Word arrived quickly from Emprise Du Lion, though it was not to say that the area was stabilised and ready for travelling through, as the Inquisitor's advisors had hoped. The early scouting reports were correct- there was red lyrium corruption in the area, and Red Templars were behind it, but that was not all. In the village of Sahrnia, the nearby river had frozen over at an unnatural pace. While a few people had escaped by boat before the unnaturally sudden cold snap, everyone else had been trapped by Fade rifts and Red Templars keeping watch both on and off the roads.

Mistress Poulin, whose family had owned the azure granite quarry nearby for generations, blamed herself for her part in this precarious situation, by selling the quarry to the Red Templars. She'd believed they were honorable soldiers. The local economy had neared collapse in the midst of the ongoing civil war, and the red templars had offered to assist by buying and managing the quarry themselves, taking on the costs to do so themselves and re-employing the locals who had worked there before. At first, everything was fine, until more and more workers stopped coming back, and the Red Templars began taking people from their homes by force.

Just outside of the village, the Inquisitor had crossed paths with Ser Michel de Chevin, a chevalier and Empress Celene's own former champion. He'd claimed that the red templars were being assisted by a powerful pride demon, Imshael, and that Michel held himself somehow responsible for the demons' presence. Imshael had taken up residence in Suledin Keep, an ancient elven fortress now guarded by the Red Templars. Ser Michel joined them as the Inquisition hurried to launch an offensive against the Keep. They faced Red Templars, giants deliberately infected with red lyrium in some kind of experiment, more Red Templars, and finally, Imshael. Michel tried to confront Imshael himself, but the demon whispered in Michel's ear that he'd sent shades to attack what was left of Sahrnia, forcing Michel to retreat to the village with a small dispatch of Inquisition soldiers while the Inquisitor's party remained behind to fight.

Imshael immediately identified itself as a 'spirit' of Choice, and offered the Inquisitor other "choices" instead of fighting it. When her choice was to refuse these offers and attack, Imshael brought far more power to bear than the Inquisition had been prepared for. A uniquely terrifying foe, in the course of battle Imshael changed form from a demon of Fear, then to Rage, then to Pride. It was unheard of- Imshael was no ordinary demon, and although the Inquisition emerged victorious, the fight had been a difficult one.

With Suledin Keep claimed for the Inquisition, the next aim would be to liberate the quarry, find out exactly what happened and why Imshael was there at all (presumably he had made a deal with the Red Templars, but what was the deal?), and deal with the other pressing threats in Emprise Du Lion.

No less than three high dragons had been sighted in the area, as well as Fade Rifts, and then there was the matter of thawing out the river which was essential to Sahrnia's trade. All in all, it looked like there was little chance the Inquisitor would have time to return to Skyhold before the journey to Halamshiral, and her latest letter had ordered the war council to prepare as such. They would have to meet the Inquisitor's party on their way through Sahrnia, whatever condition it was in, and make do from there.

'Making do' formed an entirely different image in Fae's head as it did Josephine, however. There seemed to be about as many people involved in sending representatives of the Inquisition to the Winter Palace as there were when the entire Inquisition arrived bruised and battered from Haven.

Soldiers were receiving their orders from Cullen for protecting the roads as they travelled, scouts' messages darted from one hand to the next, relaying whatever Leliana or Josephine needed, and there was even a delegation of domestic staff- cooks, servants, stableboys.

Monsieur Bourrée, Madame Bertin and her own small army of assistants and stylists would also be on hand, of course. It was easier to make one's way through this crowded procession on the saddled back of a sharply-fanged dracolisk, but Fae still felt the cold unease of being observed that she'd experienced sitting on the Inquisitor's throne.

The dracolisk, which was remarkably docile for its kind as the runt of its litter, only needed to snap its teeth together in annoyance and every other steed within hearing distance skittered away to put distance between them.
"That wasn't very nice, Hiss," Fae grumbled, with little heat behind the words. Hiss huffed, moving swiftly to the front of the procession, as if to say, "Move aside, mortals." No confidence issues with this creature, although maybe that was to be expected in Orlais, even for beasts, Fae surmised.

"Dorian and I have a bet going," Varric called from his horse, a Free Marches ranger who refused to get any closer. "Three sovereigns your dragon pony eats one of its stable-mates on the way to Halamshiral."

"You'll lose that bet, Hiss is all bark and no bite," Fae said, patting the smooth scales on Hiss' neck. Hiss chittered proudly.

"I'll have to take your word for it," Varric said unconvincingly, taking note of Hiss' fanged smile.

The village of Sahrnia was in even worse condition than Fae had expected. Rather than many abandoned but otherwise untouched houses, more than half of them were destroyed, large chunks torn right away by the wrath of Red Templars. The villagers who had been spared, or recently freed from their imprisonment in the quarry had instead made use of tents and heavy furs donated by the Inquisition to set up temporary lodgings in the village square.

Rebuilding would take time and coin, and there would be many injured who had already been taken to the Keep for the attention of healers. Stopping in the village for the night would have been impossible with a party of this size even if the village wasn't ruined, and Fae was more than a little relieved when the scouts leading them continued on towards the tall stone walls of Suledin Keep. A pleasantly cool breeze in the evening to lull yourself to sleep under a fur blanket was one thing, but wrapping that blanket tightly around you while snow continued to fall overhead as you willed your blood to keep circulating was another thing entirely.

The Inquisitor was out at the quarry when the rest of the Halamshiral party arrived. Fae was ringing melted snow out of her hair with a cloth rag in the evening when Ellethir strode through the gates, a close circle of Inquisition soldiers surrounding a woman behind her, who walked with her hands bound, her head down. Fae held up a bowl of stew and a loaf of bread to tempt Ellethir over to her table, and it worked. Ellethir ordered the soldiers, who saluted and went on their way with the woman in tow.

"Who's that?" Fae asked, breaking off a piece of bread for herself and handing the rest to Ellethir, who sat with a groan, leaning back into her chair in an unladylike way that would make Monsieur Bourrée weep in despair.

"Mistress Poulin."

"Mistress Poulin? The town mayor?"

"The former town mayor, now. She told us she felt partly to blame for selling the quarry to the Red Templars in the first place, but she did more than that. She knew more. When they arrived, the Red Templars wanted to avoid drawing outside attention so they began by formally purchasing the quarry to mine their red lyrium- you remember how red lyrium is mined?"

"From people."

Ellethir nodded into her bowl. "But the Venatori have been impatient with their demand for it. When the Red Templars ran low on willing volunteers, they demanded more villagers from Mistress Poulin, and she lied to the people she thought the village could spare. The old, the sick, the infirm," she tore her bread into pieces with a furious glint in her eye. "She lied to them, told them it was fine. When we confronted her ourselves, not only did she confess to it, she tried to justify what she'd done by telling us they would have killed her and taken every villager anyway, so she continued to take their coin and use it for the villagers she deemed important enough to stay." Ellethir began to shovel stew into her mouth, chewing angrily.

"Seems she was forced to make a difficult choice," Fae said quietly.

Ellethir slammed her bowl down, and grunted irritably when flecks of stew escaped it. "That's not the point. She could have told them, she could have let them make the decision themselves, whether to take the risk and go, or resist, or flee. She made the choice for them, because she thought she knew better."

Fae slid a mug of water across to Ellethir. "I'm not disagreeing with you."

Ellethir's face dropped, and for a moment she looked like she was going to burst into tears, or punch Fae in the face, or both. She hid her face in her hands instead. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

"I know, lethallan. Do you know what you're going to do with Mistress Poulin, then?"

Ellethir sighed and resumed eating, talking around her food. "No. She'll be judged at Skyhold, if we manage to make it back in one piece. I have until then to think of something."

"And the high dragons?"

"All nesting, and will be for some time, thank Andruil. In the meantime, Josephine will try to source experts on draconology. If the dragons remain unprovoked and uninterested in people, perhaps we can leave them be. I'd prefer not to risk our soldiers' lives fighting them if we don't absolutley have to. And we also need to have all the red lyrium here destroyed too, it's bad enough there's already one red lyrium-infected dragon out there. It's not something we can achieve in a day, but…"

Ellethir finally stopped talking long enough to take a breath and a bite of stew. She chewed, frowning. "When I sit on that Andrastian throne," she said haltingly. "I make choices for people because everyone expects me to know better, but I don't. I was supposed to lead my clan, not all…this." The Inquisitor gestured to the hustle and bustle of the Keep around them. "Every day I have to make decisions that could—have, seen people killed."

"Tomorrow will be easier," Fae reassured her. "Well, the day will be easier. The evening will be nigh-on impossible. But all we have to do at Comte Pierre's house is get dressed."

Ellethir leaped at the chance of a change in subject. "Hopefully the stables are big. Really big. Did you know we were going to bring this many people with us?"

"Nope."

"Josephine?"

"Yep."