever it was, it convinced His Grace to reconsider his stance as he just gave the elf a universal hand motion to get on with it. Solas was only too happy to explain the nature of the blood and excess fluid in the girl's lung that prevented her from breathing properly and drove the risk of sickness exponentially.
"With this knowledge it is clear that bloodletting using leeches that the sister had wanted to conduct on the girl would only further weaken the child and most probably kill her. I-" Solas didn't get to continue before the woman interrupted him again.
"The child is on the death's bed regardless of what we do - I asked the healers! Thinking about her spirit is at the top priority now!" The sister tried to save what scraps of holy authority she believed she had left. He decided that he disagreed.
"Fortunately for the girl, I believe that there are some options left." Solas gave a sister a subtle smile that a wolf would give a very tasty, fat rabbit that just got stuck in a snare.
"What options?" Asked the Seeker. The subtle urgency in her voice suggested that she was also genuinely interested in the case of the girl. That also meant that there was a very high chance that she had believed him - which was only natural taking into consideration she was reluctant from the start, but honourable enough to do everything by the book.
"Well, two mainly. One, less risky - drain the blood using… proper equipment, but as far as I'm aware the one that would suit the purpose is unavailable in Haven. The other, more risky but possible, is magic." Solas had already turned the healing tents upside down in the search for a suitable drainage needle and a syringe but found nothing that could suit the purpose. His conclusion was that the devices were nor known in nowadays Thedas - or at least in Haven. He had asked if either Nirasha or Seldras could pick up something along the way to Haven, among other possible essentials, but both of them were still some days away. Too long. The only real option was magic - substituting the needle and syringe with spells.
"What magic?" Asked the Marquis mildly interested.
"Magic has its boundaries." Solas opened his little speech and subconsciously put his hands behind his back. "But when used with clear purpose and enough skill, the sea of possibilities only waits to be discovered. In all conscience, I cannot deny that my idea could be taxing for the child's body, as she has been battling the wound and its consequences for many days now. Healing magic in its principle supports the body and strengthens the natural healing processes - we can also manipulate the body adding more schools of magic to the procedure. There is a chance to lift the girl from the misery and illness by removing the blood and excess fluid from her lungs. As I said, it would be easier with suitable devices. But it can also be done with magic. I can try to pull said blood through the tissue of her lungs and then out of her body via the trachea and mouth. Understandably, such use of magic goes against the natural processes in the body as that tissue and airways are not supposed to let blood and other fluid flow through them - thus the spell will temporarily put more stress over the girl's body. In simple words - it will make things worse before it can make things better. Such a spell would also require unbreakable focus and precision, but if the procedure could be done successfully," and the girl would survive, added Solas in his mind. "It would immensely speed up her recovery by easing her breathing and lowering the risk of future infections and death."
Solas was focused on delivering his message both coherently and simply enough for the room to understand. He also showcased what he intended to do with simplified gestures with his hands. He wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, so it was only when he had finished and looked up he noticed the change.
Lady Ambassador was gripping her board with papers, nervously looking around the room. There was tension in the air that the elf couldn't understand. He looked at Cassandra with his eyebrow raised in question, but was met with a look of angry… disbelieve? The Templars' standing next to her brought their hands on the pommels of their weapons, the faint taste of Lyrium made itself known in the back of Solas' throat.
The Sister next to him was very poorly trying to cover a satisfied grin.
Something had gone terribly wrong. What was he missing?
"That was certainly unexpected, but I'm not complaining since it makes my job easier." The Marquis broke the lingering silence and turned to Cassandra. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Seeker, but except for Tevinter, the punishment for practising blood magic is death, non?"
Solas eyes almost popped out of the sockets at the sudden realisation. And then he wanted to slap his hand against his forehead. Of course, how could he forget the ever present ignorance of this world? The utter lack of proper understanding of matters slightly more complicated than making a fire? How could he forget, for a single second, that everyone always assumes the worst possible outcome when it comes to magic and mages? Solas could only wonder why they were not accusing all the female mages during their monthly courses of practising blood magic! It certainly matched their deliberately misguided criteria - better not to give them ideas.
"Or tranquillity." Grimly answered Cassandra and closed her lips so tightly it was only a pale line. "However, Your Grace, this has to be a misunderstanding."
"I'm no blood mage." The elf interrupted this farce with a clear disgust at the prospect alone. How could they accuse him of blood magic? A discipline developed by the Evanuris to brand and control their slaves? A school capable of depriving intelligent beings of their freedom and will to live - turning them into mindless puppets instead? Solas felt physically sick just thinking about it. He would never succumb to these deprived practices. He would never compromise himself to the very things that he led the rebellion against! "It is simple fluid manipulation - doesn't matter if it's water, beer or blood!"
"You just admitted to drawing blood out of the girl's body using your power and you dare to deny it?! Me trouves-tu stupide, elf?" Bellowed the Marquis as he motioned at one the templars to draw their swords.
Cullen did. Of course.
The elf was equally enraged now. All it took was one accusation. And all he had done since he joined the Inquisition was helping this bunch of miserable children lost in the dark find their way. He could have left them to their own deeds and then, when everything would be destroyed by the Breach or Corypheus, pick up the necessary pieces and move forward with his plan. But he chose to ally with them, a mutually profitable solution - he had thought then.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
What did he gain from offering his help? From his continuous work?
Threats. Humiliation. Accusations.
He should just damn them all. They would not change - they would mindlessly bite the hand that was feeding them. They clung desperately to their false principles and refused to see the truth even if it slapped them in the face. First, imprisoning the Herald, then the voting on Bogna. This 'trial' was just too much.
He should have taken the Herald and disappeared. With his agents, they could have tracked Corypheus on their own. Maybe take Bogna with them. He would know what to do with her - and her power without the constant threat of the Templars around.
Solas took a step closer to Cullen, refusing to be intimidated. The wolf inside him was snarling with wounded pride. The quiet hum of magic inside him rose to a thunder, answering his thrashing emotions.
The door banged open and the Herald walked in, bottle of alcohol in one hand.
"Pierre!" he shouted from the doorstep, smiled widely at the Marquis and made his way to the table, eyes of the whole room on him.
How did he know to get here?
By the time Marcel came back to their fade-made living room with a plate full of food in his hand Bogna had already materialised on one of the couches.
"You know you don't actually have to make food here, right?" She asked, flipping through the slides of her notes that floated like holographic screens before her. Ed Sheeran was playing in the background and she was rhythmically moving her head to the beat.
The Fade, man. Absolutely awesome.
"It feels weird to just put it into existence. And by the way, making food is relaxing." Countered her brother and dropped into a wide armchair. He took a blueberry filled dumpling and popped it into his mouth. "This way, it reminds me of home."
A soft smile appeared on his sister's face as she too thought about home.
"Blueberries with three spoons of blown sugar?" She asked quietly.
"Just like granny used to do." Marcel agreed and bit into another dumpling.
"You sure you...?" She began unsure.
"Yeah, told you. " Marcel continued with his mouth full. "I don't remember anything. One second I got into a car with her and the next thing I remember is Cassandra swinging her sword in front of my face." Marcel shrugged and tried to chase the memory away. His first few hours in Thedas were as far from pleasant as they could be. He didn't know what was going on around him, he did not understand a single word, his hand was killing him - both figuratively and literally - and there were people all around him with very sharp and very real weapons.
If that was not enough, he met a dwarf. And an elf.
Oh, yet another small thing - the sky was absolutely obliterated with a giant, green hurricane of energy.
And on top of that, a lot of things - ugly, horrible, shrieking things - tried to kill him.
And all of this because granny asked him to drive her to buy some milk.
Instead of milk, he got an Inquisition run, a sky to fix and systemic racism to fight.
"I took care of that damned queue in the chantry today. Or now is it yesterday?" Commented Marcel as he opened their "TO DO ASAP" list and crossed the problem out. He was honestly ashamed that it took him a full five days to notice what was wrong with the queue. For now, he spent most of his days in the training grounds and only occasionally walked through the chantry when they had inner circle meetings.
When he noticed that not only were the elves and dwarves pushed back in the queue, but they were also given smaller portions, he immediately went to Josie to demand an explanation. The woman was clearly surprised at the beginning and then became more and more embarrassed as she explained to him that the phenomenon was both perfectly legal and socially acceptable. At first, he thought he was not understanding correctly due to the language barrier. Unfortunately, the truth was far worse.
On paper everything looked alright since the Inquisition did not follow any specific civil law. God forbid they follow the orlesian one, that one is so vile if he understood some things Josie had said correctly. However, there was no law in any country that actually forbade racial discrimination or guaranteed fair treatment to all. He immediately told Josie to make necessary corrections at the laws of the Inquisition itself - he had no control over the country's laws, but he would not tolerate this madness in the organisation that he himself represented! No second class treatment, ear pulling, height jokes, slurs or lowered pay.
However, the problem was as much formal as it was due to culture and customs. The humans just walked into the queue ahead of the elves and dwarfs not only because of some rule, but because it just was like this for centuries. The solution of this problem was presented to Marcel by accident. He was frustrated and rattled about the situation to his friends in the training ring as they were sparring. To his surprise, some soldiers - not only elves and dwarfs, but also humans - backed up his idea. They proposed that they would keep watch over the queue and enforce the law if necessary - officially or… in any way necessary. He was honestly moved by their initiative. It gave him hope that there was indeed a chance of making a change for the better. One step at the time.
The third issue was the Chantry. The religion itself was not harmful or oppressive, it was what the Chantry did to the history and its interpretation that raised the bile in his throat. Bogna took it upon herself to make the kitchens and thus the food distribution in Haven independent from the Chantry. Marcel smiled. When there was money to be made and an oppressive organisation to screw over that money, he could count on his sis to take care of the issue. Especially if she had already made plans to reinvest the money into proper living conditions for the elves and other servants. The Chantry not only allowed the unfair treatment to continue, it protected this order of things. Keeping the status quo gave the organisations the source of its power over people. It was easy to control the masses if half of the population was on a constant verge of poverty and malnutrition.
He would bet that if one took an pregnant elven woman, gave her a proper nutrition during her pregnancy to nourish the babe and then kept up with it till the child is an adult, the kid would grow up close to his or Solas' height. Bogna had also been horrified at the sight of the servants' lodging, sanitary conditions and how thin the elves there were. Hell, even Solas after only approximately a year into this 'new' world looked like he had once filled his clothes better. Marcel smiled when he looked at his sister, the woman too focused on writing something to notice. Marcel was curious if Solas or Bogna herself would be the first to realise that the chocolates were not only a part of their little game of favours, but also the manifestation of his sister wanting to put more meat on the elves' bones. Or to jump them.
Speaking of which.
"And how was your evening, sis?" Last time he checked up on them, they were deep in some weird math-fade-weird-magic shenanigans.
„We have finished the part about pulling the energy from the Fade by your Anchor around dawn. Solas was saying something but I already blacked out. I think he also didn't poison, kill or threw me out into the snow since I'm still here conscious in the Fade, so I'll call it a complete succ-"
And she was gone.
Gone, like popped-out-of-existence gone.
"Sis? Bogna?" Marcel called into the Fade and got no answer. "You little shit, are you there?" Still, no answer. Marcel shrugged and dug into his dumplings once again.
The Herald had just cleared his plate when his sister popped back onto the couch. And she was positively livid.
"How dare he!" She snarled and jumped onto her feet. That got Marcel's attention.
"What happened?" He asked, also standing up. He had known and quietly assessed Solas for over two weeks now. He had all the knowledge his sister fed him, but he wanted to see for himself what kind of man he really is. And from what he had gathered, the elf wasn't necessarily evil. Proud - oh definitely, he could hide that even if his life depended on it. Self-righteous as well. But - he cared. There was compassion and good in him, as misguided as it could become in the end. The elf also carried a good amount of poorly hidden guilt and loneliness. Millenia of it.
Also, the Herald didn't think Solas would be stupid enough to hurt Bogna to begin with. But, in case Marcel had been wrong…
He didn't care if the elf was a god - or close to one in the terms of potential power. No one could hurt his little sister and walk away with it. No one.
Bogna looked at him with thunder in her eyes. Her nostrils flared as she breathed hard. "He threw a pillow at me."
Tension evaporated from Marcel's body and he thought the urge to chuckle. His mirth however had to show somehow, for his sister threw him a betrayed look and furiously headed back to the fade-made replica of her room. "It was covered in snow! And I hate being wet!"
Mercel lost the battle with his facial expression and smiled, his teeth on display. "Better not to tell him that if you don't want to send mixed signals!" He called out after her.
Bogna stopped just behind the threshold of her room and turned to him with the look of honest confusion on her face. "I don't know what you are talking about. And, by the way - I think he just got himself arrested. And I'm very happy about it - serves his damn right!" She shut the door behind her.
Wait, arrested?
Marcel groaned and started waking himself from the Fade.
They didn't pay him enough for this job.