open.

[luaithre]

WHO: Marcus Rowntree, Petrana de Coudoux, others TBA!
WHAT: A late night cabal of the magic kind.
WHEN: Late Guardian
WHERE: The gardens
NOTES: Early and accidental beginnings of mage cabal. Feel free to wander in and talk politics. Of most interest to mages and mage-identifying Rifters, but no one's counting.

It'll be some weeks before the grip of winter loosens its hold of the Gallows, and so many have done the sensible thing and retreated indoors. Near constant rain has ceased for the time being, which only means that puddles from earlier showers are likely to freeze by the morning.

And yet, two people and one dog are outside in the gardens.

There's an iron brazier currently crackling with flame which offers them both a source of light, and technically warmth as well, but it's not alone. Leaning against one of the stone benches is a bladed mage staff of dark wood and silver metal, with runic etchings currently glowing a deep volcanic red. It emanates heat in a peculiar way -- less the radial concentration of an open flame, but an even distribution of dry warmth that encompasses the immediate area by almost thirty feet. It still necessitates a cloak or a coat to totally defy the winter chill, but the temperature is much improved, and pleasant for those who prefer cooler climates.

Marcus (wearing a scarf and everything, although it now hangs loose) occasionally tends to the fire with a wave of his hand, dispersing smoke and letting fire run off magic rather than just the wood that it gnaws at. "I'd offer to accompany you if I didn't think my presence would cast some doubt as to Riftwatch's good intentions," is more good humoured than dour, leaning back then to search his coat pockets for something -- a pipe, and a small leather satchel.

There are more stone benches circled around. Don't mind the very big dog currently lounging nearest the fire.

Comments

[ipseite]

If there is a hint of disappointment— “Perhaps I overstate the case,” she allows, betraying her first remark for the fishing expedition that it was. “But I did mark the mild way that he spoke, and to whom he did and did not aim his criticisms, and I mark it more now knowing that the price Commander Flint asked the Van Markhams for his aid in raising themselves high enough to reach a crown was a guarantee no mage within Nevarra's borders would be forced out after the war, and recourse for mages against abuses against them.”

That is quite something to have come away from her evening in Hightown with, held tightly in her hands whiling away the hours.

“Pentaghast's papers,” she continues, kneeling in a puddle of her own skirts to fetch a bottle out of the bottom drawer of her desk and tilting it queryingly to both men. “The proof of Aurelia's Venatori dealings—they came to the Inquisition when we still were its arm, and he had made copies that were not known of. It is what Rutyer's former colleague was so vexed with him about, Julius, you remember I spoke of it to you. She wouldn't say what he had done, only that he had done it alone and against the express wishes of his fellows.”

There hadn't been much else to say, then; it had merely been interesting, and interesting that he had so soon after that sought out herself. That she had counseled Eshal against openly acting against him in turn had been good advice, but good advice chosen specifically from more options than she had allowed herself to be seen considering.

[overharrowed]

Julius turns all of this over, moving to sit in his habitual chair as he does. "I suppose it isn't so unexpected that a Nevarran have an opinion over who should rule his country, under the circumstances." After all, Anora on the throne gave Ferelden mages certain opportunities and limits. On the other hand, the country wasn't in the midst of tearing itself apart, at least so far. (No one had missed the lack of an heir, but that was a problem for another time.)

"Still... one wonders how much he's apt to continue to do on his own initiative, under the circumstances." And how it would play out for mages, especially those not from Nevarra.

[luaithre]

Hopefully the next half of what Petrana says is not so important for Marcus to hear, because there is a dull whine that fills his attention shortly after she says: a guarantee no mage within Nevarra's borders would be forced out after the war, and recourse for mages against abuses against them.

He doesn't sit. He places his hands on the back of a chair and leans there. Open surprise had rippled across his expression which now settles into faraway thought.

Questions about what Flint may or may not do, what he has already done, are given no weight at all as he says, almost rudely clipping past the tail end of what Julius is saying: "All mages?"

It almost doesn't matter, what the answer is, if she doesn't know it. It is something.

[ipseite]

Petrana points at Julius with the bottle—it is all very well and good, and natural, but that it is that opinion, particularly, interests her. Maybe it is enough that Aurelia had worked with the Venatori, had chosen that. It should be enough, certainly for a mage committed to Riftwatch as well as Nevarra.

But was it? How much weighted that mild remark? Does he know, already, what's at stake? What might Fabria be willing to do for that, besides?

She is about to speak the words—may still—when Marcus interrupts, and it derails her for a moment. “All mages,” she repeats, a beat later. “All mages within Nevarra's borders at the end of the war.”

[overharrowed]

Marcus' tone catches his attention as much as his words, and Julius gives him an evaluating look. "Quite an extravagant promise," he says, quietly, thoughtfully. It's an opportunity, he thinks; not an endpoint, but a stepping stone, at least as far as his own ambitions are concerned. But it's more than they wrung out of the Chantry, even before some of those gains were lost in the election. "Assuming the Van Markhams win, of course."

[luaithre]

Finally, Marcus shifts the chair so he might sit down too -- pulling it further out, feet dragging on wooden floor in off-pitch squeak.

It feels too bright to look at directly, this information. Brilliant with both promise as well as implication. What the Van Markhams seek to gain beyond just a crown. What all of Nevarra would gain. What the Chantry would lose.

He glances to Julius as he says, "It sounds to be in Riftwatch's immediate best interest," he says, slowly, as if with effort setting aside the obvious thing he would rather discuss, "to support the victor who would not maneuvre a nation towards the bidding of Corypheus."

Right? He looks to Petrana. "Why had the Commander need to act against the others at all?"

[ipseite]

“A frankly excellent question,” she says, tapping her fingers against the bottle. Leaving aside, for only a moment, the matter of an agreement with Van Markham that's leagues better than any they're likely to wring from anyone else—a starting point, certainly, but one that is unlikely to be bettered by anyone else—she weighs the thing itself, setting out cups.

(Teacups, nevermind what she's going to pour into them.)

“In their place and without this concern.” A slow exhale through her nose. “Leverage, perhaps, to force compromise and therefore the illusion of stability, though I cannot personally think it wise. Perhaps to force a more dramatic and effective end—to have Aurelia play the Gaspard of the piece, following the example of the Inquisition in Orlais. Or if she were considered the stronger contender, her hold on the throne more secure...”

A tilt of her hand. “Civil war in Nevarra benefits none of us. A Nevarra united behind a woman who is prepared to ally with the Venatori does not strike me as a better alternative, but I am not privy to the discussions in the central tower. Indeed, if she is in fact the stronger candidate, with what we are shown of her, perhaps all the more reason to be rid of her before she brings that full strength to bear.” She frowns, considering. “I cannot be certain if what angered Fazon was the action itself, or the unilateral nature of it; if no one would have acted, or if Flint was precipitous. And though we are not beholden to the Inquisition as we once were, neither can we act wholly as if we need not consider the impact upon our mother organisation, whose present leadership is one quarter Pentaghast. Though I should be very surprised were she in favor of Aurelia Pentaghast's actions.”

[overharrowed]

"No, I think not. If she wished for political gain, nearly anything else would have been a better strategy. And she has a reputation for straightforwardness, bluntness even. The Seeker would not come all this way to ally with the Venatori, even indirectly, I think." Still... family is complicated, as he suppose his own position illustrates. There might be a difference between not wanting to rule and actively opposing one's own kin, even with Corypheus in play. Without knowing Seeker Pentaghast except by reputation, he can't be sure.

He sighs, sitting back. "Of course you're right, though. Letting a potential ally to thee Venatori gain power is unwise, and civil war would be a loss of time and resources even if she loses. But have we the resources to make sure it doesn't happen? We're already stretched very thin, even if you count the Inquisition as well as Riftwatch."

[luaithre]

Marcus accepts, once it is on offer, a teacup charged with hard liquor and holds it in both hands, posture tipped forwards to rest his elbows to his knees. Scarf uncoiled, long enough to brush the ground.

Mind still somewhere a few minutes backwards in the conversation, admittedly. Not just because he wishes to sink his teeth into the meat of this offering, this potentiality, but because to speculate on Riftwatch's collective desires and capacity is beyond his scope. But not necessarily, he believes, theirs. So he listens, and doesn't drink just yet.

"If the Commander is making deals with a royal family, it seems we've focus enough," he says, eventually. To Petrana; "How did you come by this information?" He knows the answer, instinctively, but it seems relevant to speak to.

[ipseite]

She gives the answer he expects: “I came to discussion with the Commander, this evening. I remarked upon how interesting I had found it, that he had sought me out so particularly so soon after I had heard of discord between himself and his colleagues. He saw fit to explain the matter they had fell out on.”

She had known of the trouble, but not of its cause. He needn't have explained so much of it, either, and she suspected more motive there than she saw yet. An iceberg, that seaman; his startlingly expressive face somehow managing to be merely the uppermost, visible tip. Concealing a treasure trove any pirate ought to be most pleased with, if only he could decide how most wisely to spend such coin.

[overharrowed]

He can hardly miss Marcus' reactions, and they aren't entirely a surprise. But he still marks them, quietly, all the same. Perhaps for later reflection. For now, he says, "It's certainly a bold move, on the Commander's part. The man doesn't think small."

Julius can admire that, for all the current situation seems prone to tangle if the wrong thread is pulled.

"Did he have anything else interesting to add, in the course of his explanation to you?"

[ipseite]

A little dry, “Other than to amuse himself setting the room ablaze with rumors as to the precise nature of our relationship?” She anticipates hearing about that again, though not swiftly. “An expression of interest.”

Presumably not that kind.

“Commander Flint courts my skill, I think.”

[luaithre]

"Does he," is very dry, maybe a hint mischievous in the way you'd have to run it under a microscope to detect. But Marcus is moved to clarify; "Did he impress upon you the desire to stay silent on the topic?"

And he adds, pauses the rise of his cup, "Do you impress that upon us?"

[overharrowed]

"His courting your skill suggests good judgment on his part," Julius notes, a dry aside. "But I suppose it's worth clarifying. It's yours to choose how to play, I think." If Marcus disagreed, though, best to know it now.

[ipseite]

“It was not a careless conversation,” she said, thoughtful, “I might say that he and I are in the habit of conversing with some expectation of privacy,” a fair assessment, she thinks; a growing understanding between them, “and I would hesitate to jeopardize such an agreement by speaking prematurely and carelessly of it before the throne is securely beneath the one making the promise.”

Were either side in a stronger position, maybe, but none of them are stupid. It could weaken him.

“But I am interested to know which mages were aware, as surely some must have been. Speaker Fabria seems an obvious place to begin.”

[luaithre]

Marcus does not disagree, inasmuch as Julius can tell from his sitting silently and thoughtfully nearby. Tension hasn't left him, but maybe that's what the alcohol is for -- he brings his glass up, then, and finishes the remaining generous mouthful.

"Speaker Fabria is one I'd like to better understand," he says. "Given his proclivities and occupation." And now, his nation, more than before.

He lists forward and sets his empty glass upon the table. "I don't know how he'd respond to campfire talk after dark, although I don't find him to be withholding in our conversations. But perhaps there're other venues that he, and others, might wish to discuss these matters. Beyond the Gallows, even."

Beyond Riftwatch, he means.

[overharrowed]

"I'm not averse to such a meeting," Julius says, thoughtfully. "But we would have to take care. The appearance of Riftwatch's mages, and only its mages, meeting in secret somewhere private could do more harm than good, if it were to come out." It's not that he thinks either Marcus or Petrana had somehow missed the fact, but someone needs to raise it in advance. Julius would like a plan to mitigate the fallout before they need it, if possible.

"I've found Speaker Fabria hungry to confide, though hardly the most forthcoming conversation partner I've ever had. Then again, he and I have seldom talked politics in the past, so I don't wish to over-generalize."

[luaithre]

"I've no impulse to be secretive," Marcus adds.

[ipseite]

“It might be argued that my own presence would render such a gathering open to more than only mages,” more thoughtfully. Even before getting into the question of how many mages count among their loved ones—among those who they aspire to figure into their futures—those who are not mages at all, even on a technicality. “But being open in the doing would remove some of the teeth from such risk.”

Secret meetings between mages would be one thing, and the only way to keep a secret effectively is to tell one person and then kill them.

Something else, though, has potential.

“And extending an invitation to Speaker Fabria seems natural, if he is as desirous of confidantes as all that.”

[overharrowed]

"So what are you picturing then?" he asks Marcus (and Petrana, but mainly Marcus), his tone easy. "A future of mages picnic on the Wounded Coast?"

[luaithre]

If either of them knew Marcus a small percentage less, then his immediate quiet upon being called to offer detail could be interpreted as something shy. There is something like that going on as he thinks through an answer, but less a social anxiety, and more the exploration of new boundaries. He doesn't blame Julius for assuming this meeting would be conducted in secret.

"I'd bring the conversation out from the wilderness," he say, like perhaps the other man had been serious about picnics. "And anonymous rooms, and the crystals, and private walks through the forest." Derrica, Ilias, Leander. And Petrana herself.

He lists back in his chair, finding a little more physical ease from the warmth of the room, the warmth of the liquor. Relaxation betrays a sort of weariness, but that's alright. "I don't recall very much as to my family life, prior the Circle," he says. "But they were fond of hosting dinners and salons, excuses to present well and meet others, ostensibly of like minds. If their conversations of politics and business ever bore fruit, I wouldn't know. It wasn't a place for children.

"But it promoted legitimacy. I'd picture something similar. Petrana has friends in Hightown, I believe, who might enable a venue."

[ipseite]

“The idea has merit. Even this evening—which one would be hard pressed to call secretive—suggests there might be a hunger for it. And besides, if we behave as if the concerns of mages are fit only for the shadows, we will not soon persuade anyone else otherwise.”

A thought occurs to her, pleasingly, and she turns to Julius: “It is the skirts of your robes writ large.”

A statement. That they are legitimate, and they are not going anywhere.

“Such salons were where I cut my teeth, with my husband and his family, before exile. I know the type well.”

[overharrowed]

The discussion of a salon both eases some of his nerves and interests him. He sits back, thinking through the possibilities. "Yes... it could serve. And if there's any of your contacts who you wish to show special favor, solidify a connection, you might achieve multiple aims at once." The host of such a gathering would certainly have grounds for bragging that they were doing something unique, if nothing else.

[luaithre]

He wonders if this will be a pattern, in which suggestions and ideas are held in probing fingers, their facets explored and picked over, weighing advantage to disadvantage, spoken of in terms of what it might serve and what could be. He can imagine it becoming a point of argument, one day, but Marcus has had some practice in listening to the very intelligent talk and find complications in things he deems quite simple.

It's only a matter of waiting his turn. He nods to Petrana, and says, "I wished for you-- both of you, really, to meet with Derrica because it's my belief that one of the last surviving members of a Circle like Dairsmuid has something vital to say. If I had it my way, I'd wish the same for every mage in Thedas."

The dream and heartbreak that Dairsmuid represents isn't completely overridden by the prospect of a future in Nevarra, at least not while the possibility remains as ephemeral as hearsay. One political chess move away from collapse.

"I won't be wearing a robe," he adds. In case anyone had any ideas.

[ipseite]

If it's Petrana's preference to look before she leaps, it is hand in hand with a history of pole-vaulting the leap; she taps her fingers against the side of her cup with the look of a woman who is already making a mental list of prospective hosts they might prevail upon.

(The Duke de Coucy would not be her first preference, but he is on the list—if none else serve, she can see several obvious means of securing his support as a fail-safe fallback.)

“We should consider who else should hear her first, then,” she says, curling both hands around her cup in a habit made from its shape when the drink within is not warmed. “Prepare who we shall invite, and to what—we would raise fewer eyebrows at the beginning if some among them were sympathetic but not, themselves, wielding staves. Allow us to become...something to which people are accustomed. It is useful. I am, now, something to which Hightown is accustomed.”

And she can and does make use of it. Can lend that credibility to this endeavor, too.