Summary: Sitting in a dark room, Tarquin does paperwork obscuring the creation of new Liberati as the formerly enslaved are integrated into new lives in Tevinter and abroad.
Read below (955 words.)
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By the Will of the Maker and the Hand of the Archon, the Voice of the Divine, on this day the First Day of Verimensis in the year two thousand and forty two heralds the dawn of the new year.
In Celebration, and in accordance with custom, the names contained herein are now considered Liberati, free of all incurred debt of their person in all forms, from all sources, and in totality. This decree is effective at the time of transcription into this, the Counting of Names, and cannot be altered or changed without explicit writ of the Archon, the Divine, or their named representatives.
Any who deny or delay the discharge of their emancipation, or who testify falsely of its records, shall be considered as debtor to the Imperium, and subject to all punishments as put forth in the law.
Tarquin sighed to himself as he began to write, the only other sound in the room the scratch of his pen across enchanted paper. His hand was already cramped partway through, but the work could not wait for him to rest. Each name flowed forth in his hand, the letters containing lifetimes of change. A few caught his eye, but most were simply letters, copied onto the page. As each one was completed, it would flash briefly, showing that it had been prepared properly for whatever magic would do with it later on.
Ready to be sent tomorrow to every Chantry in the Imperium. Posted to the boards for the faithful and faithless alike to read. Unchangeable, immutable. And, at least for the list of names Tarquin had to commit to the rolls, an absolute fabrication. Each name someone the Shadow Dragons had freed, rescued, or or assisted in escape. No debts had been cleared, because they owed no one for the dignity of a free life. They were owed everything by those who had stolen their freedom, or denied it at birth. This was the only way he knew to pay even some of that debt.
"Have you finished?"
Tarquin looked up, letting the rich voice pass over him as a tall man emerged from the shadows at the edge of the room. Next to the large shelves full of scrolls, he still stood taller and prouder than most. He considered that a feat in a city full of the high and mighty, all fighting to claw further up than the rest.
"I hear you go by 'The Viper?" Tarquin snorted, dispelling his brief unease at being observed before he noticed the man was there. There was no way he was going to let someone looking like that know how startled he had been to hear his voice.
"Yes."
"Mae said you could make sure this was official," he flicked his eyes to the paper, and back to the man who had moved far enough into the candle light that he could see more of their form. Large, in a dramatic leather coat bedecked with Shadow Dragon imagery, complete with the face mask mimicking the fangs of a snake and a tricorn hat pulled snugly down on is head.
"Yes," the man repeated simply, infuriatingly, and held out a gauntleted hand to take the sheets as Tarquin passed them over. "They will be read out by the Divine tomorrow as a part of the Chant of the First Day, with the names already submitted. A charm ensures that the Archon's decree will be replicated with the others in every large chantry in the Imperium. All will know."
"And he'll read them then? No problem getting them in the right hands?" Tarquin snorted as he began to methodically burn each of the flimsy paper sheets he had brought with him, destroying the only evidence of what he had done aside from the paper in the the other man's hands.
"He will, Templar Tarquin," The Viper gave a short nod as he stashed the paper somewhere inside his coat, blue eyes catching Tarquin's from under the brim of the his hat. Naked sincerity, entirely disarming. Not something in large supply in Minrathous on the best days, much less doing business in the dark, even for the Shadows.
"Just Tarquin," he looked away, busying his hands with cleaning up the ash, ink and blotting paper. It wasn't unusual for him to work late, but he didn't need too many people wondering why he had been using this kind of ink and paper, as opposed to the low quality paperwork he was usually stuck filling out.
As The Viper turned to go, he paused at the edge of the light, half concealed in shadow already. "The Chant begins at sunrise with the calling of the Liberati by the Divine, if you are inclined to attend."
He disappeared before Tarquin could respond, melting into the dark recesses of the archives as if he had never been there. Officially, of course, no one had been here tonight, not even him. His superiors were more than happy to let him work after hours as long as he didn't expect to get paid for it. At least this time someone would benefit from what he'd done.
"Sunrise, eh?" Tarquin muttered to himself as he stood and stretched, supplies carefully returned to their place, candles extinguished. He looked around the cramped archives room where he spent most of his time, day and and day out in the dark, now illuminated only by the low magical lights along the walls. "Might be nice to watch somebody else bring the light for a change, even if it is one of the Maker's only jobs he still does."
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Tags are always no pressure, check this fun thing out, with no expectation of response ❤️
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This fanfic comes from a very specific headcanon of mine, which is if you save Minrathous and choose for Neve to become the inspiration for Dock Town, when she introduces Rana to the Shadow Dragons she and Tarquin become best friends, bonding over trash talking the other templars (and gossiping about Neve).
Title: Templars in the Shadows
Rating: T
Platonic relationship: Rana & Tarquin
Summary: When the Viper introduces Rana to the Shadow Dragons, she doesn't expect to meet someone she knew from the templar order.
Gwyn and Catrin always loved to swim, the ocean called to them and they could always be found off the shore when they were younger.
Catrin, with her webbed hands, could always swim faster than Gwyn. Being young and insecure, Gwyn would retaliate that at she blended in with the High Fae more, unlike Catrin.
When Gwyn is older and her sister is lost to her, Gwyn confides in Tarquin about her sister and their younger days. The ocean, the swimming, webbed hands, being part lesser fae.
Tarquin gifts Gwyn webbed gloves in honor of her sister and for when she swims.
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With a soft grunt she gave the body a good sove. It hovered for a second, then tipped and plummeted into the catacombs far below. The templar, Tarquin, had helped her clean up the scene. No. She had helped him. Why? Again, the question haunted her.
“You haven’t asked me why I killed him.” His voice had been oddly calm the entire time.
“It’s not my business.” Silva stood up and dusted her hands against each other.
“Most people are pretty bothered by something like this.”
“Murder?” He did not flinch. “I’ve caused enough death to not be bothered anymore.”
