Several campfires were lit when the sun sank behind the horizon, the smoke largely hidden in the trees above. The lookouts lit torches and placed them in brackets along the narrow walkways in and out of the campsite. What wooden shacks were not being used by the makeshift medical bay were designated to the families with young children. Blankets and bedrolls were being unpacked and laid out, while others wandered throughout the camp, passing out bowls and spoons and organising lines for refugees to queue for supper in the cookpots over the fire. It was busy, but relatively calm and orderly; the usual routine developed in unusual circumstances.
Seeing that the Inquisitor's party had long since scattered to assist where they could, and rather than attempt in vain to find solitude, Fae decided to try blending in with the crowd, finding a spare gap on the ground around one of the campfires to sit cross-legged and eat. Behind her was a large fallen log that had been repurposed as seating rather than dragged out of the way, and she discreetly laid her staff down beside her, hoping it would go unnoticed in the dim light. It worked. No one paid her much mind, with everyone involved in their own conversations. She was just beginning to think about relocating Ellethir after finishing her meal when she noticed one nearby conversation had suddenly dropped. She followed the disturbance with a glance and noticed a small group watching her; two boys, two girls, between childhood and adulthood. She closed her eyes. Please don't come over please don't come over please—
"Good evening!"
Fae opened her eyes. One of the boys, long-limbed and freckles covering every inch of his face, waved to her. She waved back. "Evening."
"So, you're an elf," he said nervously, as if the matter was up for debate.
"I am."
The boy looked back to his friends who nodded enthusiastically at him. He looked back to Fae.
"Do you work in one of the big houses? For a lord?"
"No."
"Oh. Do you live in an alienage in the city?"
"No."
The boy turned back and shook his head to his friends, who looked confused and began whispering amongst themselves. Then he had an idea.
"Are you a Dalish?" he asked excitedly.
"Not really, no."
"But you're an agent of the Inquisition, right?"
Bingo. "I am."
"Then where did you live before the Inquisition?"
"Free Marches. Excuse me, the Inquisitor's asking for me," Fae reached back for her staff and stood up, nodding towards a dark corner missed by the torches and the campfires. She used the opportunity to actually find Ellethir, who had been whisked away to another campfire by Fairbanks. Behind her, the boy hurried back to his friends. "She's a mage!"
Ellethir welcomed Fae and made room for her to sit. "Fae! I was wondering where you were. We're making a plan for Argon's Lodge tomorrow."
Argon's lodge was a series of wooden outbuildings, all connected to create a fortified barrier for the open courtyard inside. It was well-guarded, but untreated wood made for poor protection against fire. Fae made herself invisible, and brushed her fingers over the railings of the bridge which ran up to the front gates. A steady trail of embers ate into the railings, goaded on by the wind. Distracted by the smoking bridge, the guards missed some of those embers reaching the gates. Soon enough, Freemen came pouring out of the lodge, fleeing the plume of smoke climbing high above the fortress. Samson had failed to mention that Ser Auguste was a hulking great warrior in full plate, even for a chevalier, but the Iron Bull revelled in the challenge, charging him as soon as he emerged sputtering furiously from the smoke.
"The Inquisition will take your freedom!" Auguste bellowed, brandishing his greatsword. "Kill them all!"
"You must have us confused with the Red Templars!" Varric called from his vantage point on the bridge.
Ser Auguste was fast, but the Iron Bull was faster, managing to sweep his greataxe just in the right moment to take Auguste's head with it. Fae squawked in surprise and horror as the head flew past her, and the Iron Bull laughed. "What? You're the one setting shit on fire with your hands."
"It was just to make enough smoke to get them to clear out!" Fae said defensively. "Like bees in a hive. It was Sera's idea!"
"Oi! No loyalty, you," Sera put her hand over her heart in mock grief. "It's not our fault you're scary, may as well make use of it!"
"I don't mind setting shit on fire either, if that's of any help," Dorian offered.
Sera stuck her tongue out in his direction. "You can't go invisible like Fae."
"I could learn."
"Spread out and search the area," Ellethir ordered. "See if we can find any more leads."
"I found something, Inquisitor," Cassandra rustled a folded note from the pocket of a fallen Freeman, and unfolded it to read. "To a Master Kells. More proof that Samson is having red lyrium shipped to him, but it does not say where exactly. The name might be useful, however."
"I have a letter written by this Master Kells," Vivienne strode out of the nearest room. "Samson is buying all the smugglers who are poisoned by red lyrium on the job. To create more of it, no doubt."
They scoured the entire structure, and found more proof of Samson's dealings with the Freemen, but nothing they didn't already know. It was well-supplied with cots and rations, which at least gave Ellethir an idea as to Fairbanks' ever-expanding number of refugees under his care.
"It doesn't seem like the leaders are even aware of the Inquisition's presence yet," Blackwall noted.
Ellethir shrugged and gathered up what they'd found. "They will soon enough, when they don't hear from their chevalier, or the, uh, the other one, the chantry sister."
"Sister Costeau."
"Right. Let's head back to Watcher's Reach, give Fairbanks the good news."
Fairbanks was beaming from ear to ear when they returned, shaking Ellethir's unmarked hand profusely and immediately giving orders to claim Argon's Lodge for the refugees, with the Inquisition's support.
"Your orders, Inquisitor?" Blackwall asked.
Ellethir looked around. "We have mounts who can carry more than what they currently have, let's make use of that. I thought I might look in on the healers, see if they need help getting their patients well enough to move to Argon's Lodge. Fellow mages, you're with me. The rest of you can load up the mounts." She thought to herself for a moment. "Perhaps not the dracolisk."
"Good call," Varric agreed.
Halfway to the makeshift medical bay, Ellethir was stopped by a flaxen-haired young woman who looked torn between excitement and nerves. "Inquisitor! This is bold of me, but if I could have a moment…?"
"Yes?"
The woman visibly relaxed. "Oh, good! My name is Clara. I am a farmer, by trade," she curtsied briefly. "That is what I wanted to talk to you about. Now that the war is over, and, with your help removing the bandits, soon it will be safe to go home. Many of us will return to serve our lords. To work their fields, raise their brats," she chuckled nervously. "Most of the aristocracy know little of the lives of commoners. They care nothing for us, you know? But, Monsieur Fairbanks is different. He is a great man, there is so much more he could do if he had the power, like you do," she dropped her voice to a whisper. "There is a rumour that he is of noble blood. If he had proof, something he could take to the Council of Heralds… do you see what I am saying?"
Vivienne sighed. "Your naïveté is absolutely precious, darling. It is very rarely that simple."
"But I- I just thought…If you find anything in your travels…?"
"Does Fairbanks know about this rumour?" Ellethir asked.
"He doesn't like it," Clara scowled in his direction. "And he won't let me discuss it. Stubborn ass. I think he has proof already, to tell you the truth, but maybe it is not enough…?"
"Ooh, what proof?" Dorian asked, shepherding the group into one of the nearby shacks. "I'm intrigued, now."
"It is a gold medallion," Clara answered eagerly. "He let me look at it once. It has a bird on one side, and an inscription that says 'To the sun on blessed wings.' He would not tell me anything about it, but that sounds like a noble house's words, no?"
"Anyone can steal or buy a medallion," Fae shrugged. "It wouldn't be enough."
"I've heard that you can have visions with precious trinkets, Lady Seer, is it possible you might see something if you could persuade Monsieur Fairbanks to let you?" Clara asked, renewed hope shining in her eyes.
"Maybe, maybe not," Fae grimaced. "Even if I did, Empress Celene herself might be inclined to believe me, but it would be a stretch to assume the Council of Heralds would just take my word for it."
"More importantly, if Fairbanks himself is against it, we can't do anything. I'm sorry, Clara," Ellethir turned to leave, but Clara tried one more time. "Wait! There is something else, just in case you change your mind. I had already tried looking into it for myself, you see. I spoke to an man named Calder, he is one of our lookouts. He knows Fairbanks from before the civil war, and he told me about a noble family, the Lemarques. He said that Lord Giroux Lemarque's only child, a daughter, fell in love with a chevalier in the service of Lord Giroux's enemy, and ended up with the chevalier's child. Lord Giroux was furious!" she whispered dramatically. "He turned his daughter, Bernice, out of his home, and had her love assassinated. She never returned home; she fled to the Dales, and her child was stillborn. But Lord Giroux eventually regretted what he had done, and on his deathbed, left all lands and titles to her, and all her offspring. Why would he have done that if he was certain the child had died?"
"Well, I'm convinced," Dorian grinned. "It all sounds very Orlesian."
"Regardless, we can't help, Clara, not with this," Ellethir reaffirmed. "May we?"
Clara sighed and stepped to the side, finally defeated. "Of course. Thank you anyway, Inquisitor."
Fairbanks was already waiting for them inside. "I saw Clara speaking with you," he said frankly. "She was asking you to uncover whether I am a nobleman, was she not?"
"She was," Ellethir nodded. "We said no. You're an ally of the Inquisition, but otherwise your business is your own."
"Thank you for your candour, Inquisitor. Pay that rumour no mind. I am not noble, nor would I desire such. I told Clara not to pursue this, but once she gets an idea in her head…ah, she means well."
"I'm sure she does."
"Before I forget, Inquisitor, I also have another lead on the Freemen for you. This one is the most important, among their ranks, at least. A man named Maliphant, an Orlesian deserter and a true believer in their cause. He wants the nobility disbanded. Ordinarily, I would not disavow the idea, but I do not trust his motives, nor his tactics. We do not yet know from where he is operating, but we know he is working directly with the leader of the Red Templars in the area, a man named Carroll. If you can find, or better yet, take either or even both of them down, I imagine their hold on the Dales would crumble."
"Good to know. I'll instruct Harding and the rest of our scouts to help you find them."
The Inquisitor's party remained at Argon's Lodge for a few days, doing what they could to help, until Fairbanks received word that Maliphant was operating out of an abandoned summer villa only a few hours' ride away.
They expected to find it guarded, but the main gates were unattended. While Sera attempted to pick the deadlock, the others split up and began to search the area for alternative entry points.
Around the corner, sitting just outside the outer walls of the villa, a gravel path lined neatly with pretty flowers took Fae, Cassandra and Varric to the estate's chantry, also locked. While Varric set to work picking the lock, Fae pressed her ear to the door. She could just about hear muffled voices behind it.
"Freemen," she whispered to Varric. "Or Red Templars. Or prisoners."
She beckoned over a few more of their party nearby, and they took points on either side of the door. With a satisfying clunk, the lock released, and Varric swung the door open. A group of half a dozen men and women in Orlesian armour had been standing in a group talking, until the man facing the door directly exclaimed. "Merde! Inquisition!"
Both sides drew their weapons, but the man held his palms up. "Wait, wait! We, uh, we resign! Surrender, I mean we surrender!"
"What are you doing?!" a woman with her bow drawn next to him hissed.
"We are trapped in here! I do not want to die like this!"
"We're looking for a man named Maliphant. Seen him?" Varric asked casually, with Bianca trained on the man.
"He is in the big house," the man replied, nodding in the direction of the main gates.
"Got a key?"
The man kept one palm up while he dug in his pocket with the other, tossing the key to Cassandra.
His angry comrade's arms tired. She released her arrow, and Fae's arcane shield shimmered visibly when it made contact, clattering uselessly to the ground. Fae raised her eyebrows, unimpressed.
"We'll give you a minute to run. Do not come back," Cassandra ordered, stepping aside to make way. The Freemen filed out one by one, and did as she ordered. The archer turned to give them one last scowl, and Fae waved, letting sparks dance across her fingertips. It did the job; the group hurried away a little faster, for the moment unaware that Inquisition soldiers lay in waiting further down the road to arrest them.
Then the sounds of real fighting arose. A band of Red Templars were matched one to one with the Inquisition's party at the gates. "Do not let them interfere with Maliphant's plans, damn him! Do not let them enter the villa!" one of them roared.
"Reinforcements!" another yelled back.
The first grunted as he parried a blow from Blackwall's sword. "From the Inquisition! Where are ours, those rats you brought back?!"
Varric laughed, reloading another shot. "They've already scurried away, I'm afraid!"
When the last of them had fallen, gurgling blood and cursing the Inquisition, the Inquisitor's party took a moment to regroup. Cassandra tried the key, and it worked perfectly.
"Quickly," Ellethir hurried everyone through the gates. "They probably heard the fighting inside."
"Filth, taking advantage of the chaos of war," Cassandra scoffed.
"Yes, Cassandra, we're all heartbroken that some innocent totally harmless rich people have lost access to their summer house," Sera strolled through, rolling her eyes.
"Do you really have no sympathy for them? The Maurels?"
"Nope."