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

[earthbones]

"Honour matters," she agrees with a nod because it does, poor Harbinger she would be if she quibbled that one. "Honour is in the blood of some, there are those who must uphold it. In all of this there have to be some who see through it with clear eyes, else it gets lost. I've seen what happens when there's no honour to be found. It's a poor thing. Empty. Disappeared in the night and worse."

Valenwood went that way with the Thalmor creeping through then striding, now part of the Dominion as she listens, watching Herian's face from the corner of her eye to avoid bumping into anyone in the street. "It's why it's balancing, some hands do work that they think hastens one thing but doesn't. Other hands do the opposite. And then there you are in the middle of it, and no one will thank you for it, they'll just-- well you're there, it's your job, go do it, and do it now, better that you did it yesterday why haven't you gone and done it no matter how it sets the teeth on edge. Which part would come first? Elf or mage or some other piece?"

She likes to know, is nosy, has lost her faith in Thranduil-glory-of-Aldmeris-reached-towards that she must look elsewhere. It leaves Herian and Coupe as other faces to turn to, at least until trust is regained, and Herian she does at least know well enough to speak with this way, enjoys what little company they've shared. There are no hackles up.

It takes a moment to find her words but they come. Carefully. "There are people I care for. I won a stuffed halla large enough for my roommate to sit astride," fond, indulgently fond as one might be a sibling they teach terrible things to, "I can do good work I think but it's hard when I have seen this before. When I have seen the lights go out, I would say to keep it. Even in the midst of war and dragons, Skyrim still sang, still danced, still laughed. Brawling in a tavern then that person says yes, whenever you ask me I will fight at your side and venture with you."

(Everyone is nuts in Skyrim so take that with a pinch of salt but you get her.)

"He's a scholar but that's rare for them, they're a people. Almost kin to Mer, which is elves, but none of us are quick to claim it. You have none here; pariah folk, barbarians in their strongholds with tusks," up go her thumbs by her bottom lip to demonstrate carefully just for a moment as she adjusts her hood, "bigger and heavier than most of us. Warrior culture. Good smiths some of them. Urag is rare, fussy grumpy old man who'd smack you with a book if you think you're going to get away with stealing or vandalising but no one knows more than him on arcane insights."

She misses him. The volumes pressed into his hands with some fervent delight: tell me what this is, tell me what lurks behind these pages, tell me all of it even though the hour is late and I am not part of your College. The smell in this shop is the same and she has to shut her eyes a moment once she's in, door held for Herian to drink it down, settled into her skin.

[dashing]

That merits thought, is perhaps more abrupt than she is used to. Elf or mage first?

"There are those who discount my interest in the fate of elves." Can she say she is elf first, when it is only her blood? When her ears, her body, all of her is human? Is elven history, elven family, in growing up in an alienage enough? More are ready to count her as a mage, and yet she is considered a traitor by some as well, for being a Loyalist.

Her mouth twists a little. "I lived in an Alienage and was raised by a family of elves before I ever knew I had magic. That was... home. I may well have stayed there indefinitely, had the Circle not taken me. My magic... I think my magic gives me tools that I might use to protect, and being a mage opened doors to me that I might never have accessed as an elf-blooded human within the Alienage."

What does she choose? "I am accountable to both, but my heart lies ever with the elves, though I— though I have no desire to presume the privilege of involvement. A human interfering in affairs, that could harm, more than help. I have found the presumptions that some make painful, but... when I look as I do, they cannot be blamed. When the Circle fell, though, it was the elves I dedicated my efforts to, before I joined the Inquisition."

Should she speak of those dearest to her? Saoirse and Sabine? Should she speak of how Cosima has saved her, in so many ways? How her heart lifts with thought of her? Perhaps it would be too much.

A very slight smile. "He sounds a little like a tutor I had, in Starkhaven. The manners moreso than the tusks— though he'd such a beard that I can make no guarantees."

What was that? A joke from Herian? Never mind, she's now busy inhaling the smell of books.

[earthbones]

"You have it in you, you were city born and raised. Unlike the Dalish who disquiet me with their ways and claims to know all; that is a dangerous line to walk, to be the purity of all elves that should be followed. I see where it goes. All that I have said? That follows. When the Men go to war, when the Mer are small, when old glory is to be reclaimed cast in that image?" Well it's a very specific image that the Dalish hold in their garb and tattooed faces is it not? Beleth has never said anything to calm her heart, and Herian instead walks a line that interests her far more.

This is another reason part of her almost welcomes the order that was delivered: you will be required to come to Tevinter by order of the Inquisition. No mages penned in. Not how Herian describes that tears at her. "To take children from families is...painful. If your family was what it was, and you lived amongst them, then you were elven. I've met others as you raised by people not even their own by blood but keeping other ways and caring for what is around them. It isn't for them to say what is in your heart." (Even when she contests it with others, the feral vicious hissing and snarling that comes out of her to lash the measure of her will against theirs, to see who gives in first.)

Here is a truth: she is not uncomfortable with touch, merely out of practice from so long in the wilds, a hand on the arm careful, as if this woman might spook or Brónach might. "You care more than those who say they know all for questioning where you are: is it better to be born good or to wrestle with your nature?" Her tone implies the latter, always the latter, better to never be sure for in surety is the fall from the great height, or the inability to see clearly.

"Is it the beard? Urag has one, white as snow bear, bristling. Perhaps the beard grows and with it comes the rest." Spying what looks like the nearest assistant, the opportunity to pounce is seized. "Good day and well met, are there histories kept here? Magical, otherwise, old books, the older the better."

The young man looks to them. Considers. Just about remembers his courtesies even with the thrust of the arm to indicate back that way, if you please and off she leads them. Prowls. Daughter of too many not to.

[dashing]

Herian, perhaps predictably, lapses into silence. She needs a few moments to consider, to digest and to let her thoughts gain some sort of order. At least she is able to muster a smile at the thought of beards pre-empting tusks, and a sincere smile at that, before she nods respectfully to the clerk and follows Brónach deeper into the book shop.

It is a massive place - what she had thought to be the main body of the shop was, in truth, just the front room, and a short hallway leads to a second, bigger chamber. Ladders lead the way to some of the highest shelves, staircases spiral, and though the building is in Minrathous, so finely crafted, this is certainly a building that seems to have been built less with a view to be grand and spacious, and more to take advantage of a space that was not yet occupied. The stone underfoot is black granite, and the room is lit only by one window high up, and candles dotted around. She can see the dust dancing in the shafts of light, and for a moment she is reminded of the ancient library of the Starkhaven Circle, long burned down, and feels a painful pang of homesickness.

"Those who are born good may not understand what it is to struggle and to grow. To... struggle and be aware, is important. There are those who say that fear undercuts bravery, but I would say it is similar. Knowing fear and overcoming it, or acting even when your fear still chokes you, that is bravery. Without struggle, there are limits to what we can ever understand."

Wandering to a table of books, she carefully runs her fingers over the covers, inspecting them for any that might be of interest. "Thank you," she finally adds.

[earthbones]

Bookshops aren't commonly found in Skyrim. They aren't that sort of people, and there are always other things to set your stock by and to have perhaps a few books on selection, when the College has the Arcanaeum you can make the effort to travel to for almost all. Herian isn't the only one who has to take a moment. A hard swallow as Brónach's feet whisper over the stone (an effort not to alarm, the choice to make sound this time) with a hand just running over the nearest shelf, grain smoothed down beneath her fingertips.

A rich place, clearly, but then so much of what she's seen of Thedas is compared to Skyrim where the people scratch their living in cold, hard lands where the weather doesn't forgive them or grant mercy. This in particular reminds of Nevarra, the first place in her memory though if it's simply just powerful mages with influence, she's not entirely certain.

"I have done many things," her voice is lower, lifting a book to begin inspection and so anyone who comes by will pay less heed, "and even if it is in me to slay dragons, I am afraid. I am always afraid in that moment. It catches you. Seizes as the wolf does on the throat but still: I do it, even if I think I can't, if my whole body has screamed at me, I can."

To find the like-minded is rare. For her at least. (She knows all that she is, that there are things that dwell within her, feral, biting.) "You don't need to, the truth should be said. You've spoken plainly with me, it's more than I've had before." Unsurprisingly she's uncomfortable with gratitude half the time if it's this sort of thing, something that's not easily shrugged off as she looks at the book. "Magic and Tevinter's history aren't parted from one another, not that the rest of Thedas is much better but here..."

Half-offering if this is something Herian wishes to turn from, half getting the work done because well she likes the challenge of a text, pulling the truth from the myth is how one lives in Skyrim when the dragon breaks.