#*dragon age

“I am as well, I believe this Council has everyone on the edge of their seats.” Tucdela said delicately, shifting her weight from the side the side under the harsh glare of the arl. With the events at Redcliffe with the mages and the Venatori things had been..interesting with Alistair Theirin. His letters had conveyed no lingering ill will except in the occasional barbed comment and he hadn’t shown much concern in the politicking of the Inquisition until after the Winter Palace. That letter had been filled with barbed warnings as to the boundaries of the Inquisition and a dirtied, half torn note signed by the queen Baraneth had bolstered it. She had not heard of any interest in her leadership since.

If the Arl wanted to talk...well, then she might as well take the opportunity to try and gauge how Ferelden was going to side.  “What are your thoughts on Ferelden’s position in this?”

Teagan scoffed, his eyes breaking away from drilling into her to fix at the array of people mingling in the courtyards, finding those in Inquisition heraldry with a deepening scowl. “The Breach is long gone and yet Skyhold still remains with a fully functioning army. On Ferelden borders may I add.”

Realizing that perhaps she had stumbled into a hole she had no wish to continue digging in her attempts at what Josephine had suggested as “subtle inquiries”, Tucdela held her hands out to try and smooth ruffled feathers. “While I understand that the Inquisition has grown and I understand that may cause some fear I believe--”

But there was no calming the fire now, nor stopping the harsh sting of words that her inquiry had opened the floodgates to. Tucdela could only stick her tongue in her cheek and fold her hands demurely in front of her as the words pelted her. “Clearly then you must understand why Ferelden must demand a reduction in your military? This power without allegiance cannot be allowed to stand. Not when your power is used to invade our territories…”

“Crestwood was a bandit occupied fortress. The Inquisition only wished to offer aid to Crestwood’s main providence. And we succeeded.”

As though she had not spoken the arl plowed on, giving her no respite to correct his ranting misinformation and left her with hardly a moment to intercede. “Invading under the pretext of aid is exactly what the Grey Wardens did centuries ago, and now your forces do the same with the Wardens in your midst. It is hardly a clever ruse.”

Just as Tucdela opened her mouth to finally retort in full--perhaps a reminder of who exactly the Arl’s king and queen were--an acidic reply building in her throat, a form slid from the shadows, a smooth voice cutting in and beating her to her own point. “I’ll remind you, my lord, that both your king and queen are the Grey Wardens in which you slander.”

Taking in the newcomer, with her soft spoken words driving Teagan’s rant to a standstill, Tucdela’s brows knit. She was a fellow elven woman, but with no vallaslin across her skin or any heraldry printed across her armor. It was anyone’s best guess as to whether she was a city elf or someone else entirely. Though she was dressed in the furs and leathers of Ferelden she offered no clue as to who she was or who she swore allegiance to.

“They aren’t--” Teagan dropped his eyes to the ground, boots scruffing the cobblestones as he rescinded whatever he had thought to say before dragging them up to Tucdela again with a furhter deepening scowl. Any more and perhaps his face would collapse entirely into itself. “I won’t keep you longer, we’ll have words enough when the Exalted Council comes to pass.”

Simple as that, with only a cursory inclination of his head, Teagan turned on a dime and disappeared into a group of his fellow Fereldens, who swallowed him with only suspicious or pitying looks spared towards the Inquisitor.

The elven woman beside Tucdela watched him go with a exasperated look, before her eyes, already narrowed in thought, turned to Tucdela herself. She shrank from the attention, feeling as though those dark irises were tearing her apart without touching her. That is all anyone had been doing here after all, picking her apart for any weakness that could be used to dismantle the Inquisition. She fought the urge to shake her hair over her ears despite being stared at by a fellow elf, and to slip her Anchor-ridden hand behind her back. But no barbed remark came, no questioning of her title. “The arl may speak for the Bannorn, but he does not represent the Crown.”

Watching as the arl clustered with his fellow countrymen, the Inquisitor tilted her head. “I believe he is the representative for Ferelden’s interests, unless my Ambassador has proven malinformed.” her dry comment fell on deaf ears, the elf shaking her head and waving her confusion away with a flick of her hand.

“The representative the Bannorn elected to send. However, the Crown has different views. Both have more..open opinions than the Bannorn as a whole are willing to take on.” Then a realization hit her and her eyes widened, the hand previously waving away Tucdela’s confusion pressing into the side of her head as if scolding. “Apologies, Your Worship, I am Sybil Veran, liason to the Crown’s interest at the Exalted Council.”

“A pleasure.” Tucdela hedged, watching the elf inquisitively. “You may know me as Tucdela Lavellan. I’m afraid I have heard nothing on the Ferelden Crown having any opinion on the matter of the Inquisition. I was only informed of one ambassador.”

“With the queen returned from her quest and two little girls wrapping Denerim around their pinky fingers Ferelden is putting their guard down. The Crown sees the remaining threat the Bannorn does not.” Rummaging around in the pack at her side, Sybil pulled out a neatly folded letter and held out the vellum to her. “This was sent to you, though you did not arrive when it did.”

The wax seal--two lions wrapped around a shield, the Theirin family heraldry--broke easily under Tucdela’s nail and she scanned across the elegant lines of writing, mouth moving silently around the words. An offer, of all things, to gain the Crown’s support under the table to aid in the lingering troubles should the Inquisition require it. All she needed to do was pull major Inquisition fortress power from Ferelden territory.

At the bottom, signed in bold, swooping lines of ink, read:

Consider our offer Inquisitor.

-Baraneth Theirin

Baraneth Therin. The Baraneth Theirin, better known as Cousland that all the Ferelden’s and even some Orlesians spoke of with adoration and respect respectively and the very same woman that had briefly graced Skyhold’s courtyards. She had assumed that it had been only to speak to Leliana on whatever her quest with Warden Commander Ruinel had produced, or even to speak with Tucdela herself on what had transpired in the year since she had left. She hadn’t expected further correspondence. Any further letters from Ferelden she had expected to be penned by Alistair Theirin as they all had been before.  

“Their Majesties Alistair and Baraneth Theirin wish to extend an offer to you, Your Worship.” the liaison to the Crown, whose official words Tucdela held in her hand, explained as if the very claim wasn’t laid out in front of her in the elegant hand of the queen herself. “They see the use yet for the  Inquisition and do not wish to see it formally disbanded as Arl Teagan suggests. Especially since your Spymaster’s reports were received, though I know not what they said.”

Solas. Everything now was searching for Solas.

“Perhaps they would have appeared formally, but I believe His Majesty’s exact words were: I will not poke Halamshiral with a ten foot stick with Orlais, Ferelden, and the Inquisition all in the same room.” She gave a small laugh at her own joke. “And the queen stated that their presence would be overbearing.”  Falling somber again she said, “I know that the Orlesian ambassador also wishes to speak to you Inquisitor, but please, do consider this alternative. I will be around if you wish to find me.”

---

She made her choice. Made her bed and now she must lay in it. The Inquisition--no, all of Thedas now faces what might be the end of the line if they don’t succeed, if they don’t find Solas...Fen’harel she reminds herself bitterly, and and end his plan before it even starts.

Disbanded entirely...absorbed into the Orlesian army... try to continue as they are and face war from the powerful nations on either side of them like a vice. Nothing fit. There was no other option.

Marching into the Exalted Council, head held high despite the knotted, empty, left sleeve of her coat and the color that had yet to come back into her skin, she called to the entire room the end of the Inquisition.

Arl Teagan all but clapped in glee, blissfully unaware of the letter tucked in her pocket, and Duke Cyril de Montfort wilted, expression unreadable underneath his mask.

Outside the doors of the Council Chamber the Inquisition forces still stood tall, still stood unified. They knew of the letter in her pocket with it’s elegant writing and offer, they knew that things were far from finished. They had rallied around her the night prior, tucked away from prying eyes.

No, the Inquisition wouldn’t put down it’s sword until the final threat was dealt with--a loose and fraying end that had gone too long unacknowledged.

Half-hearted condolences on her loss of stature were offered as she left, earning a nod and undisguisable murmurs from who some would call the ex-Inquisitor. In the shadow of Halamshiral’s looming buildings she found an unassuming elven woman, dressed in the fur and leathers of Ferelden.

“I’ve made my choice.” Tucdela slipped a folded letter, sealed with wax bearing the eye of the Inquisition, into the elf’s hands. Looking up in question, the Crown’s liaison slyly smiled at the subtle incline of her head.

“Very good, mistress Lavellan. I will see that this reaches their hands.”

Within three weeks time a letter was slipped into Baraneth’s hand under the high rafters of Denerim’s palace. Breaking the seal she unfolded the vellum and scanned over the short, scribed message with the unsteady and messy signature at the bottom. Touching Alistair’s arm she passed it to him with a secretive grin that was missed by the assembly of Ferelden nobles.

Addressed to their Majesties Alistair and Baraneth Theirin,

The Inquisition accepts your offer. The threat we face is larger than any politics played at the Exalted Council.