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

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

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.

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I. SWEET DIGS

Hanzo is well used to the opulence of Tevinter; he had lived there for the first half of his life, a little more than that, and he had grown up with the wealth and the power of being an Altus and then a Magister. He knows what it is to be welcomed with Tevinter hospitality, so he does not expect anything less than the rooms they're given. He is careful to look at all the rooms, or as many as he can, even if he knows he is being assigned a bedmate: it does not do well to imagine that some of them won't have been given some form of 'extra protection' - but not to protect the occupants.

He doesn't spend a great deal of time in the guest quarters after that. He's in his room barely enough to catch a few hours of sleep and then he is off and out, bow and arrows strung over his back and his outfit looking formal but easy to move in, attention focussed on drinking in as much of the palace and the rooms as he can. He doesn't know, after all, when he will next be allowed in Tevinter. His self-exile had denied him for ten years, but he could not resist the chance to see his homeland again and be protected by untoward whispers, especially if he keeps his head down and says little about himself.

Who would expect a Shimada Magister to be wandering as an Inquisition scout? No one.

II. GUIDED TOUR

The tour is lacking as far as Hanzo is concerned. He knows enough of Minrathous to know that what they are being given is minimal at best, and he cannot truly blame them - he would not want strange foreigners wandering around his cities without an escort, being privy to any and all secrets that might be laid bare. It's especially true for a place in Tevinter, where the secrets of magic are a deep and wondrous thing... But also incredibly dangerous.

There are more dangers in the back streets of Minrathous than there are in the average city and he's aware enough of that to take precautions.

He does separate from the group eventually, taking his very badly drawn map and moving to sit somewhere quietly, drawing some charcoal from his belt and beginning to fill in the gaps. He's been here before; he knows where other streets are, where winding roads lead, and he adds notes as he draws, curling in on himself to keep his work away from prying eyes as much as possible.

III. PARTY

While he doesn't spend a great deal of time fixing his own appearance - he is particular about his looks most days, so he is already more than presentable - he does spend time making sure he looks as un-Tevene as he possibly can. He wears nothing of the traditional clothing one might expect, he keeps his hair up in a knot, dismissing his golden ribbon for something more subdued. He looks like a slightly more dressed up version of any other Inquisition scout, and that should be enough to allow him some level of being hidden.

He had exiled himself, after all. Anyone who recognised him might offer him a welcome. It's what he tells himself, time and time again, as his fingers run over the dragon tattoos on his arm. Slowly, he lowers a sleeve over them, pained and hurting at the idea of hiding something that means so much to him - but it is for the best. If anyone was to notice them it would be at this event and he knows it would not do anything good for the Inquisition itself.

The meal is traditional, at least, and Hanzo eats little enough. It's the rest of the celebration that grates on him; the dancing, the drinking, the mingling. The magic. He stands to one side, trying to blend in with the backgrounds and appear as a shadow more than anything else, sipping at a glass of something strong and wondering when he might be allowed to leave. He doesn't think anyone would care, particularly, but there's always a risk of being scolded for being rude, especially on a mission like this.

Overall, he looks bored.

IV. FREE TIME

There's no hesitation in where Hanzo goes in his free time, at least at first. He spends a little time in the baths each day, allowing himself that level of decadence before he spends a few hours in the library, studying anything he can of his people's history, whatever things he can, not making notes but memorising anything that he thinks might be useful in the future. He doubts that he would be able to attend any meetings with any people with power, but having more knowledge is not necessarily a problem. The very last thing he does with his time is sit out in the beautiful garden, surrounded with magic and power, tilting his head forward and closing his eyes as he meditates.

He has the ability to speak the language of these people so when he does venture outside the rooms and centre of the palace it means that he can speak to anyone he deems interesting enough. It's obvious that they're somewhat familiar with the idea of foreigners knowing Tevinter, but the very fact that Hanzo looks like someone from their country lends itself to him fitting in very well. He might not admit his heritage completely, but there's no denying it. Blood speaks for itself.

While it might not be the best idea he does, at times, scramble up onto the tops of buildings, hiding in the shadows, settling down comfortably to listen to the world below. If he can find anyone who might be willing to return with them then he will have done his duty, and that is paramount to Hanzo.

Hanzo likely has no time to prepare for what's about to befall him: which is to say, the sound of racing feet squeaking to a sliding stop in front of his door, which is suddenly flung open to reveal... probably the last person he wants to see after such an entrance.
"They got--" Bene wheezes, out of breath, "--taken--!"

Hanzo had been hoping for something of a quiet evening - he was tired, and homesickness was draining when it was tied up with a certain level of nostalgia - but it was not to be so. He knew to expect it sooner or later; he had hoped that it would be later, however.

Not stopping his movements - checking his arrows, fingers running over Storm Bow and the gentle whisper of magic, his eyes intent - he speaks.

"How? Where?"

Hurrying into his room, Benedict extends a small missive that he was himself given only moments ago. It reads:

Benedict,

I have been notified that the City Guard has your Templars. I leave it to you to handle this.

Mother

Clearly there's some fuss, as Benedict looks beside himself with horror, staring at Hanzo's face imploringly, waiting for him to take charge or give some form of wisdom or fix it, somehow.

The note is brief and to the point - what Hanzo would expect from Benedict's mother. They were his toys to play with and he is the one who lost them; it is his duty to get them back. He was in situations similar to it when he had been an Altus; it had never been a concern when he had been a Magister.

Best not to think on those things.

Nodding his head, Hanzo grabs his things before he steps towards the door.

"We will simply have to make the City Guard aware that they have made a mistake."

"But we can't--" Bene catches Hanzo's sleeve before he can get to the door, his face pale. "If I-- they'll know it's..." His family, which would be a disaster if they set the Inquisition on his mother; worse yet, him.

Something occurs to him, and he gets a look on his eye that's almost deranged by his panic. "What if we don't," he suggests, in a fraught whisper as though this is a revolutionary idea. What if they just... let the Templars get executed and deny any knowledge of it?
As an afterthought, he starts to tear up the note into tiny shreds.

"No. I will not carry the deaths of Templars upon my shoulders." Hanzo has no love for Templars as an order, but needless death? When he knew he could do something for it? It is entirely dishonourable and he can almost feel the throb of it in his very being. He had almost lost Honour to such horror before; he had almost lost one of the spirits he loved so dearly. He is not willing to risk it a second time.

"There is no need for us to go as claimants. I am a member of the Inquisition and they are guests of the Archon. That should be more than enough to clear up the misunderstanding. If not then we shall improvise."

Flinching at the forceful response, Benedict hunches his shoulders and accepts the defeat, his mind still racing for alternative options.
"Do you truly think they'll cede to the Inquisition, a visiting organization that until recently has been overtly hostile to Tevinter, over one of Minrathous' own noble houses?" he asks, his tone biting, "only an Artemaeus will be able to get them out."

Though still very much afraid, his fear's manifestation has shifted from panicked to flustered. Finishing tearing up the letter, he stuffs the shreds in his pocket to deal with later, and lifts his dark, insolent gaze to Hanzo. "You have to make sure I survive this." Having found a cigarette in his pocket, he sticks it in his mouth and lights a match, still frowning, sulking. "Or she'll be after you next."

"I think they will know better than to risk the incident it will cause." Hanzo's not fool enough to think that the Inquisition itself holds the greatest of powers, but with the ties to the Archon and the strength it's been gaining, especially with Rifters... There is no denying that it is the best weapon they have. If the worst happens he knows that he can fall back on his name - the name that Benedict knows - but he does not want to give the Templars that weapon. If they're out of earshot...

He scoffs, shaking his head and pushing by the other man.

"Put that out," and he begins to make his way down the corridor. "I am not afraid of your mother. I have fought far worse than her and survived." As if Hanzo does not know how to survive a Tevinter family. As if he is not an expert in disappearing, in hiding, in becoming someone else. He had done it before; he is not afraid.

"Oh, so you're handling it then," Bene replies with a roll of his eyes, stopping in the hallway (and most pointedly not putting out the cigarette), folding his arms.
"Good luck, assuming they don't throw you in there with them."

"If you would rather I didn't attend to your problems I would be more than content to stay here, or perhaps visit the libraries. It has been some time since I have been home."

He very deliberately stops, turning to look at Benedict with a stern expression. It's the same one he would have given Genji, once.

There's a brief standoff; on the one hand, Benedict is firmly of the mind that no one can tell him what to do (even his parents never did, after all), that Hanzo is completely out of line expecting to take this kind of firm stance... and yet.
On the other hand, this could go very bad, very quickly, and Bene is at least not too big of an idiot to recognize when he has an ally.

Though he spends a couple seconds fuming incredulously at the older man, finally he huffs toward and past him, taking care to exhale a big puff of smoke right as he glances back to make sure he's coming. Off they go, but not happily.

The standoff does not last even half as long as the ones he used to share with his brother; those could last hours, the two of them training or studying in the same room with nothing but stone cold silence between them. This is easier; he knows that he is doing something Benedict desperately needs from him and it is going to put him in just as much risk - he can step away from the issue and not suffer for it. The same can not be said for Benedict.

The boy begins to move and Hanzo holds his breath through the smoke - that is familiar too. Slowly, he picks up his pace and follows, saying nothing. He has won and that is what counts.

At a glance, it would not appear the two of them have much in common tonight. Hanzo dresses to blend in with the crowd; the lady of Nascere arrives positively dripping with gold, from the elegant dip and turn of the golden Cetus woven into her hair to the lace filigree that tumbles to her feet, as if she'd chosen to clothe herself in every coin her island had ever taken from Tevinter's shores. Where Hanzo avoids the celebration, Max steps into the center of it as if daring it to deny her. While he becomes shadow, she shines with a peculiar intensity, less akin to the warmth of the sun and more as its reflection might off steel.

To say that she was enjoying herself, however, would not be precisely accurate. She is walking a knife's edge; one familiar face, one nostalgic ear to recognize the lightness of her laughter in this place where she has never belonged, and she could lose more than Tevinter's good opinion. But for that, she would need to have been important enough to any of them to remember. To guard against as much, she would have to allow them to be so important to her in turn. She chooses neither.

But it is not a comfortable choice. When inevitably the conversation breaks and her new companions wander, she is glad to find a glass of wine and a quiet corner where she can let down her armor, if only for a moment. That this corner happens to already be occupied doesn't seem to displease her.

"Not to your tastes?" she asks, a touch wry, with a nod to the festivities.

In comparison to the bright golds and handsome outfit that Max is wearing, Hanzo has gone for something a little less bright and bold; he's dressed in blacks, all with the intention of blending into the background and hiding himself away from prying eyes. It's impossible for him to completely dismiss the intentional bold fashions of his homeland, however, so despite the fact that he fits into the shadows with his blacks and greys he is still clearly dressed well. Even the ribbon he wears in his hair to keep it from his face is a matching silken black, and Hanzo holds a drink in his hand as he watches the world around him. Much like the lady herself, he is clearly not having as much fun as the event was intended to instil, his eyes dragging across the room and his mouth hidden behind his drink more often than not.

It would be easy to overindulge, he thinks, but it would not do well for him to lose control of himself when there are so many dangers around him. Hanzo knows that he would likely be welcomed back to Tevinter, at least by others, but should the Shimada family hear of his return... It would be far easier to have him removed than it would be to have him reinstated, especially given the rumours of their connections. It keeps him on edge, keeps him sharp, keeps him constantly looking around the room, turning his head this way and that to make sure that nothing comes at him that he does not expect.

He turns his head at the guest, nodding at her in welcome. It's not someone he recognises, but it's someone he's certain he's seen in passing, so he is not entirely on edge; he doesn't reach for the daggers he has hidden in his boots or his belts and instead greets her with a nod of his head and a sip of his own wine, if only because he thinks his voice might be hoarse otherwise. It's not been the type of event where he's had reason to speak much.

"It has been some time since I enjoyed parties like this," ten years to be exact, but that's hardly worth mentioning. "And yourself?" Would she be here if she was truly enjoying herself?

"Parties like this need not be enjoyed to prove useful," she answers with a dip of the head. So that's a no. But she seems at peace with that fact, and at least marginally so with her role here. She can wine and dine, charm her way into the hearts of men and women whose goodwill will make or break this alliance, and in so doing exert a measure of control over a world she'll not be subject to again. For however long that lasts. It doesn't make the slaves pouring their drinks or serving their food free, it doesn't make the sort of sick falling sensation in her stomach disappear, but she has limited expectations of comfort on this trip, and they are thusfar not unmet.

"This one, I think, in particular. There is much to be gained here — even if it means making allies not everyone enjoys, as well."

Tevinter not being the most popular of their prospects, after all.

It sounds like what he was told when he was a child, Hanzo thinks. Attend the parties, the gatherings, mingle with other students, other Altus, learn about them - their strengths, their weaknesses, their loves and their losses. It would make it easier to use them, to manipulate them, to hold something over their head were it necessary. Hanzo has never been the type of man to enjoy anything like a party, to enjoy anything that might be considered enjoyable like that; it had always been Genji's way, to wrap himself in the excitement of a gathering, with drinks and food and women, with Hanzo standing in the background like a morose guard.

He takes another sip of his drink, closing his eyes to try and find some measure of peace. He can almost hear the haunting echo of Genji demanding he step out of the corner, his brother's hand around his wrist, dragging, tugging -

"That is how it has always been here," Hanzo says, finally. "There are many spaces for quiet talk and discussion. These parties are for planning as much as celebration, I think." His jaw is tight, grit, his hand squeezing around his glass before he breathes and relaxes.

"They are for enticing... Prospects."

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

hanzo shimada

I

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