MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I

[faderifting]

WHO: The Inquisition's Minrathous delegation
WHAT: A diplomatic visit to Tevinter's capital
WHEN: Mid Solace
WHERE: Minrathous, Tevinter
NOTES: Slavery cw. OOC post here.

I. SWEET DIGS

The Archon's palace is a vast complex at the northeast of the island, buildings of stark black and white stone drawn straight up out of the ground and shaped by magic alone. Ringed by a wall of the same, it is made up of the palace proper and dozens of outbuildings, stables, barracks, baths, gardens, and the like. The Inquisition delegation is housed in the guest quarters, a single long hall in one wing of the palace. They are not its only occupants: special emissaries from the Anderfels occupy several rooms at one end of the hall, and other visitors are scattered throughout—trade envoys, out-of-town courtiers, relatives and guests of the Archon. There is also a veritable army of staff, constantly fetching, carrying, cleaning. Skyhold will have sent stern reminders for the Division Heads to pass down to the rest of the party: assume you are being watched at all times and mind your tongue accordingly.

The areas of the palace open to foreign visitors are somewhat limited: aside from the Archon's personal apartments, several wings apparently house massive bureaucracy behind the throne, and guests are not permitted without an appointment and an escort. The library and hall of treasures are free to be wandered, though they are carefully guarded against theft or vandalism, and the gardens are lovely and imposing testaments to the wonders magic can wring from nature.

II. GUIDED TOUR

The delegation's first day in Minrathous is fully booked, beginning with a guided tour after breakfast. The tour focuses on the nicer parts of the city and is led by a friendly elven mage, Caeso, who works for the Archon—someone is trying to make a point, perhaps, about how high elves can rise, as long as they're the right sort.

Minrathous is ancient, and it shows, with not even the care and pride Tevinter has in its heritage able to stave off signs of wear. The buildings are enormous and dark, made largely out of black stone and metals, but they indicate a majestic history more than a majestic present. There are also signs of magic, everywhere. The foundations of many buildings seem to have been pulled up straight from the earth, rather than built on top of it, and towers and bridges that should have collapsed ages ago are permanently enchanted to defy gravity. While he doesn't take them inside any of the buildings, Caeso points out the Argent Spire, the headquarters of the Imperial Chantry and Divine; the Minrathous Circle, the oldest in Thedas; and the Ambassadoria, where dwarven ambassadors work underground to preserve their castes. Then he guides them through a colorful central market where they're able to have lunch around a fountain and enjoy open displays of magic and enchanted objects by street performers and merchants. He's happy to answer basic questions about the city and Tevinter in general, and after lunch provides everyone with maps that are, possibly, designed for tourists who aren't particularly trusted (or aren't believed to be particularly bright). They only show significant landmarks and the streets required to reach them from the palace.

III. FANCY PARTY

That afternoon, everyone is due back in time to dress up, fix their hair, fix other people's hair as needed, and sit down for dinner with the Archon—distant, at the end of the table, and quiet—as well as a number of members of the Magisterium and other notable figures, with an over-the-top sixteen course meal served by a quiet, respectful staff that may be slaves or may be servants. Afterwards, and after a break to allow a little bit of digestion, the entire group migrates to join even more guests for an evening of music, dancing, and mingling in a ballroom adorned with floating lights.

The locals will shy away from discussing anything too sensitive, like Corypheus' origins or Tevinter religion and politics, but they'll be happy to discuss history and to ask questions of the delegation. A southerner is as rare a sight for them here are a Tevinter is in the south.

IV. FREE TIME

Under the Archon's protection as long as they remain his guests, and despite what the maps they're given might suggest, the delegation has been given more or less free rein in the capital, with only sensitive areas of the palace, naval yards, and the Circle and Spire off-limits for casual visits. Minrathous is a city like any other: tightly-packed buildings, bustling streets, opulent theaters and rundown shops, markets selling vegetables and flowers and fabrics, cafés packed with students arguing politics or beleaguered bureaucrats taking tea, pristine gardens filled with elaborate topiary, or small squares of green tucked between buildings, flowering vines draped down their walls. Of course it's also like nothing they've ever seen further south: street performers here make common use of magic, not just breathing fire but shaping it into a flock of birds or a dragon in flight. Slave markets are kept to the outskirts of the city but those near the docklands are vast and busy. In the harbor, among the forest of masts of trading vessels from every corner of Thedas, sits the Imperial Navy, four ships always on guard at the broad mouth of the harbor, a reminder that this is a nation at war.

Outside of specific missions, everyone is free to wander the city and explore, though they are given strict instructions to stay out of trouble—no matter what. They are also asked to keep their eyes and ears open as they do, to mingle and talk with anyone who seems willing, and to keep watch for anything unique on sale in the markets. Rare books, unknown potions, unusual enchanted objects should all be purchased if spotted: this may be the Inquisition's only opportunity to get its hands on the wealth of magical and historical knowledge hoarded by Tevinter (and reimbursements will be offered, within reason).

Potential agents are another invaluable commodity, and the delegation is charged with taking note of anyone who seems sympathetic to the Inquisition's cause and bringing their names and information to the attention of the Scoutmaster and her aides. Those capable of carefully sussing out the depth of that interest are to do so, but given the delicacy of the situation everyone should proceed with the utmost caution, and under no circumstances is any non-member of the Inquisition—no matter how friendly—to be trusted.

Comments

Benedict Artemaeus

[altusimperius]

I. Won't You Be My Neighbor

Though he comes from Minrathous, and his family occupies their own sizable mansion within walking distance, Benedict isn't fool enough to let the rest of the Inquisition garner all the Archon's attention within his own halls. He has taken up residence in one of the available rooms, which is shared only by the perpetually-masked Orlesian bodyguard he introduces to others as Gascon. Though he's clearly got things to do and people to see, it's easy enough to catch Bene in the hall en route to or from his chambers.
Or is it?

II. I Got Gas in the Tank, I Got Money in the Bank

Being back on his home turf has brought out the best in the Artemaeus Heir, and he's got all new clothes and a new attitude for the occasion. He's bright and lively on the dance floor and outright (perhaps uncharacteristically) charming elsewhere, as long as things are going his way.
At one party in particular, he's several cups in and the picture of hedonistic delight, with a warm and carefree grin to match. Ah, what a life.

III. She Said She Never Liked You From the Start
(closed to James, Simon, Hanzo, d'Artagnan, and perhaps Myr)

Perhaps they're alone, perhaps they're conferring together, but sooner or later both James and Simon are brought under arrest: it seems to do with the brand they both sport on their right hand (the one which Ser Coupe has wisely obscured). They're brought to a cell in the city dungeon to be dealt with once someone can get ahold of their owner.

[Feel free to play out your own capture, I'll jump in with Bene and his entourage after both James and Simon are in place.]

IV. Spending Every Dime for a Wonderful Time

Miscellaney, either hit me here or request something!

iii

[rathercommon]

Kitty knows that face, she thinks. The man grinning at her looks like D'Artagnan, though it is strange; after all, D'Artagnan, in her experience, rarely looks so cheerful or so carefree. Or so fancy, for that matter. So, no, she must have made a mistake...Unless, she supposes, he's just a cheerful drunk. Because this guy is clearly drunk.

She is not wearing new clothes. She is a drab thing, compared to everyone at this party: frumpy skirts (wide and loose), stodgy blouse, practical shoes (good for running in, if necessary), dark hair pulled back simply with a ribbon. She's a very pretty girl with a very pretty face, but here that loveliness is quite diminished by her lack of clothing - and, well, by the self-consciousness with which she carries herself.

She catches the man's eye, narrowing her own eyes to see if he recognizes her. It'd be nice if she had someone she liked here.

[altusimperius]

Oh... poor creature. But a lovely one, if not for her dreadful attire-- she must be from the Inquisition.
Catching the girl's look, Benedict raises his glass in friendly greeting, in a good enough mood to even be nice to commoners tonight.

[rathercommon]

Something still seems a little bit off. But he clearly does seem to recognize her - no one else here would spit on her if she was on fire, let alone meet her eye. So she goes over, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, and greets him.

"Hullo." And then, summing up her feelings towards this party and towards everything - "Ugh."

[altusimperius]

"Hello," comes the pleasant greeting, and he takes a drink from the cup, eyeing her over once again with a look of abject sympathy. "Fish out of water? You know you didn't have to plan for this alone, didn't you?" Her telltale shard confirms the woman's allegiance.

[rathercommon]

Oh. No. That's not D'Artagnan. His accent is all wrong. So she looks over, flushing with embarrassment - god, well done Kitty, just sidling up to a random handsome-ish stranger and chatting him up. But...She probably can't escape, now, can she? It'd be so much weirder to just go.

"What d'you mean, plan for it alone?" she asks. "I'm with the Inquisition. We came together."

[altusimperius]

To be fair, he is extremely handsome.

"I mean if you were having trouble finding the right outfit, you could've asked," he explains, gesturing to her clothes, clearly not seeing any harm in the discussion. Catching sight of a waiter, he waves him over, drains the last of his wine, and picks up two more glasses-- one for himself, one for Kitty. He hands it to her with a wink.

[rathercommon]

Kitty takes the wine because she's too stunned by his sheer - effrontery. She doesn't drink it, of course, because she doesn't drink; she just lowers it to her side and stares at him. "I didn't have any trouble," she says.

Her tone, at least, is somewhat civilized. She isn't here to offend any Tevinter arseholes. So she keeps her tone level.

[altusimperius]

If he notices her dismissal of the wine, he doesn't seem to care; he clinks his against it anyway and takes a drink, having a grand old time with or without her. "If you insist," he replies, amiably enough, grinning at her as though they're sharing a joke.
"You're one of the new rifters? I don't believe we've met."

[rathercommon]

"Yeah," she says, rather hesitantly, eyeing him. "Why would you have met me?"

III

[judgemewhole]

Honestly, James had had it covered up for the majority of the time he was there - not because he knew what the brand meant but that it embarrassed him. Reminded him all too sharply of the situation where he had no power whatsoever. Watching people he cared about get hurt, or killed, while he was helpless to do anything...

Either way, he had only unwrapped his hands to wash them, which was when the group of guards started to yell at him in Tevene. He gestured to his tunic - Inquisition on it in bold green and gold - but to no avail. He was tossed into a cell in his plainsclothes, his armor and weapons stripped from him. He had no idea what was happening, and could only hope that another Inquisition member had seen him.

He did not want to die in Tevinter. Not like this. He didn't yell, he didn't shout, he didn't make a fuss. He just ... sat back in his cell and prayed. Which kept the guards from coming in to harass him, for the simple reason of the aura of Holy Power he was giving off, even without all his items.

[paladingus]

Simon knows well enough that whatever the brand might mean, it's not something that ought to see the light of day on Tevinter soil. Myr's worried warnings had confirmed that, regardless of how successful he'd been in gathering the details. Simon doesn't take his gauntlets off, indoors or out.

It doesn't do him any good, in the end. Gauntlets can be forcibly removed, weapons wrestled away, hands tied, diplomatic insignia sneeringly ignored--and when he realizes that it offers no protection at all, he begs Myr to stand down, to leave altogether if he can, while he still can. The kind of brand that's sealed Simon's fate just now would surely be even more eagerly applied to an elf.

He's tossed unceremoniously into the cell beside James, whereupon he takes it on himself to make fuss enough for the both of them. The Maker might or might not deign to intervene, but Simon would sooner demand to speak with someone who can explain the charges laid against them.

[faithlikeaseed]

And to his credit, Myr had stood down immediately when Simon pled with him, much as it tore at his heart not to do something, anything to stop what was happening--

But that might have caused an Incident even worse than the one already unfolding.

As it is that incident is one he couldn't simply walk away from, either; no, once he'd mastered himself enough not to do something utterly stupid, he'd asked--politely as you please--to be taken along to the city dungeon. Had half-entertained the mad idea of demanding he be taken into custody, too, should they turn that request down--

But much as the guards laughed, they hadn't denied him (a fanatically loyal elven "servant" wasn't an unknown thing in Tevinter), and so here he is waiting at the guard station at the front of the dungeon, fingers wrapped white-knuckled around his staff, as efforts are made to contact the templars' owner concerning the fugitive slaves.

He suspects he knows already who that might be. And he is not in the least happy about it.

[altusimperius]

As far as anyone can tell, the outlook is grim: the prisoners are to be put to death with all the others of their mark at dawn, in the same sort of casual culling one might expect to find at a slaughterhouse. There are more cells than there are criminals, so finding an open-and-closed case like this one is easy on everyone involved.
Except the prisoners, but nobody's asking them.

Hours pass, and though Simon and James (and Myr) were informed that their owner was being contacted, that was the end of it. Death is, apparently, certain-- at least until someone unexpected, or perhaps very expected, arrives at the guard station and says in a low, sullen voice that he's here for the prisoners of House Artemaeus.
He tries not to notice Myr, or to be noticed by him, inevitable though that may be. He speaks only to the guard, even ignoring Hanzo's stoic presence, as glad as he is for it.

An official seal is flashed for identification, and they're all escorted down to where the prisoners are held. Benedict's steps seem to get slower and slower, his reluctance increasing with every inch they draw nearer to the cell.

oh hi

[judgemewhole]

The guards had been quite clear, in rather broken Common, about what would happen to them if their owner did not come to claim them. Considering that James thought that all the slavers were quite dead? He had a grim supposition that they were going to have to fight their way out. That was, until, the guards came down in something of a hussle to present themselves at the front of the prison doors.

He arches both eyebrows at Simon, but stands up, and moves to the front of the bars where he sees ...

Ah.

Suddenly, a lot of pieces fell into place. A fractured puzzle that suddenly made a cold, cold rage slip into his stomach. It was only with the restraint of a seasoned Knight Commander that he managed not to lunge at Bene. Instead, with all the predatory grace of an imprisoned lion, he casually leaned against the wall next to the door, and drawled at Bene and Hanzo.

"Hello ... Masters."

[paladingus]

It is neither the first nor the last time that Simon has wanted to launch himself at Benedict in turn and slam his head against the nearest solid surface, but it is, to date, the hardest it's ever been to resist doing precisely that.

But hours of silent and fatalistic prayer have left him just calm enough to realize that it isn't worth jeopardizing this sudden salvation. All the preparation to meet his Maker without expecting to be afforded the chance to say goodbye to anyone, not even the lover sitting just outside the prison door, not family or friend, not Cade or Nari or anyone else who might miss him--all the silent beseeching of forgiveness for his sins committed in the Maker's name and in his own--and it's all over, rendered irrelevant, just like that.

There will be time for rage and righteous punishment later. Right now, it's being shoved out of the way by blessed relief. This is a reprieve, isn't it? If the little fuck has bothered to show, it means the execution has been stayed, doesn't it? Simon grips onto the bars, tensed and waiting for the guards to be given the word.

[faithlikeaseed]

Simon and James weren't alone in their prayers--though Myr's had taken an altogether more condemnatory cast at first: Maker in Your wrath wipe this stinking pit of hell--this abattoir of your loyal children--from Thedas' face; cut off these monsters root and branch to wander the Void forever--

Though he's quick to repent of it when the first surge of helpless fury passes; if the trespass against the Golden City wasn't enough to warrant Minrathous' death in empyreal fire, one more injustice and any amount of agonized pleading wouldn't tip the balance. Better to ask for something in reach of practicality: A softening of Benedict's heart or steel in his spine, whatever it took to get him to the dungeon to undo what his cowardice had wrought. (If they'd been told. If they'd been fucking told straight out, this wouldn't have happened, all their hopes wouldn't be hanging on a single spoiled Vint brat who thought he could hide from his problems. But none of them, apparently, needed to know.)

He's still there, still in the same seat, when Benedict arrives, sending crystal on its lanyard strung between his fingers in a cat's cradle he's been taking apart and reforming for hours as he prays. One call would bring the Inquisition into it and yet-- They'd been told not to get taken like this, that there'd be no intervention for their foolishness lest it destroy everything the Inquisition hoped to build here. So he hadn't, even as the hours ticked by and fury gave way to despair, to wondering if he'd placed faith once again in someone who'd never intended to keep it--

But here is that faith restored, at least briefly, at the sound of Benedict's sullen voice. Without speaking, Myr rises from where he's seated, tucks the crystal away and takes up his staff and falls in a step behind Benedict and Hanzo and the guards. Renascent fury robs him of anything to say to the Tevinters, even to James or Simon as they're let out of the cells and turned over to Benedict's "care"; actions will need to suffice to express his emotions on the matter. Thus: Stony silence up until Simon's released, and then Myr steps forward, reaches out, catches at the larger man's arm and pulls him into a rib-bending embrace. Thank you, o Creating Glory, o Redeeming Lady.

It might be mistaken as merely friendly, if they don't let it go on too long.

[altusimperius]

Fortunately for them, it is a reprieve. Benedict doesn't look any happier to be here than they are, though one might argue he is in considerably better shape emotionally, which is what enables him to nod to the guard with the keys and gesture to the door.
"Are you sure, my lord?" asks the guard, taking note of how the prisoners are looking at their savior, but Benedict nods and, with a dry throat, replies: "they know what will happen if they're seen attacking an Altus." He looks directly into the eyes of both Templars as he says this, both a warning and a plea. If they make a scene, he'll regret it, but not half so much as they will.

With that, they're released. Visibly uncomfortable as he watches the tight embrace between Myr and Simon, Bene nonetheless holds out his hand to stop the guard from separating them, though he does ultimately interrupt the moment with a brusque "come on then." A furtive glance to Hanzo, and he turns to leave, stalking ahead of the group to give himself just enough distance to scheme properly. They won't attack him in the street, if they value their lives, so the logical thing would be to keep them in public and ensure they never get him alone.
On the other hand, there's a massive scandal resting on a knife's edge, one which could put his family in the Inquisition's sights, ruin his prospects, and disgrace his name among two of the greatest powers currently in the world. He has to prevent it. They must come to an accord.

For this reason, with his stomach ever-tightening and feeling so far up his throat it'll start coming out of his mouth, Benedict leads the party to his personal chambers in the Archon's palace. He'd never be so brazen as to bring them home, where his mother could get involved; and so he leads them in and closes the door behind him, realizing to his dismay that D'Artagnan is still here.

Well, so be it.

Turning from the door to face the room's occupants, he slowly lifts his hand as if to shield himself. "Hear me out," he says, the request leaving him as substantially more whimper-like than he intended.

[judgemewhole]

James doesn't say a word. He does not say a word while he Very Firmly requests all of his belongings back. He does not say a word as he straps himself back into his armor, putting his sword on his hip and his shield on his back. He does not say a word while they follow Benedict and Hanzo out of the prison itself, nor does he make a scene in the streets. He knows what it will cost the Inquistion if he does anything more than follow behind.

He says nothing when they are lead to Bene's personal rooms - where ... Bene's twin is? Honestly at this point he has no interest in figuring out a mystery. All of this, from the kidnapping to the branding, to him losing his mind for a few precious hours in the deserts of Tevinter? All of it? It was this simpering little fool's fault.

Yet in Tevinter, this simpering fool was protected by the Archon himself. So instead of wrapping his hands around Bene's neck and squeezing until his eyeballs popped out of his skull, James did the next best thing. He went to the young man's personal liquor cabinet, found the most expensive bottle of wine, took out three glasses and poured a full measure into all of them. One he took over to Simon and gently wrapped the other man's hands around, because the mage looked like he needed it. One went into Simon's hand.

James kept the third, and the bottle, as he went to drop himself on the most Comfortable Piece Of Furniture that Bene had in this place, and drawled with the right amount of Free Marcher arrogance.

"I am all ears ... Master."

Then he was just going to stare at Bene expectantly while he took a long sip of this very good, very expensive wine.

i

[foundmyselfagain]

It's while Benedict is leaving his room that Gareth manages to catch him, sliding up to the other man with an easy grin. He's been looking pretty happy about their change of location as well, and has even managed to dress nicely for the trip. While he doesn't match Benedict's fancy threads, his clothes (mostly courtesy of Marisol, bless her heart) now no longer make him look like a hobo that rolled out of the woods.

Still, clothing can only do so much, and now Gareth looks like, perhaps, a mysterious sage who just materialized in the court to unleash a foreboding prophecy. But a nicely dressed foreboding sage, at least.

"Hey, Benedict! Glad I've caught you. What have you been up to? Surely something good, you've been looking better." Pause. "Not that you didn't look fine before. Just." Hmm. Hmmmmm. "You look more at home. Which, I guess, isn't a surprise."

[altusimperius]

Interesting, how different Gareth looks when he's making an effort. Bene's actually a little impressed, pausing to glance him up and down with a small smile, pausing to meet his eyes when Gareth speaks.
"I am at home," he answers easily, "and you're lucky you're here, because I'm about to introduce you to some of the best food in all of Thedas." Giving him a convivial pat on the back, he urges the other mage forward down the hall, more or less insisting he come along.

[foundmyselfagain]

Gareth allows himself to be herded, with an exaggerated sigh and roll of the eyes, like this is such a pain. The easy smile he flashes at Benedict, however, belies his fussing.

"I'll be the judge of that. But very well, you've twisted my arm. A warning, though: If it's too good, I might just stay here forever. Have you seen the Archon's library? It's amazing. I want to live there."

[altusimperius]

"I haven't twisted it yet," Bene says with an eyebrow twitching up, possibly a flirtation if one looks from the right angle. "You're too easily impressed. Wait until you see the Artemaeus library." Which is to say, he'll consider bringing Gareth to visit his family, if he behaves.

[foundmyselfagain]

"Promises, promises." Gareth replies easily, but looks interested when Benedict brings up the Artemaeus library. "--Wait, you have your own library? That sounds--" Like some rich person bullshit and VERY unfair, but if he lets Gareth see it, then he'll let it go. "--amazing. Say, spellbinding is a Tevinter thing, isn't it? Do you have anything on that?"

You know, just out of curiosity.

[altusimperius]

The smirk Benedict sends Gareth says it all-- he's really surprised that they have their own library? At a certain level of wealth, it's about as common as having a dining room. Where else would they keep all their (one of a kind, extremely valuable) books?

"I think so," he muses, "my mother is quite the collector, it wouldn't surprise me if she had something like that." Nested in with all the tomes about demons and the Black City and other things that would be Beyond Forbidden in a southern Circle's collection.