The approach to Therinfal Redoubt was a rainy one, and a bit of a slog uphill, once theyâd left the horses and the majority of the travel supplies theyâd taken down at the bottom. If all went to plan, theyâd be housed within the castle itself for the duration of the negotiations, and no doubt the nobility here were expecting that, considering how poorly theyâd bothered to provision themselves despite what Leon would consider an overabundance of luggage. Still, the Inquisitionâs one cart contained a number of tents, just in case. He wasnât exactly expecting this to go to plan, after allâin fact, Leon was rather unsure what he was expecting.
Perhaps that was for the best. Heâd found that most often a healthy dose of wariness served him well.
Presently, he was just cresting the hill up onto the approach to the fortress, alongside Estella, Lady Marceline, Larissa, Cyrus, and Vesryn. The deliberately-small number of other Inquisition personnel that heâd asked to accompany them had been purposefully left with the supplies; in keeping with his instinct to go with few, but mighty compatriots. The rain was undoubtedly a nuisance, though the hood of his cloakâthe black one emblazoned with the emblem of the Seekers of Truthâkept most of it out of his way.
It wasnât long after theyâd set themselves on the road to approach that they were joined by a nobleman, dressed in the fashion that highborn Orlesian men favored lately, he believed. Leon had never really claimed to understand such things, nor their proclivity for hiding their faces, at that. âAh, the Herald of Andraste!â His voice was elevated over the general volume of the procession, which gave him a sort of unfortunate bombastic aspect that he probably thought lent him some impression of authority. Leon simply wished heâd project instead of shouting.
âLord Esmeral Abernache,â he introduced himself, the majority of his attention focused on Estella. A steward walked behind him, but said nothing. Abernache folded one hand behind his back at his waist, the other hovering around his sternum. âHonored to participate. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.â
Estella, whoâd looked more comfortable than Leon had expected up until that point, paused perhaps a moment too long. She recovered, though, smiling thinly. âIf youâll permit the nuance, milord, I rather hope it will be kinder than that.â
Leon struggled to contain his amusement. Whether because someone had actually understood the obscure historical event to which he was referring or because the Herald had the gumption to gently disagree with him, or perhaps some combination of the two, Abernache looked just a little bit floored, and unsure exactly what to say, which likely didnât happen to him often. âAh⊠yes well. Divinity puts you above such things, I suppose.â Clearing his throat, he returned to the matter at hand.
âThe Lord Seeker is willing to hear our petition about closing the Breach. A credit to our alliance with the Inquisition. Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you.â
Estella shifted, moving her hands to secure her hood more firmly over her head. âThe Inquisition is grateful, Lord Abernache. It is our hope that the templars come to see what the rest of us have already: that the Breach is a danger too great for dwelling on our differences.â Leon nodded, glancing towards the front gate. Honestly, the sooner they got there and took care of this, the more content heâd be. Something sat ill with himâmany things, really, but some of them he couldnât quite identify. He felt⊠uneasy.
Lord Abernache seemed more or less oblivious. âOh yes. Ghastly-looking thing. The Lord Seeker canât think weâre ignoring it.â With that, the procession finally got moving, and though it was still entirely too slow and processional, at least it was movement. âSpeaking of which,â Abernache continued, falling into step beside the Herald, âI donât suppose youâd divulge what finally got their attention? Rumor will, if you wonât.â
Estellaâs brows drew together, but it was Leon who replied. âI donât take your meaning, Lord Abernache.â He had a feeling he wasnât going to like it much when he did.
âThe Lord Seeker wonât meet with us until he greets the Inquisition in person. Quite a surprise after that spat in Val Royeaux.â
"The Inquisition only asks that the Lord Seeker lend his Templars to aid us in the closing the breach," Marceline answered. She wore her silverite mask with a hood drawn over her head to keep the rain away. Her mood had seemed to dip with the weather, and she could be found frowning more often than not. Even under the hood, there was evidence that her hair had been immaculately styled in anticipation of meeting with her countrymen.
She walked behind the Lord, Larissa keeping step beside her, her hands resting in her sleeves. When Marceline spoke the Lord tilted his head and regarded her before his expression broke into a warm smile. "Then it must have already been arranged by your ambassador," he said, turning back to Leon. "Let the diplomats work their magic, if you trust them," he said with wink in Lady Marceline's direction. She simply smiled in returned and inclined her head.
"Between you and I, the Chantry never took advantage of their templars. Wiser heads should steer them."
Leon wasnât quite sure what he should make of that statement, and apparently Estella was still contemplating it as well, so for the moment, it went unanswered. Thankfully, they reached the bridge immediately in front of the iron gate in short order. Abernache leaned forward, peering to the other side of the structure, and clucked his tongue. âIt appears theyâve sent someone to greet you.â As the group moved forward, he spokeâlargely, Leon presumed, to everyone who wasnât Marceline. âPresent well. Everyone is a bit⊠tense, for my liking.â
âThe Lord Seeker seems to have changed his mind about us rather quickly,â Estella pointed out, quietly enough that Abernache, walking ahead of them, was unlikely to hear. âI wasnât under the impression he was known for that.â
âHe isnât,â Leon replied firmly. There was a great deal to be distrusted about all of this, but he had little in the way of concrete evidence to point to in order to back up his suspicions. âPlease be careful, all of you. It is no paltry force that quarters here.â
The first iron gate was open to any who wished to proceed inside, allowing them to pass through what in time of war would serve as a gauntlet, that long, thin, empty space between the two outer gates, where the attackers would be showered upon by their enemies with far more than just light rain. Currently, only a few low-ranking templars observed from on high, the rest somewhere deeper in the old fortress. Those that watched looked down upon Therinfal's guests ominously from beneath their full-faced helmets.
At the second gate ahead was one of Abernache's serving men, his herald, currently standing beside a female templar, unhelmeted and looking disgruntled to still be standing beside such a man. Some in the group might potentially recognize her as one of the templars seen in Val Royeaux departing with the Lord Seeker. Her long, dark brown hair was elaborately tied up in braids, clearing away from her face, which was marred by several scars, the most noticeable ones across her lips and one of her eyebrows.
The herald stepped forward to greet his lord and the Inquisition's party. "I present Knight-Templar Ser SĂ©verine Lacan, first daughter of Lord CĂ©dric Lacan of Val Chevin." She seemed irritated by being introduced in so formal a manner, and took an aggressive step forward past the man, just as he was about to introduce his own lord to her.
"For all the good it's done me," she grumbled quietly, but soon stood at attention and offered the Herald of Andraste and her company a respectful, if brief, bow. "I'm glad you came, Inquisition, even if you did it in rather... irksome company. You received my message, then?" The question sought the eyes of Leon.
Leon blinked. He certainly recognized her, but he wasnât sure exactly to what she referred. âI cannot say we did, Ser SĂ©verine. If you attempted to send a message to the Inquisition, it never reached us.â Although⊠given just who had reached them, he had a fair guess as to what had happened to it in transit, and his expression set into something even grimmer. âWould you perhaps be so kind as to reiterate its contents now that weâre here anyway?â
"Wait..." SĂ©verine said, struggling with Leon's words. "What? How are you here, then? Who told you where the Lord Seeker had taken us?"
âHigh Seeker Ophelia did, though with what motive, I cannot discern.â It was possible she was here now, but then, it was also possible that if she were, no one would know. He had no idea what his teacher was driving at with all of this.
"Ophelia? Shit." The curse was hissed quietly, and SĂ©verine exhaled, shaking her head. "Well, you're here now." Abernache, apparently feeling left out of the conversation, crossed his arms and inspecting the Knight-Captain.
"Lacan, was it? Minor holdings, your father has. And you are the second child, are you not?" He scoffed, turning up the bronze, pointy nose of his mask. SĂ©verine narrowed her eyes as though looking at an annoying child who knew not when to close his mouth. Ignoring the masked man, she looked back between Leon, Estella, and Lady Marceline.
"There's something very wrong here. The Lord Seeker has not been himself for some time. He's become obsessed with his status. His ego only grows, even as the Breach lingers. That, and..." she glanced up, to see if anyone was still watching. None were, the few recruits from before having filed off. "There's something going on with the other officers. They've been taking this new kind of lyrium. Even some of the lower ranks have been allowed to ingest it. I fear for the Order's future."
âThis lyrium.â The new voice belonged to Cyrus, who continued after a moment. He looked vaguely perturbed by something, and shot a glance further inwards past where they stood before moving his eyes back to the others, SĂ©verine specifically. âIt wouldnât happen to be red, would it?â It was a pertinent question, and if the answer was affirmative, would certainly provide a link between the templars and the events at the Conclave, however tenuous. There had been quite a bit of red lyrium there, too.
"It is, yes. I haven't seen it's like since... well, since Kirkwall." The city's name left her tongue as though the memory tasted somewhat foul.
Leon grimaced; this was shaping up to be worse than heâd thought, which was rather saying something. âThe Lord Seeker now says he wishes to meet the Herald personally,â he said, shaking his head. âI suspect we will discover what all of this means in short order.â He was a breath from inviting SĂ©verine to lead the way inside when Abernache spoke up again.
âDonât keep your betters waiting, Lacan. Thereâs important work for those born to it.â Leon felt keenly the temptation to remind him just who was actually in charge here, but took a deep breath and refrained.
âWeâre grateful for the warning,â he added, keeping his tone mild.
"Think nothing of it. The other officers already hate my guts. But I won't let the templars fall to ruin quietly." She gestured towards the inner gate. "Come. I'll lead you in."
Perhaps that was for the best. Heâd found that most often a healthy dose of wariness served him well.
Presently, he was just cresting the hill up onto the approach to the fortress, alongside Estella, Lady Marceline, Larissa, Cyrus, and Vesryn. The deliberately-small number of other Inquisition personnel that heâd asked to accompany them had been purposefully left with the supplies; in keeping with his instinct to go with few, but mighty compatriots. The rain was undoubtedly a nuisance, though the hood of his cloakâthe black one emblazoned with the emblem of the Seekers of Truthâkept most of it out of his way.
It wasnât long after theyâd set themselves on the road to approach that they were joined by a nobleman, dressed in the fashion that highborn Orlesian men favored lately, he believed. Leon had never really claimed to understand such things, nor their proclivity for hiding their faces, at that. âAh, the Herald of Andraste!â His voice was elevated over the general volume of the procession, which gave him a sort of unfortunate bombastic aspect that he probably thought lent him some impression of authority. Leon simply wished heâd project instead of shouting.
âLord Esmeral Abernache,â he introduced himself, the majority of his attention focused on Estella. A steward walked behind him, but said nothing. Abernache folded one hand behind his back at his waist, the other hovering around his sternum. âHonored to participate. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.â
Estella, whoâd looked more comfortable than Leon had expected up until that point, paused perhaps a moment too long. She recovered, though, smiling thinly. âIf youâll permit the nuance, milord, I rather hope it will be kinder than that.â
Leon struggled to contain his amusement. Whether because someone had actually understood the obscure historical event to which he was referring or because the Herald had the gumption to gently disagree with him, or perhaps some combination of the two, Abernache looked just a little bit floored, and unsure exactly what to say, which likely didnât happen to him often. âAh⊠yes well. Divinity puts you above such things, I suppose.â Clearing his throat, he returned to the matter at hand.
âThe Lord Seeker is willing to hear our petition about closing the Breach. A credit to our alliance with the Inquisition. Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you.â
Estella shifted, moving her hands to secure her hood more firmly over her head. âThe Inquisition is grateful, Lord Abernache. It is our hope that the templars come to see what the rest of us have already: that the Breach is a danger too great for dwelling on our differences.â Leon nodded, glancing towards the front gate. Honestly, the sooner they got there and took care of this, the more content heâd be. Something sat ill with himâmany things, really, but some of them he couldnât quite identify. He felt⊠uneasy.
Lord Abernache seemed more or less oblivious. âOh yes. Ghastly-looking thing. The Lord Seeker canât think weâre ignoring it.â With that, the procession finally got moving, and though it was still entirely too slow and processional, at least it was movement. âSpeaking of which,â Abernache continued, falling into step beside the Herald, âI donât suppose youâd divulge what finally got their attention? Rumor will, if you wonât.â
Estellaâs brows drew together, but it was Leon who replied. âI donât take your meaning, Lord Abernache.â He had a feeling he wasnât going to like it much when he did.
âThe Lord Seeker wonât meet with us until he greets the Inquisition in person. Quite a surprise after that spat in Val Royeaux.â
"The Inquisition only asks that the Lord Seeker lend his Templars to aid us in the closing the breach," Marceline answered. She wore her silverite mask with a hood drawn over her head to keep the rain away. Her mood had seemed to dip with the weather, and she could be found frowning more often than not. Even under the hood, there was evidence that her hair had been immaculately styled in anticipation of meeting with her countrymen.
She walked behind the Lord, Larissa keeping step beside her, her hands resting in her sleeves. When Marceline spoke the Lord tilted his head and regarded her before his expression broke into a warm smile. "Then it must have already been arranged by your ambassador," he said, turning back to Leon. "Let the diplomats work their magic, if you trust them," he said with wink in Lady Marceline's direction. She simply smiled in returned and inclined her head.
"Between you and I, the Chantry never took advantage of their templars. Wiser heads should steer them."
Leon wasnât quite sure what he should make of that statement, and apparently Estella was still contemplating it as well, so for the moment, it went unanswered. Thankfully, they reached the bridge immediately in front of the iron gate in short order. Abernache leaned forward, peering to the other side of the structure, and clucked his tongue. âIt appears theyâve sent someone to greet you.â As the group moved forward, he spokeâlargely, Leon presumed, to everyone who wasnât Marceline. âPresent well. Everyone is a bit⊠tense, for my liking.â
âThe Lord Seeker seems to have changed his mind about us rather quickly,â Estella pointed out, quietly enough that Abernache, walking ahead of them, was unlikely to hear. âI wasnât under the impression he was known for that.â
âHe isnât,â Leon replied firmly. There was a great deal to be distrusted about all of this, but he had little in the way of concrete evidence to point to in order to back up his suspicions. âPlease be careful, all of you. It is no paltry force that quarters here.â
The first iron gate was open to any who wished to proceed inside, allowing them to pass through what in time of war would serve as a gauntlet, that long, thin, empty space between the two outer gates, where the attackers would be showered upon by their enemies with far more than just light rain. Currently, only a few low-ranking templars observed from on high, the rest somewhere deeper in the old fortress. Those that watched looked down upon Therinfal's guests ominously from beneath their full-faced helmets.
At the second gate ahead was one of Abernache's serving men, his herald, currently standing beside a female templar, unhelmeted and looking disgruntled to still be standing beside such a man. Some in the group might potentially recognize her as one of the templars seen in Val Royeaux departing with the Lord Seeker. Her long, dark brown hair was elaborately tied up in braids, clearing away from her face, which was marred by several scars, the most noticeable ones across her lips and one of her eyebrows.
The herald stepped forward to greet his lord and the Inquisition's party. "I present Knight-Templar Ser SĂ©verine Lacan, first daughter of Lord CĂ©dric Lacan of Val Chevin." She seemed irritated by being introduced in so formal a manner, and took an aggressive step forward past the man, just as he was about to introduce his own lord to her.
"For all the good it's done me," she grumbled quietly, but soon stood at attention and offered the Herald of Andraste and her company a respectful, if brief, bow. "I'm glad you came, Inquisition, even if you did it in rather... irksome company. You received my message, then?" The question sought the eyes of Leon.
Leon blinked. He certainly recognized her, but he wasnât sure exactly to what she referred. âI cannot say we did, Ser SĂ©verine. If you attempted to send a message to the Inquisition, it never reached us.â Although⊠given just who had reached them, he had a fair guess as to what had happened to it in transit, and his expression set into something even grimmer. âWould you perhaps be so kind as to reiterate its contents now that weâre here anyway?â
"Wait..." SĂ©verine said, struggling with Leon's words. "What? How are you here, then? Who told you where the Lord Seeker had taken us?"
âHigh Seeker Ophelia did, though with what motive, I cannot discern.â It was possible she was here now, but then, it was also possible that if she were, no one would know. He had no idea what his teacher was driving at with all of this.
"Ophelia? Shit." The curse was hissed quietly, and SĂ©verine exhaled, shaking her head. "Well, you're here now." Abernache, apparently feeling left out of the conversation, crossed his arms and inspecting the Knight-Captain.
"Lacan, was it? Minor holdings, your father has. And you are the second child, are you not?" He scoffed, turning up the bronze, pointy nose of his mask. SĂ©verine narrowed her eyes as though looking at an annoying child who knew not when to close his mouth. Ignoring the masked man, she looked back between Leon, Estella, and Lady Marceline.
"There's something very wrong here. The Lord Seeker has not been himself for some time. He's become obsessed with his status. His ego only grows, even as the Breach lingers. That, and..." she glanced up, to see if anyone was still watching. None were, the few recruits from before having filed off. "There's something going on with the other officers. They've been taking this new kind of lyrium. Even some of the lower ranks have been allowed to ingest it. I fear for the Order's future."
âThis lyrium.â The new voice belonged to Cyrus, who continued after a moment. He looked vaguely perturbed by something, and shot a glance further inwards past where they stood before moving his eyes back to the others, SĂ©verine specifically. âIt wouldnât happen to be red, would it?â It was a pertinent question, and if the answer was affirmative, would certainly provide a link between the templars and the events at the Conclave, however tenuous. There had been quite a bit of red lyrium there, too.
"It is, yes. I haven't seen it's like since... well, since Kirkwall." The city's name left her tongue as though the memory tasted somewhat foul.
Leon grimaced; this was shaping up to be worse than heâd thought, which was rather saying something. âThe Lord Seeker now says he wishes to meet the Herald personally,â he said, shaking his head. âI suspect we will discover what all of this means in short order.â He was a breath from inviting SĂ©verine to lead the way inside when Abernache spoke up again.
âDonât keep your betters waiting, Lacan. Thereâs important work for those born to it.â Leon felt keenly the temptation to remind him just who was actually in charge here, but took a deep breath and refrained.
âWeâre grateful for the warning,â he added, keeping his tone mild.
"Think nothing of it. The other officers already hate my guts. But I won't let the templars fall to ruin quietly." She gestured towards the inner gate. "Come. I'll lead you in."