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

[mousquetaire]

Yes, well. That's more or less what he thought.

D'Artagnan resists the urge to roll his eyes, though his shrugging, expansive I told you so gesture cannot be avoided. He moves to sit on the bed after that, though, and leans forward with his hands clasped. This isn't a time to lick anyone's wounds, this is a time to get to work.

Or at least to make some headway. He watches Benedict, still not cowed by his attitude. This isn't the first noble tantrum he's ever dealt with. It hopefully won't be the last.

"Is there truth to what he said? That this was your mother's doing?"

It seems a pertinent question. Benedict had been the one under scrutiny, but there's obviously more to it than that. D'Artagnan's tone softens a little, because the next question holds genuine sympathy.

"Why would she do that to you?"

[altusimperius]

"This was--" Benedict starts to snap, but calms himself and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger with an angry sigh. Denying that it was his mother's doing will only make it worse, now that the cat's out of the bag. She, of course, will be livid if she learns how many people know.

"She..." The part of him that always gets what he wants is hissing and spitting and berating his mother in his head-- how dare she, how dare she do this-- but it's outweighed by the part of him that wants nothing more than her approval, to be a suitable heir for the magisterial seat. "... was trying to help me." He looks down at the windowsill. "She wanted me to handle it."
Pursing his lips, the look Benedict gives D'Artagnan is one of unexpectedly genuine vulnerability. "...and I tried, didn't I?" He looks away again, "isn't that what she would've done?" She wouldn't have been afraid, that's for certain.

[mousquetaire]

One thing is certain: the impression d'Artagnan is getting of Benedict's mother is far from flattering. She'd done this to help him, really? She'd put him in a position where he might be blamed for the deaths of two soldiers of the Inquisition, where he would have to go against his allies, lie to them, keep secrets from them, and this was for his own good?

How could that be for anyone's own good?

Even if it were, she'd still put brands on those men. She'd been perfectly willing to risk their lives just to teach her son some kind of lesson. That's disgusting.

"I don't see how it helped you." He manages to sound somewhat delicate when he says that, which is impressive, since he feels like tearing into this woman. He sighs, and comes over to put his hand on Bene's shoulder.

"If she had been where you were, and let them die, then her example is not worth following. If she's worth your admiration, then yes. She would have freed them. You were right to free them. Do not doubt that."

[altusimperius]

Those familiar with the intricacies of Minrathous politics, or even The Game of Orlesian infamy, would recognize the cutthroat nature of even the simplest of intra-familial interactions. Benedict is aware of it inasmuch as it's all he's ever known, but unlike some, he's never known to separate it from the love and affection one might expect from one's parents. He assumes they're one and the same.

"She wouldn't have let them die," he says testily, turning to perch against the windowsill and picking up the wine glass again, this time taking a more sensible sip. "She'd have... made sure they learned from it. With subtlety. No one shouts back at her or pours from her personal stocks." He looks down in disgust at the wine, despite then drinking from it again.

The hand on his shoulder is a strange feeling, and brings to mind the late Kit, whose casual touch should always have been insulting yet never was. It's nice. Encouraging. Benedict looks up at D'Artagnan's face, trying to read his intent and somewhat failing.
"Of course she's worth my admiration," he says, more adamantly than he feels, "I'm to take her seat one day. If I can't command respect as she does, the family will fall to ruin."

[mousquetaire]

D'Artagnan considers that. Really, Benedict is very vulnerable here. He's been put in a terrible position thanks to what his mother had done, and it seems she did it with the aim of teaching everyone a valuable lesson. Which was what, exactly? That she was capable of punishing everyone at once? No one will be better off if Benedict becomes like her.

Frowning, he turns to rest against the sill beside him.

"When the time is right, you will decide what kind of Magister you want to be."

Let him be better advised, and kinder than his mother, d'Artagnan thinks. It suddenly seems very important that she not be allowed to be the only voice Benedict hears. He doesn't need his very own version of Marie de Medici whispering in his ear. Of course the moment he mentally makes that comparison, the more certain he is that she'd down wrong.

"You can earn respect without being feared. The men who left this room will not respect the coin you inherit or the deals you can strike. They'll respect you honouring your word, doing the right thing even when it is not easy. All is not lost."

Even now, there's still something practical that can be done to make everything right. Whether removing the brands is what Bene's mother would approve of or not, it needs to be done.

[altusimperius]

What D'Artagnan advises is not necessarily foreign behavior to Benedict-- he reads, after all-- but it seems far-fetched, not at all how things operate in the Magisterium, and not a way he himself is in any way equipped to behave. Charming people is easy enough, but the rest...

Finishing the wine, he sets it down and grips the windowsill with both hands, looking distinctly uncomfortable but rather quieter than before. This is the kind of thing Kit talked about. Being a better person. Whatever that means.

After a nervous but thoughtful silence, Benedict casts a furtive glance out of the corner of his eye, catching sight of D'Artagnan.
"Will you help me?" he asks, almost too quietly to be heard. The man may be common and sound Orlesian, but he seems to know what he's talking about, which makes him the only person in the room who does.

[mousquetaire]

[ He is not a bad person, d'Artagnan thinks. He's vain, and his mind is on a different track from d'Artagnan's. He does things, says things, that d'Artagnan never would.

But he'd saved those men from the gallows, regardless of the risk to himself. D'Artagnan is not fool enough to think that did not benefit Benedict, since there's no question their deaths would have been bad for him in the Inquisition. He'd needed to protect his reputation as well as their lives, but that does not change the fact that he'd saved them. Or that he'd faced them, afterwards, and let them blame him in spite of this being his mother's doing.

Despite his riches, despite his power base, there's something about him that seems vulnerable, and even lonely. He likes him. Beneath that smooth veneer there's someone real. ]

As much as I can. You will be all right.

[ He reaches to touch his arm again, squeezing it gently. ]