Vesryn felt not unlike a hammer in a situation where a lockpick was preferable.
Smashing down the door really wasn't an option here, and would only make things worse. Not that he was particularly good at that, either, at least not when it came to gathering information. This entire trip was leaving him out of his element, making his skin crawl with the thought of all the hidden motives behind the masks. He wondered if the tradition started when the country of Orlais realized that they were, on average, an ugly people. Good ones here and there, obviously, but more that were sour. Better to hide all that behind the pampered exterior, the mysterious mask. So intriguing, such a charming little Game they played.
Saraya was no more in her element than Vesryn. She could offer her senses about people, but in this city all he was going to get from her was suspicion. Skepticism. Her instincts seemed to assume everyone was a plotting backstabber until proven otherwise. Vesryn wasn't really surprised by her lack of adeptness. It wasn't as though they'd practiced this sort of thing over the years, and if Zeth's words in the ruin had been right, she had been a general of some kind, a military leader. Not one to get involved in the business of plots and underhanded schemes.
Still, he was happy to help however he could, and glad the plan of action had put him alongside Stel. Vesryn wasn't sure he would have many uses beyond just being there, and that use seemed to benefit Stel more than the others. It was important to him that he contribute in whatever way he could. Even if that was just keeping her at her best so she could better help her friend in need.
They'd left early, splitting up from Cyrus and Rilien at The Roost, where they'd gotten their rest overnight. Vesryn walked alongside Stel through the streets, though she was the one leading them. The scenery was getting steadily more pleasant as they walked, and made their way towards the wealthier parts of the city. He couldn't deny the beauty of it. The weather was cooperating so far, even here at the start of winter, and the Orlesians always made sure that the city remained a colorful place. It hardly had the look of a country embroiled in civil war.
"Did you enjoy living here, in Val Royeaux?" he asked, eyes still taking in all the sights they could. "Must've been a step up from Kirkwall."
Stel clearly took a moment to consider her answer. Her eyes moved to the buildings around them, climbing columns and descending trellises. “I don't know that I'd say that, actually," she replied, resting her right wrist on the hilt of her saber. “It's... it's prettier, to be sure. On the outside, at least. I guess I can appreciate that about as well as anyone." She sighed through her nose, the sound almost lost in the general ambient noise of the area. It seemed half the city was out and about this morning, and no few of them seemed to be in a hurry. “And some of the people I met were... colorful. I mean, you did just meet Kess, so I'm sure that helps explain what I mean."
She half-smiled at him before reverting her attention forward. “But Kirkwall was the first place I'd felt... safe, in a long time. Val Royeaux hasn't ever felt like that. Silly to feel safe in Kirkwall, I know, but I did. And it... wore its problems on its sleeve, in a way Minrathous didn't. A way this place absolutely doesn't. They felt more like something we could solve." There was a slight pause, and then: “I miss that. Feeling like the problems have solutions we can get to with enough work."
He could understand the way she felt easily enough. There was nothing sincere about Val Royeaux, and they weren't shy about that either. Lying, or at least twisting truths towards a certain end, was practically the national pastime. The Free Marches were different, perhaps from any other land in Thedas save for maybe Ferelden in their bluntness. As a mercenary, the physical dangers of Kirkwall were something that could be easily confronted. Nothing was so simple in Orlais, and no one so easy to trust.
"Well, I think this problem will have a solution, if we can work hard enough to find it." Maybe effort wasn't the right thing, but intelligence instead. They needed to know what work to do first. Who they could lean on, what questions to ask. Vesryn wasn't confident in his abilities there, but maybe it would come more naturally than he thought. "Afterwards, once we've cleared Julien's name and set things to rights, think we might stay another day or two? There'll be cause to celebrate, after all." Confidence, at least, was easy enough for him to project.
“I certainly hope so. Either way, I think a few days here might not be bad. I haven't made it sound very nice, but there's a lot to see and do in Val Royeaux, at least." She nodded, almost as if to herself, turning them off the main thoroughfare and through an expansive neighborhood. Any of the houses in the area could easily have been called a mansion, and they varied in gaudiness from obvious elegance to downright vanity. Fortunately, they one they ended up stopping at was more the former than the latter.
Like much of the surrounding city, it was made mostly out of white stone, rising three floors above ground level, nestled comfortably onto a large piece of lawn that seemed to transition into a well-kept garden. Several willow trees grew out of that part, their boughs swaying gently with the slight breeze. Despite the season, more than one variety of flower was in bloom.
The guard at the wrought-iron gates was dressed in deep red livery, accented with bronze. He was also, very clearly, a dwarf, and tilted his head to peer up at them as they approached, shifting his dark beard with the motion. Stel smiled warmly at him. “Garik. It's been a long time."
It took him a second more, but then he cracked a much wider grin of his own. "Well, if it isn't the little lioness! Long time indeed." His expression sobered quickly. "You've heard about Julien, then?" When she nodded, he harrumphed under his breath. "Guess you'll be wanting to see Gauvain about that. You can go right on up." Sparing a nod for Vesryn, the dwarf turned around and opened the gate for the both of them, holding it in place so it wouldn't swing shut before they were through.
When Stel knocked at the door, it was answered almost immediately. The man who did so was an elf, greying blond hair swept back away from his face. His eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue; though his attire was neat and crisp, he looked very much like he'd seen better days, from the shadows under his eyes. He waited until they were over the threshold to react to their appearance, but as soon as the door had swung shut behind them, he'd enfolded Stel in a hug, one she returned with a look of open concern across her features.
“Gauvain. I'm so sorry." She gave him a brief squeeze, then stepped back.
Gauvain swallowed audibly, dropping his arms back to his sides. His fingernails were ragged, like he'd been biting them near to the quick. "Stel. It's—well. It's not all right, but it's better, now that you're here." He swallowed thickly. "Kestrel said you'd be by. Please, both of you. I've... made tea. We can talk in Julien's study."
He led them to a well-appointed room of just that sort. It wasn't so different from any other office or study at Skyhold, really; the personal touches seemed to be more in the expectation of company than any decorative features; there was quite a lot of seating scattered around. As promised, there was a silver tea tray waiting. Gauvain was pouring even before they were settled; he seemed quite edgy, for one reason or another. When he sat, he did not settle very well into the chair he took, remaining perched at the end, hands settled around a cup and saucer apparently more for something to occupy them with than any particular thirst.
"I apologize," he said with apparent sincerity, moving his attention from Stel to Vesryn. "My manners are usually a great deal better than this. My name is Gauvain. I'm Julien's steward, and manager of his estates." He gave a slight inclination of his head by way of acknowledgement.
The poor man. He was obviously not handling this well. With good reason, Vesryn was sure. If Julien were to die, what would become of him? He might retain his position, maybe? Become someone else's steward, and who could say if they would be the same kind of person to earn loyalty or compassion from him? Or perhaps he'd just be cast aside. Vesryn remembered similar things happening in Denerim when he was young, and Fereldans and Orlesians were often no different in their opinions towards elves. And all of that was to say nothing of his personal feelings towards the Marquis, which were obviously quite strong.
"Vesryn Cormyth," he answered the introduction, nodding back. "I'm a friend of Stel's, and part of the Inquisition, here to help in what humble ways I can." He removed his axe and set it quite carefully against a wall. Honestly he would've preferred to leave it behind, go with a less... large weapon instead, but for one he didn't feel like leaving too many belongings at The Roost, and for two he did intend to at least be good at the job Rilien had officially given him: protecting the Inquisitor.
He took a seat, his posture relaxed, but not in a careless sort of way. More at ease. "Thank you for the welcome." He slowly scooped up one of the cups for himself.
"It is nothing," Gauvain said quietly. "But I'm afraid nothing is about what I've been able to do about any of this." He sighed, his eyes falling into his cup. He shook his head faintly.
“Actually," Stel said, keeping her voice very gentle. It was enough to draw Gauvain's eyes to her, though. “I'm not sure that's true. I don't know if you knew, but... Julien has asked us to look into this. The Inquisition. And myself, in the capacity of Inquisitor." She didn't look entirely comfortable explaining it in that way, but she pressed on. “Right now, we're trying to get a sense for the evidence the courts used, and I know you probably know more than anyone about the ledgers, right?"
Gauvain pulled in a breath, apparently composing himself as well as he could. His posture straightened a fair bit, and he set the tea back down on the tray, apparently having decided he wasn't interested in drinking it. "They wouldn't show me the one they were using for evidence, of course." He frowned deeply; no doubt this frustration was the same old one nearly every elf ran up against eventually: they simply didn't have the same kinds of rights and allowances as humans did. Not here, not anywhere. "But, there is one missing, from where they're kept at Arlesans. I can only suppose whoever wanted to frame Julien for this... sedition business, got hold of it somehow, then altered it in whatever way they saw fit."
Vesryn didn't know much about running estates, either, but this struck him as a rather glaring flaw in that effort. Ledgers were not exciting reading; one going missing from under the nose of the one managing them would have meant nothing good was coming. "How long ago did this ledger disappear?" he asked, making every effort to be as gentle as Stel was being. If Gauvain was responsible for them, it would be easy to think he was now responsible for a key piece of the evidence being used against Julien. A tough thing to swallow.
"I don't know." He sounded abjectly miserable when he said it, but clearly he understood why this might strike them as strange, because he took a pause, then explained. "We have ledgers dating back years. Decades, even. The ones that aren't in use currently are all stored in a locked bookcase in the study at Arlesans. When I heard someone had turned one of them in as evidence against Julien, I opened up the cabinet. All the books are uniform—someone had simply swapped out the one from two years ago with a blank. Something like that... it isn't like daily business requires the old books. It could have been like that for a day or months, and I wouldn't have—" A muscle in his jaw jumped; Gauvain seemed to be clenching his teeth. It took a few moments for him to relax enough to speak again.
"All I can think about is how if I'd done something differently, or paid more attention, or... I don't know, anything. If I'd done my job better, he wouldn't be in this position." His hands clenched at his knees, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.
“Gauvain, stop, please." Stel reached forward, putting one hand carefully over his on his knee. “It isn't fair for you to put the blame for this on yourself. They were old records you had no reason to look at, just like you said." She sighed, tilting her head to the side. “Besides you, was there anyone with a key to the bookcase or access to the study?"
He shook his head. "Only Julien and I have keys. But access to the study? Look around; you know it's just like this one. He encourages us all to make free use of it whenever we want to. Any Bard or agent or someone with the right kind of training could have outdone the lock. We just... why would anyone want to?" He shook his head again, emphatically this time. "Anyone who's talked to him for more than half a minute knows the kind of person he is. Everyone there... he's done so much for all of us." He was clearly having difficulty coming to grips with the motive for the situation, which was rather at odds with how Julien himself had put it.
He seemed to be a very sweet man, but Gauvain was striking Vesryn and Saraya both as being... a little naive here. Was he really unaware of the ways in which Julien might have earned himself enemies in the Court? Not personal enemies even, it likely had nothing to do with Julien's character, his kindness or his goodness. But he was taking an unusual position on strained issues in a rather tumultuous time. Walking a very thin line.
"Uplifting our people isn't generally looked on well in the nobility," he pointed out. Stel was doing far better than he could hope to at comforting Gauvain, so he didn't really try, apart from keeping his tone as soft as he could. "At least, that much was true from what I saw in Denerim's alienage. Julien made a number of changes when he came into his title, didn't he? Few changes benefit everyone." The chevaliers that were removed from his land at the very least would've been affronted, and Vesryn barely knew the beginning of what kind of enemies Julien might've made besides that.
Gauvain sighed heavily. "No, you're right, of course. I only..." He shook his head. "I raised him, you know? More than his mother ever did. It's been something of a tradition. I suppose he really isn't young enough to be my son, but I imagine this must be what it feels like, to have one. And it's... not easy to see past that." His grip eased a little under Stel's hand; he offered the both of them a thin smile.
"I meant... it's difficult to believe that any of us might have had a hand in it. Any of the people in his home. It's not unlike family all the way through, and to think that any of them might have played a part isn't easy. But I suppose there are Bards skilled enough to have walked in and stolen it. Or perhaps..." He looked uneasily for a moment at Stel.
She seemed to catch on to his meaning. “Did he have any visitors to the house recently? Maybe someone the rest of you didn't know as well?"
"A few," the steward admitted. "Not many. He's always preferred to conduct business and... the rest of it here, when possible. Arlesans is meant to be away from all that, but of late that hasn't always been possible. And he wouldn't tell a guest where to go and where not to."
Stel nodded, drawing her hand back to fold with her other in her lap. “Did anyone stand out to you? Perhaps someone you wouldn't have expected to see, or anyone who stayed too long or not long enough?"
Gauvain gave that some thought. "Lord Sabino's a frequent visitor, of course. That hasn't changed. Though if anything, he's been by less frequently. I understand that most of their exchanges are now conducted by letter. He might have a better idea of what Julien's political situation was like than I do. Other than that... the only visit that was unusual was Lady Elodie's. They had a terrible row, but it was quite short, and I'm confident she wasn't here for more than an hour or so."
Stel blinked, sitting back a bit. It clearly surprised her that the Duchess would have been a guest at Arlesans. “Do you know what they fought about?"
The elf shook his head in the negative. "I caught parts of it—most of the household did, as vehement as she was. I think it had something to do with trade with Verchiel falling through. I know Julien had been wanting to stop the exchanges for a while, but it was difficult to divest. That region was one of our best buyers. Only recently did we find enough others to feel comfortable cutting the tie."
"Is there anyone of interest among the new buyers, someone out of the ordinary perhaps?" If there was someone that Lady Elodie particularly found distasteful, it might help give cause for her desire to frame him, apart from the obvious fight and broken trade deal. That said, Vesryn didn't know the first thing about the Duchess or what trading partners she would find disagreeable.
And there was the other visitor, whose name had already come up recently. "And Lord Sabino, do you have any idea why he's visited less often? If any of the letters they've exchanged are on hand, those might prove useful." Naturally the ones Julien wrote would likely be in Sabino's hands, but perhaps the replies were around. It seemed worthwhile, given that Sabino was the husband to the Antivan ambassador nearly caught up in all this.
Gauvain hummed. "Not out of the ordinary for Julien. But I suppose the most objectionable deal would have been the one with the Merchant's Guild. If Lady Elodie thought he was pulling business from Verchiel to give it to nonhumans—which he was—I'm sure that would have infuriated her. But I'm not sure she knew the details. As for Lord Sabino..."
The steward stood, crossing to the desk that sat against one of the room's windows. "I don't know if there was any particular reason for the decreasing frequency of his visits, but Julien keeps all his private correspondance in here. What he doesn't burn, anyway." Gauvain tugged at a particularly deep-looking drawer and tsked. "I don't have the key to this one."
Stel hesitated, an uncomfortable frown pulling at her mouth, then sighed. “That... won't be a problem. I think Julien would rather we were a little nosy and helped him than the alternative." If anything, she seemed to be trying to reassure herself, even as she reached up to the braid around her crown and slid what looked like a slender lockpick free of it. From the other side, she extracted a thin metal rod, just a few inches long. She rose from her seat and approached Gauvain, who quickly stood aside, blinking in what looked like a fair amount of surprise.
"I didn't know you could—" He cut himself off, perhaps unsure if she required silence for the task.
Stel knelt in front of the desk, putting the lock at shoulder height and inserting the pick. The other bit seemed to be for leverage of some kind. “I've been in one too many cages not to learn. Rilien was... rather insistent."
There was a soft click; Estella expelled a quiet breath, removing the pick and pulling the drawer open as she stood. “Any idea how he organizes these? It feels wrong to just go reading everything."
Gauvain shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. It probably makes the most sense just to check by the signed names at the end." When Stel extracted a large sheaf of papers from the drawer and set them on the desk, he frowned. "It... might go fastest if we all look."
Vesryn came over to stand beside them, taking his share of the letters and beginning to work through them. Gauvain's method was the sensible one, to be sure. Apart from respecting some amount of Julien's privacy, they simply didn't have the time to look over every letter for any sign of anything useful. They best they could do was glance at the names, and hope to find something connected to the investigation. He noted several of the letters were written and signed by Stel herself, and ignored the niggling curiosity that followed, setting them aside with the others in a neat pile.
"I'm not seeing any letters here from Sabino," he said, getting towards the end of his share. "Unless he signs his name as something else." He doubted the others had run into anything different, as they would've spoken up about it. Saraya, meanwhile, was trying to get him to notice something, and it took a moment before Vesryn could tell that she was fixated on the drawer itself.
He frowned. "Anything else in there, Stel?"
“Hm?" She glanced down at the open drawer, neatening the stack of parchments she'd gone through. “I don't see anyth—wait." She shifted, leaning back as though to look at the front panel of the drawer, and then straightening again. Shaking her head faintly, she crouched near the drawer and placed her fingertips on the inside bottom of it, moving them across the wooden surface before adjusting her hand to rap on it with a knuckle. The sound wasn't quite what solid wood ought to have made, which clearly meant something to her.
Opening the drawer above, she glanced inside for a moment before extracting a very thin, dull blade. A letter opener, probably. Closing the upper drawer with her elbow, Stel slid the blade between the side and bottom of the one beneath. With a contented humming noise, she pulled away the loosened bottom panel and set it on the top of the desk.
Sure enough, there was a little hollow space underneath, this one with far fewer letters and some other documents. Stel removed those carefully, standing with all of them in hand. “Ves, would you hold these for a second?" She handed him what seemed to be everything but the letters. A brief glance at the article on top showed it to be some kind of death announcement, for someone named Victor Travere. The language was extremely overwrought, and one side of the paper had clearly been cut, as though the excerpt was an extraction from a book or something.
“My friend," Stel read aloud, eyes fixed on the parchment in front of her. “I'm not sure what to make of your conjectures, but I won't deny that there's something to what you say. I'll make some inquiries of the courts on the Vauclain matter, but I'm not sure there will be anything of interest in the official records. You know how that goes. But I've heard the name before—if he's the person I think he is, you may be quite right about the Alienage connection." She pursed her lips. “Your friend, Sabino." She raised her eyes to meet Vesryn's. “This is the most recent one. That's all it says."
It was difficult to make too much of that for Vesryn, considering that it was one side of a conversation mentioning names he didn't know, and conjectures he hadn't heard. The Alienage connection, though, was something, assuming it referred to Val Royeaux and what Celene had done there. It was something to keep in mind when speaking with this Sabino later on, to be sure.
"Is it alright if we hang on to some of this for the time being, Gauvain?" He asked, slowly flipping through the documents Stel had handed him. "I think it might be able to help." Didn't seem like it could hurt, anyway.
Gauvain seemed to hesitate a moment longer than actually called for, but then he sighed. "I suppose Julien wouldn't mind. I'm hardly in a position to decline, if it might help save his life." He nodded, with a bit more certainty.
The rest of the documents Vesryn was holding turned out to be in large part more information about the man in the obituary. There were what looked like ledger pages in his name and other records of business, some documentation that looked related to family history, and, oddly enough, a short letter from Eugène Lefévre, addressed to Julien, with some commentary on botany. The technical terms were quite numerous, though, so it was hard to get a sense of what it was actually about.
Below that were more family history papers, this time for a Ser Jacques Vauclain. Someone had circled one of the other names near the top and written Le Mage next to it.
Le Mage... that was something, or rather someone that Kess had mentioned, Vesryn believed. Le Mage du Sang. Charming name. There were a lot of questions, and few answers Vesryn could put together on his own. Who this Victor Travere was, or Jacques Vauclain, or what interest Julien had in them. And there was only so much time to put everything together. He looked up, and smiled at Gauvain.
"Thank you for helping. I'm sorry for what's happened, but with any luck we'll have this fixed in a few days time." He looked back to Stel. "For now, maybe we should be on our way? I'm sure Rilien and Cyrus will have learned something by now." They were two of the most brilliant minds in the Inquisition working together. It was hard to imagine them not coming up with something interesting.
Stel nodded. “It's getting close to midday; better not to delay." She turned to Gauvain, who was now wearing a rather pinched look of concern, and offered him a little smile. “Like Ves said, thanks for your help, Gauvain. We're going to do everything we can, I promise."
It seemed to ease him a little; he nodded and returned the smile as well as he could. "I know you will, Estella. It means the world, really. I should be thanking you and your friends, not the other way around." After a quick hug by way of farewell, Gauvain saw them to the door, closing it carefully behind them as they departed.
After they'd passed the dwarf guard Garik on their way out again, Vesryn exhaled through his nose, trying to go over everything. There were still too many missing pieces, but hopefully before the day's end more could be found. These Costanzas, at the very least, would be interesting to speak with. "I should mention that Saraya's happy to be contributing," he said with a small, pleased smile. "Wouldn't have thought to look at the drawer again without her."
“Then I'm glad she was there," Stel replied, glancing at the letters tucked under her arm. “I think these might turn out to be important, even if I don't now how yet. Sabino ought to be able to explain it to us, though." A pensive look crossed her face, but if some new thought had occurred to her just then, she elected not to share it yet.
"And who knows what Cyrus and Rilien managed to learn from this Lefévre character."
Smashing down the door really wasn't an option here, and would only make things worse. Not that he was particularly good at that, either, at least not when it came to gathering information. This entire trip was leaving him out of his element, making his skin crawl with the thought of all the hidden motives behind the masks. He wondered if the tradition started when the country of Orlais realized that they were, on average, an ugly people. Good ones here and there, obviously, but more that were sour. Better to hide all that behind the pampered exterior, the mysterious mask. So intriguing, such a charming little Game they played.
Saraya was no more in her element than Vesryn. She could offer her senses about people, but in this city all he was going to get from her was suspicion. Skepticism. Her instincts seemed to assume everyone was a plotting backstabber until proven otherwise. Vesryn wasn't really surprised by her lack of adeptness. It wasn't as though they'd practiced this sort of thing over the years, and if Zeth's words in the ruin had been right, she had been a general of some kind, a military leader. Not one to get involved in the business of plots and underhanded schemes.
Still, he was happy to help however he could, and glad the plan of action had put him alongside Stel. Vesryn wasn't sure he would have many uses beyond just being there, and that use seemed to benefit Stel more than the others. It was important to him that he contribute in whatever way he could. Even if that was just keeping her at her best so she could better help her friend in need.
They'd left early, splitting up from Cyrus and Rilien at The Roost, where they'd gotten their rest overnight. Vesryn walked alongside Stel through the streets, though she was the one leading them. The scenery was getting steadily more pleasant as they walked, and made their way towards the wealthier parts of the city. He couldn't deny the beauty of it. The weather was cooperating so far, even here at the start of winter, and the Orlesians always made sure that the city remained a colorful place. It hardly had the look of a country embroiled in civil war.
"Did you enjoy living here, in Val Royeaux?" he asked, eyes still taking in all the sights they could. "Must've been a step up from Kirkwall."
Stel clearly took a moment to consider her answer. Her eyes moved to the buildings around them, climbing columns and descending trellises. “I don't know that I'd say that, actually," she replied, resting her right wrist on the hilt of her saber. “It's... it's prettier, to be sure. On the outside, at least. I guess I can appreciate that about as well as anyone." She sighed through her nose, the sound almost lost in the general ambient noise of the area. It seemed half the city was out and about this morning, and no few of them seemed to be in a hurry. “And some of the people I met were... colorful. I mean, you did just meet Kess, so I'm sure that helps explain what I mean."
She half-smiled at him before reverting her attention forward. “But Kirkwall was the first place I'd felt... safe, in a long time. Val Royeaux hasn't ever felt like that. Silly to feel safe in Kirkwall, I know, but I did. And it... wore its problems on its sleeve, in a way Minrathous didn't. A way this place absolutely doesn't. They felt more like something we could solve." There was a slight pause, and then: “I miss that. Feeling like the problems have solutions we can get to with enough work."
He could understand the way she felt easily enough. There was nothing sincere about Val Royeaux, and they weren't shy about that either. Lying, or at least twisting truths towards a certain end, was practically the national pastime. The Free Marches were different, perhaps from any other land in Thedas save for maybe Ferelden in their bluntness. As a mercenary, the physical dangers of Kirkwall were something that could be easily confronted. Nothing was so simple in Orlais, and no one so easy to trust.
"Well, I think this problem will have a solution, if we can work hard enough to find it." Maybe effort wasn't the right thing, but intelligence instead. They needed to know what work to do first. Who they could lean on, what questions to ask. Vesryn wasn't confident in his abilities there, but maybe it would come more naturally than he thought. "Afterwards, once we've cleared Julien's name and set things to rights, think we might stay another day or two? There'll be cause to celebrate, after all." Confidence, at least, was easy enough for him to project.
“I certainly hope so. Either way, I think a few days here might not be bad. I haven't made it sound very nice, but there's a lot to see and do in Val Royeaux, at least." She nodded, almost as if to herself, turning them off the main thoroughfare and through an expansive neighborhood. Any of the houses in the area could easily have been called a mansion, and they varied in gaudiness from obvious elegance to downright vanity. Fortunately, they one they ended up stopping at was more the former than the latter.
Like much of the surrounding city, it was made mostly out of white stone, rising three floors above ground level, nestled comfortably onto a large piece of lawn that seemed to transition into a well-kept garden. Several willow trees grew out of that part, their boughs swaying gently with the slight breeze. Despite the season, more than one variety of flower was in bloom.
The guard at the wrought-iron gates was dressed in deep red livery, accented with bronze. He was also, very clearly, a dwarf, and tilted his head to peer up at them as they approached, shifting his dark beard with the motion. Stel smiled warmly at him. “Garik. It's been a long time."
It took him a second more, but then he cracked a much wider grin of his own. "Well, if it isn't the little lioness! Long time indeed." His expression sobered quickly. "You've heard about Julien, then?" When she nodded, he harrumphed under his breath. "Guess you'll be wanting to see Gauvain about that. You can go right on up." Sparing a nod for Vesryn, the dwarf turned around and opened the gate for the both of them, holding it in place so it wouldn't swing shut before they were through.
When Stel knocked at the door, it was answered almost immediately. The man who did so was an elf, greying blond hair swept back away from his face. His eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue; though his attire was neat and crisp, he looked very much like he'd seen better days, from the shadows under his eyes. He waited until they were over the threshold to react to their appearance, but as soon as the door had swung shut behind them, he'd enfolded Stel in a hug, one she returned with a look of open concern across her features.
“Gauvain. I'm so sorry." She gave him a brief squeeze, then stepped back.
Gauvain swallowed audibly, dropping his arms back to his sides. His fingernails were ragged, like he'd been biting them near to the quick. "Stel. It's—well. It's not all right, but it's better, now that you're here." He swallowed thickly. "Kestrel said you'd be by. Please, both of you. I've... made tea. We can talk in Julien's study."
He led them to a well-appointed room of just that sort. It wasn't so different from any other office or study at Skyhold, really; the personal touches seemed to be more in the expectation of company than any decorative features; there was quite a lot of seating scattered around. As promised, there was a silver tea tray waiting. Gauvain was pouring even before they were settled; he seemed quite edgy, for one reason or another. When he sat, he did not settle very well into the chair he took, remaining perched at the end, hands settled around a cup and saucer apparently more for something to occupy them with than any particular thirst.
"I apologize," he said with apparent sincerity, moving his attention from Stel to Vesryn. "My manners are usually a great deal better than this. My name is Gauvain. I'm Julien's steward, and manager of his estates." He gave a slight inclination of his head by way of acknowledgement.
The poor man. He was obviously not handling this well. With good reason, Vesryn was sure. If Julien were to die, what would become of him? He might retain his position, maybe? Become someone else's steward, and who could say if they would be the same kind of person to earn loyalty or compassion from him? Or perhaps he'd just be cast aside. Vesryn remembered similar things happening in Denerim when he was young, and Fereldans and Orlesians were often no different in their opinions towards elves. And all of that was to say nothing of his personal feelings towards the Marquis, which were obviously quite strong.
"Vesryn Cormyth," he answered the introduction, nodding back. "I'm a friend of Stel's, and part of the Inquisition, here to help in what humble ways I can." He removed his axe and set it quite carefully against a wall. Honestly he would've preferred to leave it behind, go with a less... large weapon instead, but for one he didn't feel like leaving too many belongings at The Roost, and for two he did intend to at least be good at the job Rilien had officially given him: protecting the Inquisitor.
He took a seat, his posture relaxed, but not in a careless sort of way. More at ease. "Thank you for the welcome." He slowly scooped up one of the cups for himself.
"It is nothing," Gauvain said quietly. "But I'm afraid nothing is about what I've been able to do about any of this." He sighed, his eyes falling into his cup. He shook his head faintly.
“Actually," Stel said, keeping her voice very gentle. It was enough to draw Gauvain's eyes to her, though. “I'm not sure that's true. I don't know if you knew, but... Julien has asked us to look into this. The Inquisition. And myself, in the capacity of Inquisitor." She didn't look entirely comfortable explaining it in that way, but she pressed on. “Right now, we're trying to get a sense for the evidence the courts used, and I know you probably know more than anyone about the ledgers, right?"
Gauvain pulled in a breath, apparently composing himself as well as he could. His posture straightened a fair bit, and he set the tea back down on the tray, apparently having decided he wasn't interested in drinking it. "They wouldn't show me the one they were using for evidence, of course." He frowned deeply; no doubt this frustration was the same old one nearly every elf ran up against eventually: they simply didn't have the same kinds of rights and allowances as humans did. Not here, not anywhere. "But, there is one missing, from where they're kept at Arlesans. I can only suppose whoever wanted to frame Julien for this... sedition business, got hold of it somehow, then altered it in whatever way they saw fit."
Vesryn didn't know much about running estates, either, but this struck him as a rather glaring flaw in that effort. Ledgers were not exciting reading; one going missing from under the nose of the one managing them would have meant nothing good was coming. "How long ago did this ledger disappear?" he asked, making every effort to be as gentle as Stel was being. If Gauvain was responsible for them, it would be easy to think he was now responsible for a key piece of the evidence being used against Julien. A tough thing to swallow.
"I don't know." He sounded abjectly miserable when he said it, but clearly he understood why this might strike them as strange, because he took a pause, then explained. "We have ledgers dating back years. Decades, even. The ones that aren't in use currently are all stored in a locked bookcase in the study at Arlesans. When I heard someone had turned one of them in as evidence against Julien, I opened up the cabinet. All the books are uniform—someone had simply swapped out the one from two years ago with a blank. Something like that... it isn't like daily business requires the old books. It could have been like that for a day or months, and I wouldn't have—" A muscle in his jaw jumped; Gauvain seemed to be clenching his teeth. It took a few moments for him to relax enough to speak again.
"All I can think about is how if I'd done something differently, or paid more attention, or... I don't know, anything. If I'd done my job better, he wouldn't be in this position." His hands clenched at his knees, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.
“Gauvain, stop, please." Stel reached forward, putting one hand carefully over his on his knee. “It isn't fair for you to put the blame for this on yourself. They were old records you had no reason to look at, just like you said." She sighed, tilting her head to the side. “Besides you, was there anyone with a key to the bookcase or access to the study?"
He shook his head. "Only Julien and I have keys. But access to the study? Look around; you know it's just like this one. He encourages us all to make free use of it whenever we want to. Any Bard or agent or someone with the right kind of training could have outdone the lock. We just... why would anyone want to?" He shook his head again, emphatically this time. "Anyone who's talked to him for more than half a minute knows the kind of person he is. Everyone there... he's done so much for all of us." He was clearly having difficulty coming to grips with the motive for the situation, which was rather at odds with how Julien himself had put it.
He seemed to be a very sweet man, but Gauvain was striking Vesryn and Saraya both as being... a little naive here. Was he really unaware of the ways in which Julien might have earned himself enemies in the Court? Not personal enemies even, it likely had nothing to do with Julien's character, his kindness or his goodness. But he was taking an unusual position on strained issues in a rather tumultuous time. Walking a very thin line.
"Uplifting our people isn't generally looked on well in the nobility," he pointed out. Stel was doing far better than he could hope to at comforting Gauvain, so he didn't really try, apart from keeping his tone as soft as he could. "At least, that much was true from what I saw in Denerim's alienage. Julien made a number of changes when he came into his title, didn't he? Few changes benefit everyone." The chevaliers that were removed from his land at the very least would've been affronted, and Vesryn barely knew the beginning of what kind of enemies Julien might've made besides that.
Gauvain sighed heavily. "No, you're right, of course. I only..." He shook his head. "I raised him, you know? More than his mother ever did. It's been something of a tradition. I suppose he really isn't young enough to be my son, but I imagine this must be what it feels like, to have one. And it's... not easy to see past that." His grip eased a little under Stel's hand; he offered the both of them a thin smile.
"I meant... it's difficult to believe that any of us might have had a hand in it. Any of the people in his home. It's not unlike family all the way through, and to think that any of them might have played a part isn't easy. But I suppose there are Bards skilled enough to have walked in and stolen it. Or perhaps..." He looked uneasily for a moment at Stel.
She seemed to catch on to his meaning. “Did he have any visitors to the house recently? Maybe someone the rest of you didn't know as well?"
"A few," the steward admitted. "Not many. He's always preferred to conduct business and... the rest of it here, when possible. Arlesans is meant to be away from all that, but of late that hasn't always been possible. And he wouldn't tell a guest where to go and where not to."
Stel nodded, drawing her hand back to fold with her other in her lap. “Did anyone stand out to you? Perhaps someone you wouldn't have expected to see, or anyone who stayed too long or not long enough?"
Gauvain gave that some thought. "Lord Sabino's a frequent visitor, of course. That hasn't changed. Though if anything, he's been by less frequently. I understand that most of their exchanges are now conducted by letter. He might have a better idea of what Julien's political situation was like than I do. Other than that... the only visit that was unusual was Lady Elodie's. They had a terrible row, but it was quite short, and I'm confident she wasn't here for more than an hour or so."
Stel blinked, sitting back a bit. It clearly surprised her that the Duchess would have been a guest at Arlesans. “Do you know what they fought about?"
The elf shook his head in the negative. "I caught parts of it—most of the household did, as vehement as she was. I think it had something to do with trade with Verchiel falling through. I know Julien had been wanting to stop the exchanges for a while, but it was difficult to divest. That region was one of our best buyers. Only recently did we find enough others to feel comfortable cutting the tie."
"Is there anyone of interest among the new buyers, someone out of the ordinary perhaps?" If there was someone that Lady Elodie particularly found distasteful, it might help give cause for her desire to frame him, apart from the obvious fight and broken trade deal. That said, Vesryn didn't know the first thing about the Duchess or what trading partners she would find disagreeable.
And there was the other visitor, whose name had already come up recently. "And Lord Sabino, do you have any idea why he's visited less often? If any of the letters they've exchanged are on hand, those might prove useful." Naturally the ones Julien wrote would likely be in Sabino's hands, but perhaps the replies were around. It seemed worthwhile, given that Sabino was the husband to the Antivan ambassador nearly caught up in all this.
Gauvain hummed. "Not out of the ordinary for Julien. But I suppose the most objectionable deal would have been the one with the Merchant's Guild. If Lady Elodie thought he was pulling business from Verchiel to give it to nonhumans—which he was—I'm sure that would have infuriated her. But I'm not sure she knew the details. As for Lord Sabino..."
The steward stood, crossing to the desk that sat against one of the room's windows. "I don't know if there was any particular reason for the decreasing frequency of his visits, but Julien keeps all his private correspondance in here. What he doesn't burn, anyway." Gauvain tugged at a particularly deep-looking drawer and tsked. "I don't have the key to this one."
Stel hesitated, an uncomfortable frown pulling at her mouth, then sighed. “That... won't be a problem. I think Julien would rather we were a little nosy and helped him than the alternative." If anything, she seemed to be trying to reassure herself, even as she reached up to the braid around her crown and slid what looked like a slender lockpick free of it. From the other side, she extracted a thin metal rod, just a few inches long. She rose from her seat and approached Gauvain, who quickly stood aside, blinking in what looked like a fair amount of surprise.
"I didn't know you could—" He cut himself off, perhaps unsure if she required silence for the task.
Stel knelt in front of the desk, putting the lock at shoulder height and inserting the pick. The other bit seemed to be for leverage of some kind. “I've been in one too many cages not to learn. Rilien was... rather insistent."
There was a soft click; Estella expelled a quiet breath, removing the pick and pulling the drawer open as she stood. “Any idea how he organizes these? It feels wrong to just go reading everything."
Gauvain shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. It probably makes the most sense just to check by the signed names at the end." When Stel extracted a large sheaf of papers from the drawer and set them on the desk, he frowned. "It... might go fastest if we all look."
Vesryn came over to stand beside them, taking his share of the letters and beginning to work through them. Gauvain's method was the sensible one, to be sure. Apart from respecting some amount of Julien's privacy, they simply didn't have the time to look over every letter for any sign of anything useful. They best they could do was glance at the names, and hope to find something connected to the investigation. He noted several of the letters were written and signed by Stel herself, and ignored the niggling curiosity that followed, setting them aside with the others in a neat pile.
"I'm not seeing any letters here from Sabino," he said, getting towards the end of his share. "Unless he signs his name as something else." He doubted the others had run into anything different, as they would've spoken up about it. Saraya, meanwhile, was trying to get him to notice something, and it took a moment before Vesryn could tell that she was fixated on the drawer itself.
He frowned. "Anything else in there, Stel?"
“Hm?" She glanced down at the open drawer, neatening the stack of parchments she'd gone through. “I don't see anyth—wait." She shifted, leaning back as though to look at the front panel of the drawer, and then straightening again. Shaking her head faintly, she crouched near the drawer and placed her fingertips on the inside bottom of it, moving them across the wooden surface before adjusting her hand to rap on it with a knuckle. The sound wasn't quite what solid wood ought to have made, which clearly meant something to her.
Opening the drawer above, she glanced inside for a moment before extracting a very thin, dull blade. A letter opener, probably. Closing the upper drawer with her elbow, Stel slid the blade between the side and bottom of the one beneath. With a contented humming noise, she pulled away the loosened bottom panel and set it on the top of the desk.
Sure enough, there was a little hollow space underneath, this one with far fewer letters and some other documents. Stel removed those carefully, standing with all of them in hand. “Ves, would you hold these for a second?" She handed him what seemed to be everything but the letters. A brief glance at the article on top showed it to be some kind of death announcement, for someone named Victor Travere. The language was extremely overwrought, and one side of the paper had clearly been cut, as though the excerpt was an extraction from a book or something.
“My friend," Stel read aloud, eyes fixed on the parchment in front of her. “I'm not sure what to make of your conjectures, but I won't deny that there's something to what you say. I'll make some inquiries of the courts on the Vauclain matter, but I'm not sure there will be anything of interest in the official records. You know how that goes. But I've heard the name before—if he's the person I think he is, you may be quite right about the Alienage connection." She pursed her lips. “Your friend, Sabino." She raised her eyes to meet Vesryn's. “This is the most recent one. That's all it says."
It was difficult to make too much of that for Vesryn, considering that it was one side of a conversation mentioning names he didn't know, and conjectures he hadn't heard. The Alienage connection, though, was something, assuming it referred to Val Royeaux and what Celene had done there. It was something to keep in mind when speaking with this Sabino later on, to be sure.
"Is it alright if we hang on to some of this for the time being, Gauvain?" He asked, slowly flipping through the documents Stel had handed him. "I think it might be able to help." Didn't seem like it could hurt, anyway.
Gauvain seemed to hesitate a moment longer than actually called for, but then he sighed. "I suppose Julien wouldn't mind. I'm hardly in a position to decline, if it might help save his life." He nodded, with a bit more certainty.
The rest of the documents Vesryn was holding turned out to be in large part more information about the man in the obituary. There were what looked like ledger pages in his name and other records of business, some documentation that looked related to family history, and, oddly enough, a short letter from Eugène Lefévre, addressed to Julien, with some commentary on botany. The technical terms were quite numerous, though, so it was hard to get a sense of what it was actually about.
Below that were more family history papers, this time for a Ser Jacques Vauclain. Someone had circled one of the other names near the top and written Le Mage next to it.
Le Mage... that was something, or rather someone that Kess had mentioned, Vesryn believed. Le Mage du Sang. Charming name. There were a lot of questions, and few answers Vesryn could put together on his own. Who this Victor Travere was, or Jacques Vauclain, or what interest Julien had in them. And there was only so much time to put everything together. He looked up, and smiled at Gauvain.
"Thank you for helping. I'm sorry for what's happened, but with any luck we'll have this fixed in a few days time." He looked back to Stel. "For now, maybe we should be on our way? I'm sure Rilien and Cyrus will have learned something by now." They were two of the most brilliant minds in the Inquisition working together. It was hard to imagine them not coming up with something interesting.
Stel nodded. “It's getting close to midday; better not to delay." She turned to Gauvain, who was now wearing a rather pinched look of concern, and offered him a little smile. “Like Ves said, thanks for your help, Gauvain. We're going to do everything we can, I promise."
It seemed to ease him a little; he nodded and returned the smile as well as he could. "I know you will, Estella. It means the world, really. I should be thanking you and your friends, not the other way around." After a quick hug by way of farewell, Gauvain saw them to the door, closing it carefully behind them as they departed.
After they'd passed the dwarf guard Garik on their way out again, Vesryn exhaled through his nose, trying to go over everything. There were still too many missing pieces, but hopefully before the day's end more could be found. These Costanzas, at the very least, would be interesting to speak with. "I should mention that Saraya's happy to be contributing," he said with a small, pleased smile. "Wouldn't have thought to look at the drawer again without her."
“Then I'm glad she was there," Stel replied, glancing at the letters tucked under her arm. “I think these might turn out to be important, even if I don't now how yet. Sabino ought to be able to explain it to us, though." A pensive look crossed her face, but if some new thought had occurred to her just then, she elected not to share it yet.
"And who knows what Cyrus and Rilien managed to learn from this Lefévre character."