faderift | [CLOSED] a prelude

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[CLOSED] a prelude

WHO: Atticus Vedici + Ser Coupe + the Division heads
WHAT: Atticus discusses his findings with the Division heads.
WHEN: Forward-dated to late Harvestmere.
WHERE: An office within the Gallows.
NOTES: Please keep all responses to one thread!

The majority of the magister's notes (parchment, books, letters, translated and transcribed missives) have been delivered to the Inquisition's division heads in advance of this meeting, but the evidence relating to the most alarming piece of intelligence--that Venatori agents have infiltrated the Inquisition's ranks and seek to obtain classified data--that is information he has kept to himself. He must time the playing of that particular hand well... namely by delivering it to them himself.

This is quite the gamble, he knows, but great risk has never been a deterrent. (If it were, perhaps he might not have needed to devote time this month to convalescing from a concussion.)

Accompanied by Ser Coupe, Atticus steps into the designated office, and looks from his research materials on the centre table to the faces seated on the other side of it.

(It requires more willpower than he might have anticipated not to let his eyes linger on Petrana.)

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It's fairly obvious to say that Beleth is nervous. She's nearly always nervous, to one degree or another, but this meeting is ramping it up to a decidedly unpleasant level. This was, after all, something that she had arranged based on the information that Atticus had given her, and his word that he had more. If this turns out to be some wild goose chase, or some malicious machination on his part...

Well, at least Wren is here. So the worst that can probably happen is just her looking foolish.

"Magister Vedici, it is a pleasure to see you," A small, polite nod to him. "And to you as well, Ser Coupe. Thank you for agreeing to accompany the meeting today." And a nod to her, as well (Briefly, it occurs to her that it's nice to have a woman there who is not barely hitting 5', and she wonders if she could get Wren to accompany more of their meetings).

Once greeted, she turns to her fellow division heads, hands folded neatly before her. "Once everyone is ready, we can begin."

"Magister," Thranduil echoes, not bothering to rise from his chair. "Ser Coupe."

He's read through the papers on the table, getting a better hold on the situation. Thranduil is pleased that they were offered in the first place. The likelihood of this being an elaborate deception is never far from his mind, and while he has not asked Beleth about it, he suspects she holds the same feelings he does about Tevinter. They cannot hold Vedici apart from his origins.

He has a sheet of paper before him- notes, mostly- and a quill, for taking more, a rough plan of questions he wants to ask. Vedici will never walk Kirkwall freely, but he sees no harm in offering a loosened chain for useful information.

It isn't a purposeful contradiction when Petrana's greeting comes in the mild form of, “Ser Coupe, Mssr Vedici,” but a continuation of her persistent, placid refusal in the professional setting to dignify their prisoner with his right title. If it's strange for her resume the role of courteous adversary after meeting him so often in dreams, how she had felt his hand at the nape of her neck for hours after their singular, ill-thought out kiss in the dungeons-

she gives no hint of it.

(She would be the very last to protest Coupe's presence in official capacities, as the woman is exceptional, and a resource she has herself made free with. Freer than may always be forgivable; time will tell.)

Her hands are folded over her files to mirror Beleth's own, and that is a purposeful gesture; to give her an encouraging smile now would be to undermine her in front of their colleagues and a man she should not allow herself to forget is dangerous, but the sentiment of support is present in a subtler way.

Her head dips in faint acknowledgment, deference. Wren moves to occupy the doorway, hands folded neatly at her back. Posture and propriety do little to conceal their closeness to a blade, and that's as well — she's here as a precaution, little more.

(Best not to test that, unless called to. Vedici is too narrow an angle to parlay into much access; she intends to make use of it when she might.)

She takes care not to allow her expression to slip, sedate attention turned over each of them in turn before returning her gaze to Atticus' hands. Each face is its own manner of alarming, and perhaps that makes it easier to school her own now. Paranoia is ever familiar ground.

His hands remain shackled, as they always do, the skin where the iron chafes bearing some scarring that will undoubtedly linger even if he is able to walk without bonds. The subtle way he shifts his hands is the only indication of his discomfort.

Looking from face to face (the presence of the incredibly tall and regal-looking elf making his eyes linger with latent curiosity), he at last says, "It is my understanding that Messere Ashara briefed you on the information I uncovered from these ciphers. I'm prepared to answer your questions now." Prepared, and eager, though he masks the latter well.

Thranduil is entirely disinclined to feel pity for the Magister and his wounds. They are unlikely to be infected, and he is warm and dry and fed.

"Scoutmaster Ashara," he corrects lightly, glancing down at the paper before him.

"Why were you unable to protect yourself in Tevinter? Surely the Archon would have been able to extend you his protection if this information were valuable enough. Why betray both country and the Venatori for the Inquisition?"

Atticus inclines his head once at the correction. "My apologies, Scoutmaster."

The courtesy is directed towards Beleth, and he holds her gaze for only a moment (should she allow it), before returning his attention to Thranduil. The peculiar elf cuts straight to the quick with his inquiry; Atticus endeavours not to do the same just yet. "Because this information in particular only came to my attention during my detainment here, and would be of little use to Archon Radonis regardless," he replies, and gestures to the work that has been laid before Thranduil for his consideration. "Doubtless he has intelligence of his own relating to Corypheus' troop movements near the Blasted Hills. Approaching him with this information would only confirm what he already knows--and the rest I suspect he would pass onto the Inquisition in due course."

A brief pause, before he goes on with, "My own understanding of our political climate is, I admit, a few months out of date"--and why might that be?--"but to my knowledge, the Inquisition and the Imperium are not yet at cross purposes. I take steps against the Venatori by approaching you with this information, to be sure, but I remain a citizen of Tevinter."

Beleth straightens a little extra, when Thranduil corrects Atticus. Oh, right. She really needed to remember to do that herself. She nods at Thranduil, murmuring a quiet "Ma serannas," to him, before turning to Atticus. The gaze is calmly held for the brief moment, and then she gives him another little nod. This is a forgiving nod, which is hopefully different than a thankful nod, but she doesn't deign to actually assure him of her forgiveness.

Thranduil is good at this. She's not surprised entirely, for Thranduil seems to be good at everything that a person could possibly be (not that she's biased or anything), but she has to admire the way that he gets right to the meat of the matter.

"Does that mean that the Archon would be willing to take action against Corypheus? Or is that beyond the timeline of your information."

A slight, thin smile. Atticus gives his head a modest shake. "That is beyond the scope of my knowledge, I am sad to say."

He grows quiet, then, shifting his eyes among the three behind the table, from Beleth, to Thranduil, to Petrana. After a considering pause, he adds, "If you have no other questions, I would speak to you plainly, for a time."

Edited 2017-10-17 17:05 (UTC)

Answering it might well be beyond the Archon's, at this time, when she is inclined to suspect that the answer depends on how likely Radonis is to believe he might yet benefit in Corypheus's rise. He would be neither the first nor the last to see opportunity in monstrousness- and the reality of the situation is not necessarily relevant to the delusions of men who have lived long with power.

“Speak your piece,” she says, gesturing elegantly for him to do so -

questions, likely to follow.

(It is so terribly easy to fall back into the habits of authority.)

"Speak your piece," she invites him. With an inscrutable glance her way, he takes a breath to steady himself, and does.

"In the spring, I was approached by the Venatori with an offer, both to perform research on their behalf and also conduct a series of experiments for them regarding the Fade rifts and the Veil. In exchange for the opportunity, I would provide my formal declaration of neutrality against their operations in the Magisterium. This was," he says, pausing to consider his words, "some months prior to my capture by your forces. However, when it became clear to me that the Inquisition's progress towards understanding and leveraging control over the rifts was considerably more advanced than the Venatori's, I elected to place myself in the best position possible to encounter your scouts."

He lets that last statement sink in before he continues, because the essence of it is what is important: yes, it was his intention to be captured by the Inquisition.

A moment later, however, he continues. "I am a researcher," he says, "with no great investment in the Venatori cause, nor in the ambitions of Corypheus. I've not betrayed my countrymen, but neither have I laboured under any illusion regarding the Imperium's future prospects if it maintains its present course, with or without this purported Elder One at the helm." He gestures as much as he is able with his shackled hands. "The Venatori were an inevitability; if it had not been their banner under which Corypheus leads his faithful, give it a few years and it would have been someone else. It is not so unexpected that a society in decline would produce zealots eager to see the return of an age where our dominance, our perceived superiority, went unquestioned across Thedas.

"I have no desire to see their incompetence rewarded," he says at last. "Hence my decision to deliver to you this intelligence regarding both the assault on Perendale, as well as the infiltrators within the Inquisition." He removes several sheaves of parchment providing corroborating material for the latter claim, and leans in enough to place it on the table in front of them.

Like an itch finally scratched, it's difficult to resist a breath, to slump in place. She holds straight. You can never trust anything that fits too neatly, and yet,

There’s information she might give to support it. She doesn’t. Better to first see what he chooses to present; an absence of shock speaks for itself. Chalk one up for Ashlock,

"If I may," A glance towards Petra, her agreement assumed —

(She isn’t the only one to take certain liberties of this.)

Wren steps forward from the doorway, hands still folded back. Her chin tips to regard him.

"Your wife and son." At not insignificant risk, if Artemaeus is to be believed. His protection during capture speaks to it. The boy’s an expensive prop to keep, when he might have met a neat end with the others. "Octavius. Were they aware of your plans?"

She thinks it unlikely. Vedici is nothing if not cautious in what he chooses to share. Still, it’s a very great deal to chance for access to — to what? The Rifters, no doubt. The shards.

A list of names tolls through the back of her mind once more, unbidden. Sina, after all.

Edited (Phonetgs) 2017-10-18 21:50 (UTC)

"Your wife and son. Octavius. Were they aware of your plans?"

His neutral mask breaks for a fraction of a second before he collects it back into place, but it was there, visible, a scar tugged apart and made to bleed again. Atticus regards Ser Coupe sharply when she speaks his son's name; there's a sudden rush of unnameable feeling in his chest, a tightening there. He masters it.

"They are not," he replies succinctly.

Edited (i can conjugate verbs) 2017-10-18 22:03 (UTC)

Beleth is trying to maintain the same calm composure that everyone else is, but at the mention of Atticus simply...electing to let the scouts capture him, her lips purse. She stares with great interest at her hands for a few moments, and the look on her face only grows more dour as Wren grills Atticus in turn. She doesn't particularly mind Wren, grilling people seems to be her favorite hobby. It's probably a Templar thing.

But the Scouts. She feels used. She feels like her scouts have been used.

Still, she knows that it's not like he could have asked. They would have laughed, and probably thrown him in the dungeon anyway, for good measure. It doesn't make it less aggravating, but Beleth chooses not to comment on it for now.

Instead, her eyes flick up to Atticus, head tilting just slightly as he reacts to the question. Interesting. "And what of your apprentice. The one who is currently...also with us. Did he know about your plans? Had he agreed to be locked up with you, for the sake of...research." She's never actually met Benedict, and maybe that's why she can sympathize with him now. Did Atticus think of how his actions would affect anyone?

"And what of your apprentice. The one who is currently...also with us. Did he know about your plans? Had he agreed to be locked up with you, for the sake of...research."

"He did not," Atticus responds, adding dryly a moment later, "which I mentioned explicitly to your Knight-Commander not long after our imprisonment."

"So you find the Inquisition’s position more appealing, and come to us,” he says, working through the stack of papers nearest to him. “And were the Venatori to dangle something shiny before you, the thought would cross your mind to pay court to them once more. Your wandering loyalties are troublesome. You betray allies by the dozens."

Thranduil would have easily admitted to a lack of understanding of the finer points of Tevene politics, were he asked. He has yet to memorize the names of all the provinces, and yet. After his period of silence, he waits for a lull, and begins to speak.

“Madame de Cedoux, Ser Coupe, Scoutmaster Ashara, my recommendation are as follows. Since Magister Vedici is here for research only and holds no political ambitions, I request that he abdicate his seat in the Senate to his heir. I would further advise that neither he nor his apprentice be allowed possession of a stave or within reasonable distance to any of the storerooms. I would also highly suggest we request a rotating escort of Templars from Skyhold to accompany Magister Vedici throughout his day, and search his rooms randomly. He and his apprentice ought not to be left alone together, and must communicate in Trade. If his information proves to be accurate, other privileges ought to be considered. He employed deception to reach our ranks, and has freely admitted working for the Venatori out of his own volition.”

Thranduil watches Vedici, unbothered. “Doubtless, it will be a boon to have his experience in service to the Inquisition.”

Edited 2017-10-20 00:37 (UTC)

Petrana leans back slightly in her seat, regarding Thranduil with a thoughtful expression that gives little else away; the apprentice will have to be dealt with separately, and not simply as an adjunct to the magister, but while the carrot he dangles is bigger than the one she might have offered, it is not unreasonable or thoughtlessly done.

“It is a place to begin discussion,” not dismissive, simply disinclined to commit to anything on the spot before she's had a chance to attach a few more strings, ensure there are no loopholes to be exploited and wriggled through that she might one day be looked to for overlooking. “Certainly I think if we are to allow Mssr Vedici to continue his research, there should be no questions later of to whom it is owed.” They don't need the Magisterium lobbying for ownership of his research on the basis of his status.

“Artemaeus is a separate question in the process of being answered,” she continues, smoothly closing him out of the conversation for the time being deliberately; it will make sense to bring him much in line with what Atticus receives, if he receives it, but he has been handled delicately through Gandir til now and treating the boy as a unit with the master previously had nearly got someone killed. “I will appraise you of that situation in a little while.”

As that is a conversation that they need not have in Atticus Vedici's hearing. (Particularly since this is the first she's heard of any of this- no, quash it, it is nothing. Think how little her own husband thought she needed to know of his- no, not now.)

There's a twitch in Beleth's eyebrows when James is brought up. Why in Thedas would he knowingly keep around a prisoner whose only crime was poor judgement in mentor? But they aren't here to discuss the apprentice, they're here for Atticus, and she won't change the subject to something irrelevant.

Thranduil speaks, and Beleth turns to watch him, face composed, but there's an unmistakably fond warmth in her eyes. He's correct, of course, and he says it so well, in a way that is harsh, but professional, dignified. But they're not here for her to be starry eyed, either.

Petra speaks next, and Beleth nods along with both of her statements. "I agree with keeping the research within the Inquisition. It's being acquired with Inquisition resources, it should foremost benefit the Inquisition. If the Magisterium requests access to it, that can be discussed with them at the time." And, hopefully, by the actual advisors. Creators forbid that Beleth ever have to personally deal with magisters on equal footing. She much prefers having to face them when they're chained.

She spends a few moments more on what Thranduil has said--trying to avoid just saying 'Yes, I agree with everything'. Her expression is more troubled than the others, worrying over what is the proper type of thing to say. Well, she'll never get better at this by never trying. "Giving him a Templar escort is more than reasonable, I'm sure that the Knight-Commander would allow us their use. I would hold off on discussing whether or not he receives any privileges until he gives us the information that he has regarding Perendale, and the supposed infiltrator."

A beat, and then she glances thoughtfully at Atticus. "If the information is accurate, and helpful, then he's proven to be a resource. We can continue to decide his treatment from that point."

Your Knight-Commander.

Her knuckles curl hard behind her back, release. Vedici’s presence draws light through the shroud of a patchwork Order, into the Inquisition’s inefficiencies. They’ve needed it: Half a dozen times now he might have seized an advantage; hasn’t.

Somehow, she isn’t inclined to thank him.

The four of them need discuss a better system of consolidating intelligence. She need discuss her concerns of Norrington, and neither to be had out with here, not before Atticus.

(Somewhere beneath the whirl of anger, of plans, she folds away that look he'd turned her. So there are weights set against his work here. Octavius,)

"Until Skyhold answers," To back Thranduil now is little risk; this isn’t any weakness Atticus hasn’t been shown personally, at length. And if it'll keep it out of James' bloody hands until they can slash this knot — "Our numbers within Kirkwall are insufficient to monitor the Magister's activities outside a closed setting."

A cell and a library only present so many variables. Already, they're stretched thin.

Edited 2017-10-21 08:24 (UTC)

The possibility of losing his seat in the Senate doesn't appear to ruffle him. Moreover, Atticus did not expect to end this meeting secure in the knowledge that he would, at last, be free of that wretched prison cell or the shackles that continue to bind his wrists. That doesn't mean for a moment he relishes returning to the former, or the continued chafing of the latter. He exhales thinly past his nose; he can't completely mask his displeasure, but his leverage is limited. He won't press his luck.

"I have laid out the information regarding the infiltrators--" Plural, he emphasizes with a glance at the Scoutmaster, "--as well as the assault on Perendale." A brief gesture to the notes and dossiers that Thranduil has been perusing. "Regarding Nevarra you will no doubt be required to cross-reference what I have provided you with your own intelligence. As for the infiltrators, what I can tell you, so far, is limited to what I have been able to discern through the ciphers: that they are here in Kirkwall, in limited numbers. Their identities have been obfuscated." This last added as an afterthought, because of course they would have been.

He has given as much of his input as he would like to in mixed company, and so stays silent. The final authority does not rest with him; he imagines they may indeed put it to a vote.

What he has before him is not worthless. He tidies the sheets and hands the bundle to Beleth, Perendale on top.

"When is the cipher due to change?" he asks. How long will Atticus be useful in a anticipatory role, and not a speculator one.

"When is the cipher due to change?"

How far is he willing to take this gamble? If Atticus appears to be considering Thranduil's inquiry as he pauses before his response, all the better.

"After Satinalia," he says at length. An appropriate enough duration, given the reaching grasp of the Venatori's forces. "At which point my skills would be better leveraged by your Inquisition if they were turned towards researching the rifts, and the Fade shards. I will, naturally, continue to provide you with everything I know regarding the state of the Venatori's own research efforts. They won't have altered much, since my departure."

Cipher, she thinks. Cipher.

Petrana regards Atticus expressionlessly for what feels like (and doubtless is not) a very long time.

“Naturally,” she repeats, glancing at the papers passing between elven hands. Would it be better to pass off a personal curiosity in the matter of the somniari, or pursue the research privately herself? The former has risks, but she must take pains to have a trail that can be followed later in the latter-

She must better understand precisely with what manner of fire she is playing.

(But Artemaeus is more her job than the rest of this, and she does not urgently say more, weighs her thoughts carefully.)

Atticus remains calm under the weight of Petrana's neutral scrutiny. ~~everything is fine~~. After a moment he looks instead to Beleth, awaiting further questions from her.

Of course they changed their identities, Beleth muses as she accepts the papers from Thranduil, organizing them into her own stack. We wouldn't need you if they were openly capering around as Tevinter agents, now would we? She doesn't say as much, silently looking over the papers as the others speak.

Once Atticus turns to look at her, she tries to think of anything else she might want to know, and comes up empty. The only thing now is for them to be able to speak without him listening. Has she fulfilled what she told him she'd do? Maybe. She's let him speak, at least, and everything else is not entirely in her hands. It will have to do.

"I believe that is all for now. I trust we may call upon you if we require more answers?" She words it as a polite, optional choice, but her tone is of someone who already knows the answer. Sure enough, she moves on, glancing at the other two leaders. "Unless anyone objects, I would ask Ser Coupe to take him back to his quarters." There's a dismissive note that includes Wren as well. Clearly, as far as Beleth is concerned, her job here only stretches as far as Atticus' whereabouts.

If Petrana disagrees regarding the nature of Wren Coupe's work, she doesn't protest the implicit dismissal - glances at her with a short nod, and anything else they need to say on the matter will be done elsewhere. As with much of the rest of this.

“Our thanks, Ser Coupe,”

which Atticus is not entitled to for the great generosity of acting in his own best interests as a prisoner of war.

There is much else to do. They had best get on with it.

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[CLOSED] a prelude

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