Chapter Text
1.
“At least we have one advantage,” Varric said. “We know what Corypheus plans next – the assassination of Empress Celene of Orlais. With her death, her cousin is implicated, and the kingdom is gripped by a civil war that convulses the country and leaves it easy prey for Corypheus’ army to sweep down and devastate Orlais!”
“What course of action do you think we should take, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked.
Loghain considered the war map for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest and one finger rubbing over his stubbed cheeks. He raised his eyes and blinked. “Well, I was thinking of delivering a celebratory fruit basket to Corypheus’ front door,” he said, “but I suppose that’s not feasible.”
2.
“We were infiltrated – betrayed, from the top down,” Ser Barris cried. “But for the sake of the world we’ll serve the Inquisition to the best of our ability. I swear it on the honor of the Templar Order.”
“The honor of the Templar Order isn’t worth much right now,” Solas retorted. “Alternatively, Inquisitor, we could disband the Order and conscript the remaining Templars as recruits. What do you think, Your Holiness?”
Isabela gazed around the hall of Therinfal Redoubt, her sharp eyes noting the wealth of centuries that had gone into the ornamentation, which gleamed on the arms and armor of every Templar. “So,” she said, “if we kill them, we get to keep their stuff, right?”
3.
“From the moment we emerge into the ballroom at the Winter Palace, the Game begins,” Josephine warned them. “We must play it, and play it well – our favor in the eyes of the Court will determine what rooms in the palace we have access to, our ability to get close to Celene or others, and our standing to make accusations or support candidates. Diplomacy and tact, my lord Inquisitor, are the words of the day.”
Fierce eyes of blue fire glared back at her from a face shot with unearthly lines. “THIS MORTAL GAME IS A GLORIFICATION OF TREACHERY, DISHONOR AND DECEPTION,” Justice snarled. “I REFUSE TO PARTICIPATE.”
Leliana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “I never thought I would say this… but I think the revolutionary apostate hostmind is actually the better option here.”
4.
“Most of the Orlesian nobles have at least made some token show of recognition, my lord Inquisitor,” Josephine said, “but the Comte de Chevais is engaged in an ongoing feud with the Baroness du Halvar, and as soon as she declared her support, he declared his opposition. How do you suggest we convince –”
“Assassinate him?” Zevran suggested brightly.
“That’s been your solution every time!” Josephine threw her hands up and wheeled away, shaking her head in disgust. Behind her back, Zevran and Leliana shared a fistbump of perfect solidarity.
5.
“Silence!” the Spirit of Command snapped, cutting over Solas’ explanation. “I do not take orders from underlings. I will speak only to your Commander. Let him speak!”
“Oh, me?” Oghren brightened. He squinted, trying to bring the spirit into focus with some difficulty. “Mebbe this is somethin’ you can answer – neither the egg-elf nor the kid spirit seem to know. If I got this mark on my hand, right, an’ I use that same hand to rub out a bit o’ the ol’ spirit essence, knorramean, is that like I’m jacking it into the Fade? Is there a chance that I might end up next year with Fade babies? Cos I’ve been down that road once and I tell you, I ain’t exactly a family man.”
6.
“Hey, Krem!” the enormous qunari bellowed, skin streaming with the pouring rain. “Tell the boys to get packed up! We’re moving out.”
“But we just opened the casks, Chief!” the Charger bawled back over the noise of the pounding surf. "With axes!”
“So, find some way to seal ‘em up again!” Iron Bull retorted. “You’re Tevinter. Why don’t you try blood magic?”
“Oh!” The Inquisitor perked right up, vibrating like a puppy. “I actually know a great little blood spell that will… no?” he wilted again as every gaze in the party turned on him. Judging. “That’s… that’s fine then. We’ll just… not do that. Again.”
“It’s all right, Boss.” The Iron Bull’s heavy hand clapped on his shoulder, sending the skinny man nearly toppling onto the gravelly shore. “Jowan some, jow lose some.”
~the end.