It had taken them about a week from the time heād summoned Estella back to Haven to make the trip out to Val Royeaux. The Inquisition proper was yet without horses, but the Lions were not, and an explanation to her comrades was all that was necessary to secure the required mounts, and so the three of them had managed to cover the ground a great deal more quickly. Cyrus, Estellaās twin and apparently quite the expert in magical matters, was a more experienced traveler than Leon would have guessed, and of course a Seeker and a mercenary were both no stranger to the road, so they made efficient time, more perhaps than they would have with a larger party.
Not, he believed, that this had much to do with the Revered Motherās reasoning for recommending that the young woman rather than her counterpart take care of this. It was sound argumentation, at any rate, and something that could only help them, even if it was simply by getting more people to talk about them, to see that there was more to them than some set of anonymous shadow heretics.
Anything would help them at this point. Additionally, of course, Val Royeaux was where he was to meet his own contact, someone the Divine had put him in touch with prior to her death, via a circuitous family of connections that began with Rilienās bardmistress and ended with a well-traveled noblewoman apparently willing to take on the diplomatic endeavors their cause would require. He had only corresponded with the Lady Marceline BenoĆ®t via letter thus far, but he had found her to be keen of wit at the very least, and Rilien assured him that they could do much worse, in that odd fashion he had that probably shouldnāt properly count as reassurance but somehow did anyway.
Theyād dismounted about ten minutes ago, and left their mounts with a stableman not too far from the gates, which they now approached. As was ordinary in the middle of the day, they were open to entrance, with a couple guards posted mostly for show. It wasnāt like any bandits were just going to march into the heart of the most powerful nation in all of Thedas.
They had taken only the first few steps inside the gate before they were approached. It was a woman, an elf judging by the shape of her ears and the wideness of her eyes. On her face she wore a mask, like most of those that resided in Orlais. It was of fine make, crafted of silverite and studded with sapphires down the right cheek. The mask cut off at the tip of the nose and bottom of the cheek, the nose of the mask curving upward and giving the mask an avian appearance.
As she approached with her hands tucked into her sleeves, it was clear she stood a few inches shorter than Estella. "Ser Albrecht?" she said with beautiful voice, pleasant and soft to the ears, "and Lady Herald, I presume?" She then bowed deeply and rose again. "I am Larissa. Mistress Marceline expected your arrival."
From beside Estella, Cyrus looked ever-so-slightly miffed, probably due to the fact that heād just been ignored, but the expression was gone so swiftly it might never have been there at all, replaced by a smile that one might best describe as ācourtly,ā one of those worn by people born to nobility and its subtle trappings as well as the obvious ones. A charmerās smile, if one would.
āAll these years, and Iāve never once been to Val Royeaux. Clearly, this was a grievous error on my part. Perhaps I shall take up ornithology?ā There were a lot of things that could have meant, but the best guess was that it was some oblique form of flirtation.
Larissa took the comment in stride and turned to bow to Cyrus as well. "Of course milord, but may I suggest caution? Orlais possesses many dangerous genus of bird. Your studies may prove... detrimental."
Cyrus raised both brows, looking quite unthreatened, for what could easily have been interpreted as a veiled threat. āIn that case, I think I shall like it here even more than I expected.ā Larissa simply smiled.
Leon resisted the urge to sigh. Deeply. Heād forgotten how young his charges really were. Not that he was an old man, but heād been a Seeker since these two were just hitting adolescence, and that did make him feel strangely ancient. āYes, well,ā he said, clearing his throat to draw everyoneās attention back to him. āWhile Iāve no doubt that you both have wit enough to banter for days, we do need to see the Lady Marceline, and if sheās expecting us, I doubt we want to make her wait.ā
Estella shot him a look he interpreted much more easily than anything the other two said, and it was gratitude, so at least he wasnāt frightfully boring to everyone, he supposed. Really, the sooner they left, the better; his sensibilities were far from Orlesian in character, and already the city seemed far tooā¦ ostentatious, for his liking. It was even in the architechture.
"Of course milord. If you would, please follow me," Larissa said, turning and leading the group into Val Royeaux proper. Their path took them through the city, under brightly colored awnings and immaculately kept buildings. Along the way, they passed many more citizens who donned masks much like Larissa's, but each slightly different. Music seemed to follow them wherever they went, be it from windows of the buildings, or from an adjacent street. The capital of Orlais seemed to earn her reputation.
They reached a long thoroughfare crossing what seemed to be a giant reflecting pool when Larissa spoke. "Mistress Marceline awaits in Le Masque du Lion CafƩ in the Summer Bazaar. Please," She said, leading them over the bridge and into the bazaar. Merchants hawked their wares in the bazaar, and a turn later brought them to the cafƩ in question. It was partly open air, giving them a view of those situated with in.
It was here Larissa stopped them. "I apologize. It appears mistress is still in her meeting with Marquis DuRellion. Please be patient until their business is concluded," she told them, turning her head toward a pair of nearby patrons, one male and one female. It seemed that these were the two in question
The woman, apparently the Lady Marceline, wore a fine black dress adorned with purple accents and stitching. Her mask was also made of silverite like Larissa's, but hers was cut in the middle of the cheek. On either side, feathers were worked into the metal and raised, possessing a coat of purple flake paint. The man, DuRellion, also wore a mask, his covering the majority of his face, showing only his mouth and chin, and a mustache was carved under the nose.
Even over the ambient din of the cafƩ, their conversation could be heard.
"The Inquisition cannot remain in Haven, Lady Marceline. Not if you can't prove it was founded on Justinia's orders," the man said with his arms crossed and his back straight in the chair that he sat.
"Your Grace, you must understand, now is not the best of times. More and more flock to your town daily," the woman said in a warm and kindly tone.
The man shifted his weight in chair and shook his head, "My house lent the Divine those lands for a pilgrimage. Your Inquisition was not part of the arrangement." His brows furrowed and he raised his hand to point at her. "We were overjoyed and honored to lend Haven to the Divine, she was... A woman of supreme merit. I will not see an upstart Order to remain on her holy grounds."
Lady Marceline's lips formed a straight line, though a hint of sadness remained in them. "I understand your Grace, I truly do. Divine Justinia was a wonderful woman, and she will be dearly missed by all." She paused, seemingly out of respect for the deceased, but then continued. "But it is the Inquisition-- Not the Chantry that shelters the people who come to mourn the passing of the Divine. My Lord DuRellion, the Divine would not wish us to squabble like this, and she would not want her death to divide us."
She then reached out to place a comforting hand on the Marquis's arm, lending him a warm smile. "We face a dark time. Lord DuRellion, she would wish that we band together, forge new alliances, and face this coming storm together, not apart."
The Marquis sighed and shook his head. "I... What you say is true, she would not want us to quarrel. I will think on it, Lady Marceline."
"That is all I ask Lord DuRellion." With that, they began to stand, and that was when she caught the eye of Leon. "Before you take your leave Marquis, if you would allow me, I would to introduce you to the Herald herself," she said, leading him to the group, and Estella specifically.
"Marquis DuRellion, I present to you Lady Estella Avenarius."
Leon couldnāt help but think to himself that he should have warned Estella of this possibility. She probably thought she was coming here to talk to clerics, not nobles, and there was a brief flash of undisguised panic on her face before it swiftly disappeared, forced under what could only be a veneer of calm. Clearing her throat softly, she dropped into a curtsey. As far as Leon could tell, it wasnāt a bad one, either, though the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her continued discomfort.
āY-your Grace. It is good to meet you. The Inquisition extends its gratitude for your generosity in this trying time.ā She smiled thinly, and Leonās brows rose just slightly. The correct noble form of address, and more or less what he figured was the right thing to say. That had actually gone much better then expected.
āPlease also allow me to present High Seeker Leonhardt Albrecht, and Lord Cyrus Avenarius, my brother.ā Well, that explained it. If her brother was a lord, she must have been noble at some point in her life, right? Leon inclined his head by way of greeting, as did Cyrus, though it was hard to mistake that the latter was more interested in his surroundings than the introduction.
Behind the Marquis, what can only be described as a pleased look crept into Marceline's face.
DuRellion bowed in response and spoke, "A pleasure Lady Estella. High Seeker, my Lord," he added, greeting Leon and Cyrus in turn. "I apologize, but I cannot stay. I have matters to attend to, surely you understand. Lady Marceline?" He said, turning to the woman, "We shall speak again, I have no doubt. Until then... The Inquisition may remain."
Marceline curtsied in response and said, "Thank you, your Grace." With that the Marquis took his leave.
Once out of earshot, Marceline turned toward Estella and nodded with a satified look. "Aside from the initial grimace, you handled yourself especially well Lady Estella. Now, as for introductions: My name is Lady Marceline Ćlise BenoĆ®t, Comtesse of the West Banks of Lake Celestine and the owner of the LĆ©cuyer Vineyards brand of wine," she said with another curtsy. "I am told that I am to handle the matters of a diplomatic nature for the Inquisition, correct?"
Estella looked immediately to Leon, and he spared her the necessity of a response. Heād been warned that Lady Marceline was of distinctively Orlesian temperament, so to speak, and heād dealt with that before. āWe have been reliably informed that it is well within your capabilities, milady,ā he cut in politely. āAnd as Iām sure the Marquis has aptly demonstrated, it will be a task of no mean challenge, nor significance. Iāve been handling most of it myself up to this point, but I have an army to provision, and our mutual acquaintance Ser Rilien hasā¦ other matters to handle.ā
He was conscious of the fact that they were still in a public location, after all, and proclaiming for all listening ears that the Inquisition had spies and a truly impressive, if still nascent, network of information handlers was not the best way to curry favor with the public. Even if it became obvious, it must never be said.
All of it gave him a headache, quite frankly. Heād been glad to be the youngest in his family, so as to never have to deal with this kind of thing, but unfortunately, heād had more than one encounter with politics since becoming a Seeker, and these days he anticipated many more.
"The Marquis?" she laughed, though it was a mild, even thing. The expressions she had worn with the Marquis were gone, replaced with something far more neutral. "His position is not as certain as he makes it out to be. The DuRellions are Orlesian, and despite their Fereldan relations, if he were to wish to lay claim upon Haven, he would have to petition the Empress to negotiate with Fereldan on his behalf." She frowned at this, and slowly shook her head. "Unfortunately, her Radiance is preoccupied with concerns far more larger than petty land disputes."
She shrugged and spoke again. "However, it is better to allow him to believe that it was his idea to let the Inquisition remain in Haven than to force the matter ourselves. I would far rather have him as a potential ally than an enemy."
āReally?ā Cyrus broke back into the conversation, and though he didnāt roll his eyes, the same thing was implied by his toneābored, skeptical. āWith potential allies like that, will we have time to deal with our enemies? Seems better to cut rotting ropes before they snap unexpectedly.ā
Marceline smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Perhaps, but there is a difference between idle complaints and a concerted effort to undermine us," the smile then fell out of her lips and something far more solid replaced it. "I will not stand for the latter."
"We would rather build bridges than burn them." It was Larissa who had spoken that time. "Shall I gather the ser and the young lord?" She asked Marceline, whom nodded her approval. With that, Larissa took her leave.
āI for one will be glad to leave the bridge architecture to you,ā Leon said wearily. Maybe heād actually be able to sleep at some point in the future, though he didnāt think it likely, for more than one reason. Well, that could all be dealt with later. Right now, they had one more matter to attend to, and that was taking the Revered Motherās advice.
āIt has been recommended, soundly I think, that we seek out some of the members of the clergy here in Val Royeaux, so as to better acquaint them with our organization and our Herald.ā The one that wouldnāt scare them too much, anyway. āI was going to head to the Grand Cathedral, but if you have any more pertinent suggestions, Iād be grateful to know them.ā
"It sounds as if we are to build bridges even now," she said, a knowing smile on her face. "Personally, I would suggest we pen a letter first, describing our intentions and to give us time to prepare but..." she said, her ocean blue eyes peering at Estella from behind the silverite mask. "I believe it would serve our purposes better for them to meet the Herald as she is now. We do not wish to manufacture her as something she is not."
"That and I do not believe the Chantry is in the mood to be recieving letters... So then. To the Grand Cathedral. Ser Albrecht?" She asked, gesturing for them to begin and make their way there.
Leon nodded, and turned to lead the way.
Not, he believed, that this had much to do with the Revered Motherās reasoning for recommending that the young woman rather than her counterpart take care of this. It was sound argumentation, at any rate, and something that could only help them, even if it was simply by getting more people to talk about them, to see that there was more to them than some set of anonymous shadow heretics.
Anything would help them at this point. Additionally, of course, Val Royeaux was where he was to meet his own contact, someone the Divine had put him in touch with prior to her death, via a circuitous family of connections that began with Rilienās bardmistress and ended with a well-traveled noblewoman apparently willing to take on the diplomatic endeavors their cause would require. He had only corresponded with the Lady Marceline BenoĆ®t via letter thus far, but he had found her to be keen of wit at the very least, and Rilien assured him that they could do much worse, in that odd fashion he had that probably shouldnāt properly count as reassurance but somehow did anyway.
Theyād dismounted about ten minutes ago, and left their mounts with a stableman not too far from the gates, which they now approached. As was ordinary in the middle of the day, they were open to entrance, with a couple guards posted mostly for show. It wasnāt like any bandits were just going to march into the heart of the most powerful nation in all of Thedas.
They had taken only the first few steps inside the gate before they were approached. It was a woman, an elf judging by the shape of her ears and the wideness of her eyes. On her face she wore a mask, like most of those that resided in Orlais. It was of fine make, crafted of silverite and studded with sapphires down the right cheek. The mask cut off at the tip of the nose and bottom of the cheek, the nose of the mask curving upward and giving the mask an avian appearance.
As she approached with her hands tucked into her sleeves, it was clear she stood a few inches shorter than Estella. "Ser Albrecht?" she said with beautiful voice, pleasant and soft to the ears, "and Lady Herald, I presume?" She then bowed deeply and rose again. "I am Larissa. Mistress Marceline expected your arrival."
From beside Estella, Cyrus looked ever-so-slightly miffed, probably due to the fact that heād just been ignored, but the expression was gone so swiftly it might never have been there at all, replaced by a smile that one might best describe as ācourtly,ā one of those worn by people born to nobility and its subtle trappings as well as the obvious ones. A charmerās smile, if one would.
āAll these years, and Iāve never once been to Val Royeaux. Clearly, this was a grievous error on my part. Perhaps I shall take up ornithology?ā There were a lot of things that could have meant, but the best guess was that it was some oblique form of flirtation.
Larissa took the comment in stride and turned to bow to Cyrus as well. "Of course milord, but may I suggest caution? Orlais possesses many dangerous genus of bird. Your studies may prove... detrimental."
Cyrus raised both brows, looking quite unthreatened, for what could easily have been interpreted as a veiled threat. āIn that case, I think I shall like it here even more than I expected.ā Larissa simply smiled.
Leon resisted the urge to sigh. Deeply. Heād forgotten how young his charges really were. Not that he was an old man, but heād been a Seeker since these two were just hitting adolescence, and that did make him feel strangely ancient. āYes, well,ā he said, clearing his throat to draw everyoneās attention back to him. āWhile Iāve no doubt that you both have wit enough to banter for days, we do need to see the Lady Marceline, and if sheās expecting us, I doubt we want to make her wait.ā
Estella shot him a look he interpreted much more easily than anything the other two said, and it was gratitude, so at least he wasnāt frightfully boring to everyone, he supposed. Really, the sooner they left, the better; his sensibilities were far from Orlesian in character, and already the city seemed far tooā¦ ostentatious, for his liking. It was even in the architechture.
"Of course milord. If you would, please follow me," Larissa said, turning and leading the group into Val Royeaux proper. Their path took them through the city, under brightly colored awnings and immaculately kept buildings. Along the way, they passed many more citizens who donned masks much like Larissa's, but each slightly different. Music seemed to follow them wherever they went, be it from windows of the buildings, or from an adjacent street. The capital of Orlais seemed to earn her reputation.
They reached a long thoroughfare crossing what seemed to be a giant reflecting pool when Larissa spoke. "Mistress Marceline awaits in Le Masque du Lion CafƩ in the Summer Bazaar. Please," She said, leading them over the bridge and into the bazaar. Merchants hawked their wares in the bazaar, and a turn later brought them to the cafƩ in question. It was partly open air, giving them a view of those situated with in.
It was here Larissa stopped them. "I apologize. It appears mistress is still in her meeting with Marquis DuRellion. Please be patient until their business is concluded," she told them, turning her head toward a pair of nearby patrons, one male and one female. It seemed that these were the two in question
The woman, apparently the Lady Marceline, wore a fine black dress adorned with purple accents and stitching. Her mask was also made of silverite like Larissa's, but hers was cut in the middle of the cheek. On either side, feathers were worked into the metal and raised, possessing a coat of purple flake paint. The man, DuRellion, also wore a mask, his covering the majority of his face, showing only his mouth and chin, and a mustache was carved under the nose.
Even over the ambient din of the cafƩ, their conversation could be heard.
"The Inquisition cannot remain in Haven, Lady Marceline. Not if you can't prove it was founded on Justinia's orders," the man said with his arms crossed and his back straight in the chair that he sat.
"Your Grace, you must understand, now is not the best of times. More and more flock to your town daily," the woman said in a warm and kindly tone.
The man shifted his weight in chair and shook his head, "My house lent the Divine those lands for a pilgrimage. Your Inquisition was not part of the arrangement." His brows furrowed and he raised his hand to point at her. "We were overjoyed and honored to lend Haven to the Divine, she was... A woman of supreme merit. I will not see an upstart Order to remain on her holy grounds."
Lady Marceline's lips formed a straight line, though a hint of sadness remained in them. "I understand your Grace, I truly do. Divine Justinia was a wonderful woman, and she will be dearly missed by all." She paused, seemingly out of respect for the deceased, but then continued. "But it is the Inquisition-- Not the Chantry that shelters the people who come to mourn the passing of the Divine. My Lord DuRellion, the Divine would not wish us to squabble like this, and she would not want her death to divide us."
She then reached out to place a comforting hand on the Marquis's arm, lending him a warm smile. "We face a dark time. Lord DuRellion, she would wish that we band together, forge new alliances, and face this coming storm together, not apart."
The Marquis sighed and shook his head. "I... What you say is true, she would not want us to quarrel. I will think on it, Lady Marceline."
"That is all I ask Lord DuRellion." With that, they began to stand, and that was when she caught the eye of Leon. "Before you take your leave Marquis, if you would allow me, I would to introduce you to the Herald herself," she said, leading him to the group, and Estella specifically.
"Marquis DuRellion, I present to you Lady Estella Avenarius."
Leon couldnāt help but think to himself that he should have warned Estella of this possibility. She probably thought she was coming here to talk to clerics, not nobles, and there was a brief flash of undisguised panic on her face before it swiftly disappeared, forced under what could only be a veneer of calm. Clearing her throat softly, she dropped into a curtsey. As far as Leon could tell, it wasnāt a bad one, either, though the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her continued discomfort.
āY-your Grace. It is good to meet you. The Inquisition extends its gratitude for your generosity in this trying time.ā She smiled thinly, and Leonās brows rose just slightly. The correct noble form of address, and more or less what he figured was the right thing to say. That had actually gone much better then expected.
āPlease also allow me to present High Seeker Leonhardt Albrecht, and Lord Cyrus Avenarius, my brother.ā Well, that explained it. If her brother was a lord, she must have been noble at some point in her life, right? Leon inclined his head by way of greeting, as did Cyrus, though it was hard to mistake that the latter was more interested in his surroundings than the introduction.
Behind the Marquis, what can only be described as a pleased look crept into Marceline's face.
DuRellion bowed in response and spoke, "A pleasure Lady Estella. High Seeker, my Lord," he added, greeting Leon and Cyrus in turn. "I apologize, but I cannot stay. I have matters to attend to, surely you understand. Lady Marceline?" He said, turning to the woman, "We shall speak again, I have no doubt. Until then... The Inquisition may remain."
Marceline curtsied in response and said, "Thank you, your Grace." With that the Marquis took his leave.
Once out of earshot, Marceline turned toward Estella and nodded with a satified look. "Aside from the initial grimace, you handled yourself especially well Lady Estella. Now, as for introductions: My name is Lady Marceline Ćlise BenoĆ®t, Comtesse of the West Banks of Lake Celestine and the owner of the LĆ©cuyer Vineyards brand of wine," she said with another curtsy. "I am told that I am to handle the matters of a diplomatic nature for the Inquisition, correct?"
Estella looked immediately to Leon, and he spared her the necessity of a response. Heād been warned that Lady Marceline was of distinctively Orlesian temperament, so to speak, and heād dealt with that before. āWe have been reliably informed that it is well within your capabilities, milady,ā he cut in politely. āAnd as Iām sure the Marquis has aptly demonstrated, it will be a task of no mean challenge, nor significance. Iāve been handling most of it myself up to this point, but I have an army to provision, and our mutual acquaintance Ser Rilien hasā¦ other matters to handle.ā
He was conscious of the fact that they were still in a public location, after all, and proclaiming for all listening ears that the Inquisition had spies and a truly impressive, if still nascent, network of information handlers was not the best way to curry favor with the public. Even if it became obvious, it must never be said.
All of it gave him a headache, quite frankly. Heād been glad to be the youngest in his family, so as to never have to deal with this kind of thing, but unfortunately, heād had more than one encounter with politics since becoming a Seeker, and these days he anticipated many more.
"The Marquis?" she laughed, though it was a mild, even thing. The expressions she had worn with the Marquis were gone, replaced with something far more neutral. "His position is not as certain as he makes it out to be. The DuRellions are Orlesian, and despite their Fereldan relations, if he were to wish to lay claim upon Haven, he would have to petition the Empress to negotiate with Fereldan on his behalf." She frowned at this, and slowly shook her head. "Unfortunately, her Radiance is preoccupied with concerns far more larger than petty land disputes."
She shrugged and spoke again. "However, it is better to allow him to believe that it was his idea to let the Inquisition remain in Haven than to force the matter ourselves. I would far rather have him as a potential ally than an enemy."
āReally?ā Cyrus broke back into the conversation, and though he didnāt roll his eyes, the same thing was implied by his toneābored, skeptical. āWith potential allies like that, will we have time to deal with our enemies? Seems better to cut rotting ropes before they snap unexpectedly.ā
Marceline smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Perhaps, but there is a difference between idle complaints and a concerted effort to undermine us," the smile then fell out of her lips and something far more solid replaced it. "I will not stand for the latter."
"We would rather build bridges than burn them." It was Larissa who had spoken that time. "Shall I gather the ser and the young lord?" She asked Marceline, whom nodded her approval. With that, Larissa took her leave.
āI for one will be glad to leave the bridge architecture to you,ā Leon said wearily. Maybe heād actually be able to sleep at some point in the future, though he didnāt think it likely, for more than one reason. Well, that could all be dealt with later. Right now, they had one more matter to attend to, and that was taking the Revered Motherās advice.
āIt has been recommended, soundly I think, that we seek out some of the members of the clergy here in Val Royeaux, so as to better acquaint them with our organization and our Herald.ā The one that wouldnāt scare them too much, anyway. āI was going to head to the Grand Cathedral, but if you have any more pertinent suggestions, Iād be grateful to know them.ā
"It sounds as if we are to build bridges even now," she said, a knowing smile on her face. "Personally, I would suggest we pen a letter first, describing our intentions and to give us time to prepare but..." she said, her ocean blue eyes peering at Estella from behind the silverite mask. "I believe it would serve our purposes better for them to meet the Herald as she is now. We do not wish to manufacture her as something she is not."
"That and I do not believe the Chantry is in the mood to be recieving letters... So then. To the Grand Cathedral. Ser Albrecht?" She asked, gesturing for them to begin and make their way there.
Leon nodded, and turned to lead the way.