Vesryn was starting to feel less like a hammer. Or perhaps it was just starting to feel like the hammer was more needed than he'd originally thought.
He knew of course that not all elves shared an immediate bond of trust just by being elves, and even his Denerim history wouldn't offer him all that much here, but at the very least he'd have a better angle to speaking with the hahren than any of the others. Stel and Cyrus's being half-elven would do them no good, not that he intended on spreading that around. And Rilien, well... his being tranquil easily surpassed his being elven in terms of how noticeable it was.
Of course, they needed to know what to ask about first, and to that end the four of them set out just before dawn from The Roost on the next day, heading back for La Flèche to see Julien and keep him up to date on what they had learned, as well as ask him what the best way forward would be. It was on the way there that a thought occurred to Vesryn. It was something he was surprised hadn't occurred to him earlier, but then again, the subject had only recently started to loom large.
"Were you in the city, when the purge happened?" he asked of Stel, as they walked. She could've been on any number of jobs at the time, he supposed. He had to admit some curiosity as to what that would've been like. If indeed it was like anything at all. It wasn't beyond Vesryn's imagination to think that for many, they simply woke up the next morning with the elven population wiped clean, and everyone trying to act as though nothing at all had occurred.
Stel's step hitched at the question, eyes snapping up towards his almost too quickly. It took her a second to ease the sudden tension, but it betrayed her answer before she gave it. Her throat worked as she swallowed, and she dropped her eyes away from his. “Yes," she replied softly. Her attention remained on her feet.
“Most of the Lions were away at the time. But the Alienage isn't far from the harbor district. We could... we could see the flames from the barracks." Her hands smoothed down her tunic, though it was very obviously not in need of any such adjustment. “We ran as fast as we could. They were still—" Her expression twisted into something unfamiliar. Anger. But her voice remained soft. “Still killing."
Sometimes, Vesryn wondered if the Dalish actually were the ones who didn't understand how the world was. Living out in the wild, keeping their distance, avoiding trouble... he wondered if Khari would have grown up the same way in a city, where the power crushing down on each elf was constant, an always present reminder that a boot was at your throat, a sword at your neck. It was probably pretty hard to see chevaliers or soldiers of any kind as heroic when they were the ones burning homes and slaughtering people in the streets.
"What happened?" he asked, gently. It was obviously not something she could easily forget, or painlessly remember. "I can't imagine there was much that could be done to oppose them." Not if they wanted to live through the night, at any rate.
“We split up," she murmured. “Except... Cor's squad stayed together, since there was a chance if they saw him, they'd just kill him too." It was a public fact that the Argent Lions employed a fair number of elves, but the majority of them were surely human. “We tried to stay ahead of the soldiers. Evacuate people, get them back to the barracks for safety, or our houses, or wherever. I ran into some of the chevaliers. Tried to lean on the Commander's name to get them to leave. A couple did. The ones that didn't arrested me." She expelled a breath; it sounded weary more than anything.
“Obstruction of the Empress's justice. Disturbing the peace. Inciting violence against the soldiers. Rilien got me out a couple of days later, Julien found me a barrister, and Commander Lucien made the criminal proceedings go away when he got back." She pursed her lips, crossing her arms under her chest and keeping her eyes fixed on the looming tower they were gradually approaching. “I'm grateful, but... it's not even a dent in what happened. The Alienage is—I don't know how it looks now, but I'd be surprised if there were more than a few hundred people there. Even after three years."
From where he walked on her other side, Rilien shifted, sliding one of his hands from the sleeve opposite it and touching her elbow. It was momentary, barely more than a brush, and then it was gone. He said nothing about the matter, however—perhaps there was little to be said.
Or at least, little of what could be said was decent. A few steps ahead of them, Cyrus seemed to be muttering under his breath, though the words were not identifiable, just the tone. It was not complimentary, whatever it was, though it was obviously not directed at anyone in the group, either.
Vesryn wanted to say that he was sorry she had to experience such a thing, but he knew how she'd see it. She'd made it through alive and unharmed, merely arrested and forced into an inconvenience. Her fellow mercenaries did what they could, but ultimately couldn't fight the chevaliers and those with them when it came down to it. Her suffering was nothing when compared to the way the lives of the elves there were utterly obliterated. But it pained him to know she'd gone through such a thing, all the same.
He lifted a hand to her upper back, near the shoulder, his touch not nearly as subtle as Rilien's, but it was gone quickly as well. He didn't feel there was anything he could say. If anything, all of this had made him even more eager to get to the bottom of the mystery they found themselves in. They neared the prison tower by now, and Vesryn prepared to hand over his weapons, as before.
The process was smoother this time, as the guards knew their faces and what they were there for, and the same young man as before led them up to Julien's floor. At their approach, the nobleman turned, standing suddenly enough that his chair rocked back on its rear legs for a moment before it hit the ground again with a thud. He approached the bars, cautious hope scrawled clearly across his face.
Stel was quick to get to the point, perhaps in an effort to soften the blow. “Julien. We, ah—we're not there yet. But we might be on to something." She paused, allowing a moment for him to reframe the situation with that in mind.
His brows knitted, but other than a moment of disappointment, he didn't seem to let it trouble him much that the news they bore was less than excellent. He still appeared quite sanguine about his own impending execution: either he trusted them to finish their inquiry in time or he'd really made peace with what was to come. Or perhaps he was simply better at hiding how he felt than he seemed. “Is there something I can help you with, then? I'm afraid I know little more of relevance."
Lips thinning into a compressed line, Stel shook her head. “Actually, you might know more than you think. It's all speculation at this point, but... can you tell us about the investigation you were doing? Into Travere, Vauclain, and the missing weapons? Um. We came across some of your documents, and talked to Sabino. He said you'd know more."
Oddly enough, that got a smile out of him, broad enough to show teeth, in fact. “Came across? If those were where I remember them being, you broke into my desk." When Stel cleared her throat, he huffed a bit. “I'm not upset Stel, really. I admit I don't yet see the connection, but if you think it will help, I'll tell you what I was looking into. Sabino gave you the basics, I presume?"
Cyrus nodded, the motion a bit sharp. Probably more to do with the previous discussion than anything about this one. “He mentioned you believed all of the matters were connected through the Alienage."
Julien reached up, running a hand through his hair with a frown. He let his fingers linger at the nape of his neck, grimacing a bit. “Right. I came to believe that there was some kind of... group, operating on behalf of the Alienage. Someone had to expose Vauclain's fraud, and it certainly wasn't anyone working for the Empress. His position wasn't that coveted; Field Marshall or not. There wasn't much motive to take him down... except the obvious."
“The role he'd played in the purge," Estella finished softly.
He nodded. “Yes. And Travere's death looked quite natural. Would have been expected. But I'd seen him only just before; he seemed in good health. Certainly, at that age people can just die unexpectedly, but it seemed a little too coincidental for me. I wrote Lefévre with an inquiry about poisons—there are some that mimic natural death, especially in the elderly. As for the shipment... I think it quite likely that ended up in the Alienage. If I'm right and there really is some kind of confederation acting against the Empire, that is how they'd want to arm themselves. Small, concealable blades."
"I'd be very interested in meeting such a group," Vesryn admitted readily enough. There was no such thing in Denerim, at least none that he'd heard of, but then again, he'd been young and stupid and quite useless in anything an organization based in subterfuge would need. But recent years had shown that the situation for the elves in Val Royeaux was much more dire. "And it sounds as though you were too."
Operating on behalf of the Alienage... Vesryn wondered. No matter what Julien had done for his household staff, those that adored him as much as Gauvain did, he was still human, and nobility at that, and would likely find himself unwelcome poking his nose into Alienage business, if there was some group in the shadows as he believed, protecting their own. If he was right about this, it was hard to say what kind of influence they might have, at both the higher levels and the low. "In any case, it sounds as though locating this shipment is our best hope of a retrial. Any advice before we head for the Alienage?"
Julien frowned, shaking his head with emphasis. “It's not in good shape. Few there will be willing to talk to you, I suspect. Whatever you might know of the traditions and conventions of respect for hahrens and the like... use it. And be careful. If this is connected somehow, then I doubt they'll show you as much mercy as they did me."
In a sense, he had a point. Julien's assassination, had there been one, likely would have been the focus of much investigation. Theirs might be as well, of course, but if this group felt themselves without another option... it may turn out not to matter.
"Understood," Vesryn answered. "Thanks for the advice. We'll be back soon, hopefully with good news." There was no sense delaying any further, as they had a bit of a tall task ahead of them, and very limited time with which to see it through. After retrieving their weapons and exiting the prison tower, they made their way towards the Val Royeaux Alienage. For the most part Vesryn was deep in thought on the way over, unsure of what to expect. No two Alienages were the same, and living in Denerim's he heard some things about the differences, though for most city elves anything beyond the walls of their ghetto was little more than rumor and speculation. But even then there was a general understanding that Orlesian city elves had it much worse even than they.
He had a number of concerns. One, the fact that he was accompanied by two humans, or at least individuals that appeared human, and a tranquil. Vesryn no longer looked like a city elf himself, given his excellent physical condition, well tailored clothes and his fine weapon. It could either benefit him or put him at a disadvantage, depending on how these elves viewed working alongside humans. And the subject of their visit was about the most sensitive there could be for city elves. Vesryn still remembered the warning signs as a boy around Denerim's Alienage: elves who have swords will die upon them. Weapons were not tolerated in Alienages, and discovery of them could well lead to consequences for the elves. They would have to tread very carefully.
As Stel had mentioned, the Alienage wasn't too far from the harbor, though they approached it from the opposite side. Even the human edifices in the area were a marked decline in elegance and upkeep, a gradual descent down the economic scale told in increasingly-slipshod visuals. It wasn't until they entered the Alienage proper, however, that the extent of the difference became clear.
The buildings bordered on condemnable, many of them built several stories taller than they probably ought to have been. Likely to contain the population that had once dwelt within. But where there were traces of former cheer—hooks that had once likely held hanging planters or wooden wind-chimes, balcony rails that supported the last scraps of bright, colorful fabric streamers, and stubborn chips of lively paint hues—the street they entered first just felt empty now. Hollow; the air moved through it with a very dull, almost inaudible whistle. Their footsteps, with the exception of Rilien's, were almost too loud, echoing off the building-shells and back down towards their ears.
Its cramped, ramshackle nature might have been charming once, but now the edifices were blackened, soot charring most of the areas around the blown-out windows in particular, evidence that fire had raged here, and burned away the insides of the fragile skeletons of architecture that remained. Many of the doors were nothing but splinters; some of them bore the clear marks of weapons, axes like Vesryn's own or halberds or swords used to cleave them open, heavy armored boots to kick them in or tear them from their weak hinges completely. Though most of the main roads they stuck to seemed reasonably clean, there were lingering traces of old blood, not quite washed away by the rainy seasons between then and now. Down some of the narrower streets they didn't use, the winter-muted smell indicated worse.
The place started to look a little more populated further in towards the center, at least losing the impression of complete emptiness. A few of the more optimistic touches reappeared, though there was no chance of covering the damage completely. Some of the homes were propped up with new boards, still-missing doors replaced by heavy hanging cloth that couldn't have done half the necessary work to insulate them against the oncoming cold. There were even people about, though they nearly universally gave the intruders a wide berth. Several of them ducked into side-streets upon so much as sight of them; it was clear enough that soon the entire Alienage would know of their presence here, for better or worse.
The very heart of the district was less cramped, mostly, it seemed, because of the presence of a large, grassy spot, upon which sat a sapling, perhaps about five feet tall. Its slender trunk had been carefully painted by someone; either that same person or others had also tied pieces of fabric and paper to its branches, giving it a sort of foliage even despite the season. An elderly woman sat in front of it, legs crossed beneath her, at the task of... darning socks, it looked like. If any others were around, they were keeping themselves away, though it was possible to occasionally see a curtain stir in a window, following the hasty retreat of a wary watcher.
The rumors Vesryn had heard of this place when he was younger turned out not to be true, but he could see where they'd come from. The walls of the buildings were tall, but they did not block daylight from reaching their tree until noon as he'd been told. Nor did he think ten thousand elves lived here. Not anymore, at least. It was a pitiful vhenadahl before them, perhaps an apt representation of the Alienage itself. It... stirred something in him, that he had tried to prepare for, apparently inadequately. The way that even now, so long after it had happened, the wounds of the purge were still so visible, so raw. His breathing became slightly irregular, and though he worked to control it, surely all three in his party would notice the shift. It was all he could do to maintain his composure and face the old woman in front of the tree.
The woman herself, her hair almost as white as Rilien's, glanced up once at them before resuming her work. At first, she seemed intent to ignore them, but then she spoke, still without eye contact. "Whatever you want, strangers, you won't find it here. I suggest you look somewhere else." The hands at work faltered in their motion, but whether the unsteadiness was that of age or fear was hard to say. She held herself together in either case, resuming the task steadily.
"I'm looking for the hahren," Vesryn said simply, after clearing his throat. "I was hoping to get their advice on something." It seemed likely that the hahren sat before him, considering her position near the vhenadahl, but Vesryn wasn't interested in presuming too much.
She paused again, this time more deliberately, setting her work to the side for a moment and taking up a gnarled, blackened walking stick from beside her. It took her several long, slow seconds to reach her feet even with the assistance. Slightly behind him, Stel smothered a soft noise; most likely suppressing some instinct or desire to help.
When the woman stood, though, she did so uprightly, her posture undiminished by her advanced years. Her eyes were a little cloudy, but she narrowed them at him anyway, apparently able to see enough for her purposes. They moved next to Stel, lingering on the maroon color of her shirt, and in particular the silver lion stitched into the shoulder. "Advice?" she echoed, a weary note of disbelief in her tone. "There is no hahren here any longer. Just the oldest of what's left, and that is me." She shook her head. "What advice of mine would do you any good?"
"I want to help someone." Vesryn almost wished she hadn't stood. He'd been planning to sit, if she allowed it, but now she was on her feet, an act that had taken no small amount of effort. He also had wanted to help, but could recognize that any elves left here remained out of pride, stubbornness, or simple desperation. And he thought he could see a little of the first in the old woman, even if it was beaten down by the years. "I want to help a friend of mine, who I believe may have unintentionally angered someone here, despite having no intentions of ill will."
If she'd had any expectations about what he was going to say, that certainly hadn't been it. Her brows knitted over her eyes, deepening the many wrinkles present there already. "Few here have dealings with those who are not our own, any longer. Who is this friend, and what was the nature of the offense?" It wouldn't have been quite correct to say that she seemed curious, but at the very least, it looked like she was willing to entertain the query.
"I can't say for certain, but I believe the offense was asking questions. Awkward as that makes my own position." He dredged half a smile at that, but it did not last for long. "His name is Julien D'Artignon. A rather unique man in the nobility for his beliefs regarding our kind, something that has earned him no small amount of enemies among his own people." It was perhaps too generous to call Julien a friend at this point, but Vesryn was confident that if all this turned out well enough he would want to be friends in the future. There were few people like him among the humans, and it was simply wasteful to let opportunities for friendship pass him any longer. "My name is Vesryn Cormyth, of Denerim originally."
"Seril Taran," she replied, nodding her head once. She pursed her lips for a moment, clearly deep in thought about something. Her eyes moved to the tree, and a soft breath, almost but not quite a sigh, escaped her. Seril was on the tall side, as far as elven women went, but she appeared to grow a little smaller in that moment. "Tell me, Vesryn Cormyth of Denerim: does the vhenadahl still grow there? Even after the Blight?" It seemed unlikely that she'd forgotten or misheard what he'd just said, but as far as responses went, this was quite indirect, if it was a response at all.
"It does," he answered, not minding the question at all. "My mother never lets me forget it." That much was true. They did not write often, but there was almost always a mention of the Blight, or a reference to it of some kind, any time his mother's hand was involved. It was the proudest moment of their lives, for all in the Alienage at the time. "The elves defended their homes there until the Warden-Queen's forces could arrive. And as I understand it King Alistair has been kind in his rule." Alienages were built to pen the elves in, but it also made them very defensible, with few points of entry or exit. This made it easier for the elves of Denerim to defend against the obvious threat of the darkspawn. But against an enemy within your very city, attacking without warning in the night... that was a different story.
Seril spent a few moment mulling on this, then dipped her chin. "Three years ago, our vhenadahl was large enough to span this entire square with its branches." The hand not holding her staff gestured around them vaguely. It would have been quite the enormous tree to manage the feat, from the size of the place. "It was planted ages ago, by the very first elves to live here. Seeds and cuttings from it became the basis of the trees that would come to grow elsewhere, in other Alienages, under the care of other people. My grandfather used to say that it was taken from the very belly of Arlathan forest. I doubt that very much, but all the same... from childhood I sheltered under its boughs. It was small condolence that one day, my grandchildren would do the same, and their grandchildren after them."
Her grip tightened on her staff, whitening the knuckles darkened with liver spots. "We are not magnificent. Nor is this place anything that could ever deserve the word. But it was ours. It was enough for us, on the good days." She paused, pulling in a deep breath and shaking her head. "And then they burned it. They tore out the heart of this place, and everyone in it. I no longer have grandchildren." She returned her attention to them, meeting Vesryn's eyes steadily.
"I do not know your friend. But I know what his kind have done to mine."
That was... understandable, certainly. And not at all pleasant to hear. Even an archdemon could not do what the Empress had done to her own people. Her words were more than enough to make him feel inadequate as a city elf. It was something he'd always felt, to be honest. The way he abandoned duty in Denerim, selfishly trying to chase his own life and escape the walls of the Alienage. The way he hadn't gone back, couldn't go back, not with the changes that had occurred in him, the things he so desperately needed to explore and learn. And what had he really done for his people since then? Nothing of note. Only ever served himself. He wanted that to change, in a way that didn't require him to be absorbed into a human society, but there were so few ways to feasibly do that. Perhaps this was one of them.
"His kind are going to execute him tomorrow, Seril, for treason against the woman that ordered this place burned." His tone remained gentle, but it was firm. He had pride in his people, too. The good people, whether they were human or elf or somewhere in between. "I've seen the way he speaks of her. He despises her. He's a good man, and he could very well die because of an assumption that all of his kind are the same. I've seen much of the world... and I know that they're not. Just as we're not all the same. My friends are good people, despite the way the world has tried to corrupt some of them." That much he knew for certain, and he tried to let that certainty carry his tone.
"Just as there were good people in Ferelden, willing to defend the helpless against darkspawn, there are good people here too, willing to stand up to oppression in what ways they can, despite considerable personal risk. Often when they have little to nothing to gain."
She closed her eyes slowly, expelling a long breath. "I know," she said quietly. "But what would you have me do? I truly know nothing of this D'Artignon. If the situation is as you describe it, then perhaps I know how he came to be in the position he is in. Even so, however good he may be... what can I do? I will not risk another purge. I will not risk my people, if it's true that one of them committed his crimes."
"If there is any way we could... come in contact with the people he angered, any way we could speak with them, I have to believe we can figure something out." Vesryn felt strongly enough to believe that was what everyone wanted at this point. To find this group acting in the Alienage's interest, not to shift the blame on them and save Julien, but to figure out some other way to escape from this. They had power, they had already demonstrated that, they just needed to be convinced to use it in the right way. "I believe our interests are the same, in that everyone here seeks to prevent anything like this," he gestured to the damage around him, "from ever happening again. I know Julien does as well. All of us are on the same side, just... separated by a misunderstanding."
Seril pursed her lips. "They're called the Cendredoights," she said. "Celene made enemies by trying to kill the ones that didn't exist. I know little of them, save that they are bent on mien'harel. If you wish to find them... there is a warehouse, dockside, with a red roof. Their leader calls themselves Q. I don't know how well this will go for you, but... if what you say is true, then I wish you luck."
"Thank you," Vesryn said, sincerely. "I'm... I'm sorry for everything that happened here. For what it's worth, you have my word that I will not let any more harm come to the Alienage from this."
He knew of course that not all elves shared an immediate bond of trust just by being elves, and even his Denerim history wouldn't offer him all that much here, but at the very least he'd have a better angle to speaking with the hahren than any of the others. Stel and Cyrus's being half-elven would do them no good, not that he intended on spreading that around. And Rilien, well... his being tranquil easily surpassed his being elven in terms of how noticeable it was.
Of course, they needed to know what to ask about first, and to that end the four of them set out just before dawn from The Roost on the next day, heading back for La Flèche to see Julien and keep him up to date on what they had learned, as well as ask him what the best way forward would be. It was on the way there that a thought occurred to Vesryn. It was something he was surprised hadn't occurred to him earlier, but then again, the subject had only recently started to loom large.
"Were you in the city, when the purge happened?" he asked of Stel, as they walked. She could've been on any number of jobs at the time, he supposed. He had to admit some curiosity as to what that would've been like. If indeed it was like anything at all. It wasn't beyond Vesryn's imagination to think that for many, they simply woke up the next morning with the elven population wiped clean, and everyone trying to act as though nothing at all had occurred.
Stel's step hitched at the question, eyes snapping up towards his almost too quickly. It took her a second to ease the sudden tension, but it betrayed her answer before she gave it. Her throat worked as she swallowed, and she dropped her eyes away from his. “Yes," she replied softly. Her attention remained on her feet.
“Most of the Lions were away at the time. But the Alienage isn't far from the harbor district. We could... we could see the flames from the barracks." Her hands smoothed down her tunic, though it was very obviously not in need of any such adjustment. “We ran as fast as we could. They were still—" Her expression twisted into something unfamiliar. Anger. But her voice remained soft. “Still killing."
Sometimes, Vesryn wondered if the Dalish actually were the ones who didn't understand how the world was. Living out in the wild, keeping their distance, avoiding trouble... he wondered if Khari would have grown up the same way in a city, where the power crushing down on each elf was constant, an always present reminder that a boot was at your throat, a sword at your neck. It was probably pretty hard to see chevaliers or soldiers of any kind as heroic when they were the ones burning homes and slaughtering people in the streets.
"What happened?" he asked, gently. It was obviously not something she could easily forget, or painlessly remember. "I can't imagine there was much that could be done to oppose them." Not if they wanted to live through the night, at any rate.
“We split up," she murmured. “Except... Cor's squad stayed together, since there was a chance if they saw him, they'd just kill him too." It was a public fact that the Argent Lions employed a fair number of elves, but the majority of them were surely human. “We tried to stay ahead of the soldiers. Evacuate people, get them back to the barracks for safety, or our houses, or wherever. I ran into some of the chevaliers. Tried to lean on the Commander's name to get them to leave. A couple did. The ones that didn't arrested me." She expelled a breath; it sounded weary more than anything.
“Obstruction of the Empress's justice. Disturbing the peace. Inciting violence against the soldiers. Rilien got me out a couple of days later, Julien found me a barrister, and Commander Lucien made the criminal proceedings go away when he got back." She pursed her lips, crossing her arms under her chest and keeping her eyes fixed on the looming tower they were gradually approaching. “I'm grateful, but... it's not even a dent in what happened. The Alienage is—I don't know how it looks now, but I'd be surprised if there were more than a few hundred people there. Even after three years."
From where he walked on her other side, Rilien shifted, sliding one of his hands from the sleeve opposite it and touching her elbow. It was momentary, barely more than a brush, and then it was gone. He said nothing about the matter, however—perhaps there was little to be said.
Or at least, little of what could be said was decent. A few steps ahead of them, Cyrus seemed to be muttering under his breath, though the words were not identifiable, just the tone. It was not complimentary, whatever it was, though it was obviously not directed at anyone in the group, either.
Vesryn wanted to say that he was sorry she had to experience such a thing, but he knew how she'd see it. She'd made it through alive and unharmed, merely arrested and forced into an inconvenience. Her fellow mercenaries did what they could, but ultimately couldn't fight the chevaliers and those with them when it came down to it. Her suffering was nothing when compared to the way the lives of the elves there were utterly obliterated. But it pained him to know she'd gone through such a thing, all the same.
He lifted a hand to her upper back, near the shoulder, his touch not nearly as subtle as Rilien's, but it was gone quickly as well. He didn't feel there was anything he could say. If anything, all of this had made him even more eager to get to the bottom of the mystery they found themselves in. They neared the prison tower by now, and Vesryn prepared to hand over his weapons, as before.
The process was smoother this time, as the guards knew their faces and what they were there for, and the same young man as before led them up to Julien's floor. At their approach, the nobleman turned, standing suddenly enough that his chair rocked back on its rear legs for a moment before it hit the ground again with a thud. He approached the bars, cautious hope scrawled clearly across his face.
Stel was quick to get to the point, perhaps in an effort to soften the blow. “Julien. We, ah—we're not there yet. But we might be on to something." She paused, allowing a moment for him to reframe the situation with that in mind.
His brows knitted, but other than a moment of disappointment, he didn't seem to let it trouble him much that the news they bore was less than excellent. He still appeared quite sanguine about his own impending execution: either he trusted them to finish their inquiry in time or he'd really made peace with what was to come. Or perhaps he was simply better at hiding how he felt than he seemed. “Is there something I can help you with, then? I'm afraid I know little more of relevance."
Lips thinning into a compressed line, Stel shook her head. “Actually, you might know more than you think. It's all speculation at this point, but... can you tell us about the investigation you were doing? Into Travere, Vauclain, and the missing weapons? Um. We came across some of your documents, and talked to Sabino. He said you'd know more."
Oddly enough, that got a smile out of him, broad enough to show teeth, in fact. “Came across? If those were where I remember them being, you broke into my desk." When Stel cleared her throat, he huffed a bit. “I'm not upset Stel, really. I admit I don't yet see the connection, but if you think it will help, I'll tell you what I was looking into. Sabino gave you the basics, I presume?"
Cyrus nodded, the motion a bit sharp. Probably more to do with the previous discussion than anything about this one. “He mentioned you believed all of the matters were connected through the Alienage."
Julien reached up, running a hand through his hair with a frown. He let his fingers linger at the nape of his neck, grimacing a bit. “Right. I came to believe that there was some kind of... group, operating on behalf of the Alienage. Someone had to expose Vauclain's fraud, and it certainly wasn't anyone working for the Empress. His position wasn't that coveted; Field Marshall or not. There wasn't much motive to take him down... except the obvious."
“The role he'd played in the purge," Estella finished softly.
He nodded. “Yes. And Travere's death looked quite natural. Would have been expected. But I'd seen him only just before; he seemed in good health. Certainly, at that age people can just die unexpectedly, but it seemed a little too coincidental for me. I wrote Lefévre with an inquiry about poisons—there are some that mimic natural death, especially in the elderly. As for the shipment... I think it quite likely that ended up in the Alienage. If I'm right and there really is some kind of confederation acting against the Empire, that is how they'd want to arm themselves. Small, concealable blades."
"I'd be very interested in meeting such a group," Vesryn admitted readily enough. There was no such thing in Denerim, at least none that he'd heard of, but then again, he'd been young and stupid and quite useless in anything an organization based in subterfuge would need. But recent years had shown that the situation for the elves in Val Royeaux was much more dire. "And it sounds as though you were too."
Operating on behalf of the Alienage... Vesryn wondered. No matter what Julien had done for his household staff, those that adored him as much as Gauvain did, he was still human, and nobility at that, and would likely find himself unwelcome poking his nose into Alienage business, if there was some group in the shadows as he believed, protecting their own. If he was right about this, it was hard to say what kind of influence they might have, at both the higher levels and the low. "In any case, it sounds as though locating this shipment is our best hope of a retrial. Any advice before we head for the Alienage?"
Julien frowned, shaking his head with emphasis. “It's not in good shape. Few there will be willing to talk to you, I suspect. Whatever you might know of the traditions and conventions of respect for hahrens and the like... use it. And be careful. If this is connected somehow, then I doubt they'll show you as much mercy as they did me."
In a sense, he had a point. Julien's assassination, had there been one, likely would have been the focus of much investigation. Theirs might be as well, of course, but if this group felt themselves without another option... it may turn out not to matter.
"Understood," Vesryn answered. "Thanks for the advice. We'll be back soon, hopefully with good news." There was no sense delaying any further, as they had a bit of a tall task ahead of them, and very limited time with which to see it through. After retrieving their weapons and exiting the prison tower, they made their way towards the Val Royeaux Alienage. For the most part Vesryn was deep in thought on the way over, unsure of what to expect. No two Alienages were the same, and living in Denerim's he heard some things about the differences, though for most city elves anything beyond the walls of their ghetto was little more than rumor and speculation. But even then there was a general understanding that Orlesian city elves had it much worse even than they.
He had a number of concerns. One, the fact that he was accompanied by two humans, or at least individuals that appeared human, and a tranquil. Vesryn no longer looked like a city elf himself, given his excellent physical condition, well tailored clothes and his fine weapon. It could either benefit him or put him at a disadvantage, depending on how these elves viewed working alongside humans. And the subject of their visit was about the most sensitive there could be for city elves. Vesryn still remembered the warning signs as a boy around Denerim's Alienage: elves who have swords will die upon them. Weapons were not tolerated in Alienages, and discovery of them could well lead to consequences for the elves. They would have to tread very carefully.
As Stel had mentioned, the Alienage wasn't too far from the harbor, though they approached it from the opposite side. Even the human edifices in the area were a marked decline in elegance and upkeep, a gradual descent down the economic scale told in increasingly-slipshod visuals. It wasn't until they entered the Alienage proper, however, that the extent of the difference became clear.
The buildings bordered on condemnable, many of them built several stories taller than they probably ought to have been. Likely to contain the population that had once dwelt within. But where there were traces of former cheer—hooks that had once likely held hanging planters or wooden wind-chimes, balcony rails that supported the last scraps of bright, colorful fabric streamers, and stubborn chips of lively paint hues—the street they entered first just felt empty now. Hollow; the air moved through it with a very dull, almost inaudible whistle. Their footsteps, with the exception of Rilien's, were almost too loud, echoing off the building-shells and back down towards their ears.
Its cramped, ramshackle nature might have been charming once, but now the edifices were blackened, soot charring most of the areas around the blown-out windows in particular, evidence that fire had raged here, and burned away the insides of the fragile skeletons of architecture that remained. Many of the doors were nothing but splinters; some of them bore the clear marks of weapons, axes like Vesryn's own or halberds or swords used to cleave them open, heavy armored boots to kick them in or tear them from their weak hinges completely. Though most of the main roads they stuck to seemed reasonably clean, there were lingering traces of old blood, not quite washed away by the rainy seasons between then and now. Down some of the narrower streets they didn't use, the winter-muted smell indicated worse.
The place started to look a little more populated further in towards the center, at least losing the impression of complete emptiness. A few of the more optimistic touches reappeared, though there was no chance of covering the damage completely. Some of the homes were propped up with new boards, still-missing doors replaced by heavy hanging cloth that couldn't have done half the necessary work to insulate them against the oncoming cold. There were even people about, though they nearly universally gave the intruders a wide berth. Several of them ducked into side-streets upon so much as sight of them; it was clear enough that soon the entire Alienage would know of their presence here, for better or worse.
The very heart of the district was less cramped, mostly, it seemed, because of the presence of a large, grassy spot, upon which sat a sapling, perhaps about five feet tall. Its slender trunk had been carefully painted by someone; either that same person or others had also tied pieces of fabric and paper to its branches, giving it a sort of foliage even despite the season. An elderly woman sat in front of it, legs crossed beneath her, at the task of... darning socks, it looked like. If any others were around, they were keeping themselves away, though it was possible to occasionally see a curtain stir in a window, following the hasty retreat of a wary watcher.
The rumors Vesryn had heard of this place when he was younger turned out not to be true, but he could see where they'd come from. The walls of the buildings were tall, but they did not block daylight from reaching their tree until noon as he'd been told. Nor did he think ten thousand elves lived here. Not anymore, at least. It was a pitiful vhenadahl before them, perhaps an apt representation of the Alienage itself. It... stirred something in him, that he had tried to prepare for, apparently inadequately. The way that even now, so long after it had happened, the wounds of the purge were still so visible, so raw. His breathing became slightly irregular, and though he worked to control it, surely all three in his party would notice the shift. It was all he could do to maintain his composure and face the old woman in front of the tree.
The woman herself, her hair almost as white as Rilien's, glanced up once at them before resuming her work. At first, she seemed intent to ignore them, but then she spoke, still without eye contact. "Whatever you want, strangers, you won't find it here. I suggest you look somewhere else." The hands at work faltered in their motion, but whether the unsteadiness was that of age or fear was hard to say. She held herself together in either case, resuming the task steadily.
"I'm looking for the hahren," Vesryn said simply, after clearing his throat. "I was hoping to get their advice on something." It seemed likely that the hahren sat before him, considering her position near the vhenadahl, but Vesryn wasn't interested in presuming too much.
She paused again, this time more deliberately, setting her work to the side for a moment and taking up a gnarled, blackened walking stick from beside her. It took her several long, slow seconds to reach her feet even with the assistance. Slightly behind him, Stel smothered a soft noise; most likely suppressing some instinct or desire to help.
When the woman stood, though, she did so uprightly, her posture undiminished by her advanced years. Her eyes were a little cloudy, but she narrowed them at him anyway, apparently able to see enough for her purposes. They moved next to Stel, lingering on the maroon color of her shirt, and in particular the silver lion stitched into the shoulder. "Advice?" she echoed, a weary note of disbelief in her tone. "There is no hahren here any longer. Just the oldest of what's left, and that is me." She shook her head. "What advice of mine would do you any good?"
"I want to help someone." Vesryn almost wished she hadn't stood. He'd been planning to sit, if she allowed it, but now she was on her feet, an act that had taken no small amount of effort. He also had wanted to help, but could recognize that any elves left here remained out of pride, stubbornness, or simple desperation. And he thought he could see a little of the first in the old woman, even if it was beaten down by the years. "I want to help a friend of mine, who I believe may have unintentionally angered someone here, despite having no intentions of ill will."
If she'd had any expectations about what he was going to say, that certainly hadn't been it. Her brows knitted over her eyes, deepening the many wrinkles present there already. "Few here have dealings with those who are not our own, any longer. Who is this friend, and what was the nature of the offense?" It wouldn't have been quite correct to say that she seemed curious, but at the very least, it looked like she was willing to entertain the query.
"I can't say for certain, but I believe the offense was asking questions. Awkward as that makes my own position." He dredged half a smile at that, but it did not last for long. "His name is Julien D'Artignon. A rather unique man in the nobility for his beliefs regarding our kind, something that has earned him no small amount of enemies among his own people." It was perhaps too generous to call Julien a friend at this point, but Vesryn was confident that if all this turned out well enough he would want to be friends in the future. There were few people like him among the humans, and it was simply wasteful to let opportunities for friendship pass him any longer. "My name is Vesryn Cormyth, of Denerim originally."
"Seril Taran," she replied, nodding her head once. She pursed her lips for a moment, clearly deep in thought about something. Her eyes moved to the tree, and a soft breath, almost but not quite a sigh, escaped her. Seril was on the tall side, as far as elven women went, but she appeared to grow a little smaller in that moment. "Tell me, Vesryn Cormyth of Denerim: does the vhenadahl still grow there? Even after the Blight?" It seemed unlikely that she'd forgotten or misheard what he'd just said, but as far as responses went, this was quite indirect, if it was a response at all.
"It does," he answered, not minding the question at all. "My mother never lets me forget it." That much was true. They did not write often, but there was almost always a mention of the Blight, or a reference to it of some kind, any time his mother's hand was involved. It was the proudest moment of their lives, for all in the Alienage at the time. "The elves defended their homes there until the Warden-Queen's forces could arrive. And as I understand it King Alistair has been kind in his rule." Alienages were built to pen the elves in, but it also made them very defensible, with few points of entry or exit. This made it easier for the elves of Denerim to defend against the obvious threat of the darkspawn. But against an enemy within your very city, attacking without warning in the night... that was a different story.
Seril spent a few moment mulling on this, then dipped her chin. "Three years ago, our vhenadahl was large enough to span this entire square with its branches." The hand not holding her staff gestured around them vaguely. It would have been quite the enormous tree to manage the feat, from the size of the place. "It was planted ages ago, by the very first elves to live here. Seeds and cuttings from it became the basis of the trees that would come to grow elsewhere, in other Alienages, under the care of other people. My grandfather used to say that it was taken from the very belly of Arlathan forest. I doubt that very much, but all the same... from childhood I sheltered under its boughs. It was small condolence that one day, my grandchildren would do the same, and their grandchildren after them."
Her grip tightened on her staff, whitening the knuckles darkened with liver spots. "We are not magnificent. Nor is this place anything that could ever deserve the word. But it was ours. It was enough for us, on the good days." She paused, pulling in a deep breath and shaking her head. "And then they burned it. They tore out the heart of this place, and everyone in it. I no longer have grandchildren." She returned her attention to them, meeting Vesryn's eyes steadily.
"I do not know your friend. But I know what his kind have done to mine."
That was... understandable, certainly. And not at all pleasant to hear. Even an archdemon could not do what the Empress had done to her own people. Her words were more than enough to make him feel inadequate as a city elf. It was something he'd always felt, to be honest. The way he abandoned duty in Denerim, selfishly trying to chase his own life and escape the walls of the Alienage. The way he hadn't gone back, couldn't go back, not with the changes that had occurred in him, the things he so desperately needed to explore and learn. And what had he really done for his people since then? Nothing of note. Only ever served himself. He wanted that to change, in a way that didn't require him to be absorbed into a human society, but there were so few ways to feasibly do that. Perhaps this was one of them.
"His kind are going to execute him tomorrow, Seril, for treason against the woman that ordered this place burned." His tone remained gentle, but it was firm. He had pride in his people, too. The good people, whether they were human or elf or somewhere in between. "I've seen the way he speaks of her. He despises her. He's a good man, and he could very well die because of an assumption that all of his kind are the same. I've seen much of the world... and I know that they're not. Just as we're not all the same. My friends are good people, despite the way the world has tried to corrupt some of them." That much he knew for certain, and he tried to let that certainty carry his tone.
"Just as there were good people in Ferelden, willing to defend the helpless against darkspawn, there are good people here too, willing to stand up to oppression in what ways they can, despite considerable personal risk. Often when they have little to nothing to gain."
She closed her eyes slowly, expelling a long breath. "I know," she said quietly. "But what would you have me do? I truly know nothing of this D'Artignon. If the situation is as you describe it, then perhaps I know how he came to be in the position he is in. Even so, however good he may be... what can I do? I will not risk another purge. I will not risk my people, if it's true that one of them committed his crimes."
"If there is any way we could... come in contact with the people he angered, any way we could speak with them, I have to believe we can figure something out." Vesryn felt strongly enough to believe that was what everyone wanted at this point. To find this group acting in the Alienage's interest, not to shift the blame on them and save Julien, but to figure out some other way to escape from this. They had power, they had already demonstrated that, they just needed to be convinced to use it in the right way. "I believe our interests are the same, in that everyone here seeks to prevent anything like this," he gestured to the damage around him, "from ever happening again. I know Julien does as well. All of us are on the same side, just... separated by a misunderstanding."
Seril pursed her lips. "They're called the Cendredoights," she said. "Celene made enemies by trying to kill the ones that didn't exist. I know little of them, save that they are bent on mien'harel. If you wish to find them... there is a warehouse, dockside, with a red roof. Their leader calls themselves Q. I don't know how well this will go for you, but... if what you say is true, then I wish you luck."
"Thank you," Vesryn said, sincerely. "I'm... I'm sorry for everything that happened here. For what it's worth, you have my word that I will not let any more harm come to the Alienage from this."