(closed) the coldest story ever told

[byblow]

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Maxwell Trevean, Pel Ashara, Salem Ghilan, Alistair
WHAT: A Dalish mage Ron Swanson, a Dalish warrior who throws eggs, an Antivan assassin and his many knives, a Warden who's probably technically exiled, and one single actual human nobleman on whom we are hanging all of our hopes and dreams try to make a dude stop being a big meanie.
WHEN: Haring 5-?
WHERE: Northern Ferelden
NOTES: Plotting post!

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[byblow]

One day in Kildarn's territory is enough for them to have the shape of things: the people causing him grief are only displaced families with hungry children and ears of various shapes, or the kinds of harmless, hapless mages who were ill-suited for rebellion when the Circles fell. But polite attempts to point this out to Lord Kildarn are met only with spitting and seething about heathens and thieves.

It makes dinner awkward, to say the least, but also blessedly short. The stress gets to him and he retires early, leaving them with their half-finished plates and a servant--human, but looking harangued enough that Alistair doesn't worry she'll tattle--who occasionally sticks her head through the door to check that they're all right.

"Sooo," Alistair says, swirling what's left of his wine in his glass. "We'll probably be in trouble if we kill him."

[ombranera]

"Only if it doesn't look like natural causes or an accident." Both things he can manage quite well, even if the timing would be somewhat suspicious. "There is also blackmail or political leverage. I have been poking about, somewhat."

Someone had to know something.

[dreadinquisitor]

"And on who inherits," Maxwell added wryly from his seat a chair down, leaning back and folding his arms. "His brother, son, nephew..." he waved a hand, "...might not be any more forthcoming than he is."

[byblow]

"Brother," Alistair supplies, not very helpfully. That's all he's got. He can't say how helpful said brother may or may not be. He's sad that he even knows that much.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell nods at the clarification, a small movement of acceptance and thanks. Then he glanced at Zevran.

"I'm not certain threats and blackmail are the best way to go either. If we push on him that way, it encourages him to do the same. To spend his free time thinking of ways to get back at us, or the Inquisition - or, most likely, the people we're trying to help here."

[ombranera]

"It never hurts to have more dirt on someone than they have on you- why am I telling you this? You should know already." he is a noble himself, is he not? He is. "We could go over his head, yes? Speak to the Cousland that hasn't run off to Maker knows where. Fergus is still at home, is he not?"

[mythalenaste]

"I appreciate it." She does. It's little comfort, but it's stabilizing, knowing Maxwell thinks that way. Knowing he's on her side.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Come on," he said, gesturing with one hand and turning decidedly away from the direction the woman had gone. "I'm sure there's plenty to be done elsewhere."

Somewhere they were offended and offending.

[mythalenaste]

Pel follows Maxwell away, wondering if Vivienne had a point about uniforms and looking "professional" or whatever.

"We're going to help them, aren't we?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"Despite themselves," Maxwell nodded with a little sigh. "Because the Inquisition is better than that. We're better than that."

[mythalenaste]

That gets a smile from her. "That's what I hope."