Chapter Text
So maybe they had their differences. But they also had a common enemy, and that was what kept them together. Their mission was to infiltrate Tevinter’s deepest, darkest places and destroy it from the inside out in any way possible – by inciting widespread slave rebellion, wiping out the Venatori, and even, perhaps, killing the Archon.
Krem had his doubts when the idea was pitched – three highly skilled native Tevinters with varying degrees of dislike for their country and its practices was all well and good, but they could hardly stand to be in a room together, much less start a revolution. Yes, they were a motley crew – a military deserter, a murderous ex-slave, and an estranged prodigal son. Krem, Fenris, and Dorian. Krem voiced his concerns to the Inquisitor and the newly-elected Divine, but they just gave him some very vague and utterly useless advice about team spirit, or something. So he was forced to go along with it, though not without some grumbling.
Fenris, however, won the prize for grumbling, if his protests about having to work with Dorian could even be called such. Maybe ‘boiling with hate’ was a more apt description. Some wine glasses had been smashed. Krem had met Fenris once before, after Hawke came to the Inquisition. Varric, whom Krem had shared many a drink with, had decided to send some envoys out to Hawke’s closest companions asking them to join the Inquisition, though he seemed pretty certain none of them would take him up on the offer. Krem had gone with a couple of other soldiers to find Fenris, who was relatively nearby compared to the others, in Ostagar. They found him fairly easily – he was hard to miss – and Krem’s first impression of him was angry.
It was a subdued kind of anger; an endless bitterness simmering just under the surface of his otherwise cool and apathetic façade, but Krem had seen many angry men and their eyes never could hide it. The elf was no exception. Fenris turned down the offer, predictably, though he agreed to share a drink with Krem and the others before they left. That was when Krem discerned something else – Fenris was lonely. Lonely and angry don’t make for a good combination, and he made a mental note not to get on Fenris’s bad side.
Dorian, unfortunately, was on Fenris’s bad side from the very beginning. There were two things Fenris hated most – slavers and Tevinter mages, in that order, and in his mind Dorian fit into both categories. Dorian Pavus was not a bad man – in fact, Krem had heard many great things about him, most of them from Iron Bull, who also told him some things about Dorian he’d never, ever wanted to know. (Dorian once had a fling with him. He’d had flings with a lot of men. A lot.) He was, for one thing, very, very smart. It was no wonder – he spent the majority of his free time reading the entire library back at Skyhold (in addition to the books his family sometimes sent him as a kind of tentative peace offering). His undeniable intelligence combined with his innate talent for magic (especially necromancy and anything fire-related) made him both very dangerous and very helpful. And to add even more assets to Dorian’s long, long list – he was an Altus mage, of the highest class short of being a magister, which meant he had power and influence. And, if his rants about Tevinter were anything to go by, he wanted to use that power for good. For change.
Krem could respect that, yet he harbored some resentment for Dorian partly because he was an Altus, the class which had so often cast his own in shadow and driven his own father to sell himself into slavery, and partly because Dorian was a self-absorbed ass eighty percent of the time. The fact that he’d casually mentioned his family had owned dozens of slaves a few minutes after they’d met Fenris pretty much confirmed that, and certainly didn’t help matters with the elf. So between Dorian’s self-absorbed attitude, Fenris’s constant negativity and threats, and Krem’s unwillingness to deal with both of them…it was going to be interesting.
But then they’d received a message from Tevinter – a coded note sent by a lone raven that Leliana had carefully deciphered and passed on to them. It was, amazingly enough, from a slave in Minrathous, who was owned by a prolific magister called Quillian (Dorian winced and muttered something about his ‘awful parties,’ and Fenris made a face in agreement). She spoke in cryptic terms of an extensive slave underground that had been trying to contact the Inquisition for ages in order to gain allies in a position of true power who would be able to help them. Enclosed with the note was a black, silver-embossed invitation to none other than one of the awful parties. Quillian’s seal, a pair of silver cat eyes surrounded by silver leaves, was stamped neatly on the envelope.
Dorian had examined it with bewilderment. “It’s a real invitation, alright,” he confirmed. “Stinks of Magister Quillian’s mansion – the whole place reeks of cloves and citrus. But what’s extraordinary is how a slave managed to procure one of these! There’s probably a very limited amount of them.”
Fenris rolled his eyes. “It’s not extraordinary at all if she’s a favored slave. They have access to many of their master’s personal belongings and it would not be difficult to sneak a measly invitation away.”
Krem frowned. “Then why don’t more ‘favored’ slaves do that, if it’s so easy to go behind their backs and sabotage them?”
Fenris’s jaw clenched a little. “I never did. It’s…most of them don’t know any better than to be loyal. Clearly, however, this one does. We should help her before that disloyalty is discovered, or her punishment will be…severe.”
Dorian studied the note again. “She calls herself Sparrow. Says she’ll be wearing a ruby around her neck at the party to distinguish herself from the others…hm. What kind of slave would –”
“She’s a whore,” Fenris said bluntly. Dorian stared at him. “Oh, my apologies – an escort. Same difference.”
Krem nodded. “It makes sense…and she’d probably have, uh…interacted with a lot of magisters and gotten a lot of covert information from them in the process. Nobody would suspect her, if she played her cards right.” Krem whistled lowly. “This Sparrow is pretty impressive. Might have to consider asking her to join the Chargers after all this is over…”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now,” Dorian cautioned. “First we have to meet her at this party. Which means…ugh.” He wrinkled his nose. “I suppose I’ll be writing to my father to inform him we’ll be visiting the family home in Minrathous. He’ll be surprised, to say in the least. And we’ll all need some party clothes…”
Krem raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like we can all go to the party. There’s only one invitation, Dorian.”
Dorian waved a hand airily. “Oh, we’ll only need the one,” he said. “I’ll be using it, of course.” He eyed the two of them appraisingly. Fenris had storm clouds gathering in his eyes. “Bodyguards don’t need invitations.” He winked. Krem sighed. Fenris glared.
*
The ballroom was shimmering, every surface draped with silvery gossamer fabric that made the very air sparkle, the shine reflected off of the vast, mirrorlike floor. The tables on either end were heavily laden with every kind of wine and pastry one could ever wish for, and the chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling twinkled and cast flecks of brilliant light across the many guests who milled about the dance floor. In the center, just below the chandelier, was an innocuous-looking silver altar of a sort, clean and metallic. It would not be used tonight, but she had seen it used before. She knew what it was for, and so did her master’s guests, though they easily ignored it.
Such was the Tevinter way of things – ignoring the truth or disguising it, coming up with pretty lies to cover up the ugly reality. Sparrow saw an uglier reality than most. Oh, you couldn’t tell by looking at her – a slight, auburn-haired elf with large limpid blue eyes and a meek smile – but she had dark secrets in her pretty little head. She sifted through them thoughtfully as she watched the party from the sidelines, hands clasped dutifully behind her back and head tilted down. But she was watching. She was always watching.
Tonight could be the most important night of her life so far – if her invitation had been successfully delivered and if it had been accepted. There were plenty of ifs. And still, she hoped, because that hope was all she had left these days. And she didn’t want to think about what would happen if her insubordination was discovered. Cautiously, she looked at her master, who stood several meters away, chatting quietly with two female magisters. Cassius Quillian had been young and handsome once – and some said he still was, but she could never see him as such. His dark hair flowed around his tawny face and gave him the appearance of a lion, perhaps…his calculating gold eyes added to the similarity, his aquiline nose giving him a classically attractive face, though it was lined here and there with signs of age. He was tall and had broad shoulders across which his silver and black robes flowed – the colors of House Quillian.
Sparrow wore a variation of these colors too – all the slaves did, though hers were certainly more…revealing (not by her choice). She knew they were having the intended effect, too – she received many long glances and stares that made her shiver, though nobody had yet approached her. She had a reputation, and they knew she was expensive. But they were the least of her worries tonight. Again, her eyes searched the crowd for….for something. She didn’t know what quite yet.
When her eyes returned to Quillian, she started a little – the female magisters had been joined by a young man in dark violet robes, his words hard to make out from where she stood, but the tone of his voice light and almost teasing. Quillian was smiling at the newcomer graciously, one brow raised, and then both of their eyes turned towards Sparrow. She flushed and quickly looked back down, raising her eyes very carefully. She saw the younger man’s lips form the words, How much? and bit back a sigh. Well…she could only hope her possible allies wouldn’t arrive while she was gone. Nervously, she fingered the ruby at her throat as the two men approached, hardly even flinching when Quillian grabbed her chin and forced her to look up, letting the younger man admire her. She forced herself to relax, letting her eyes go blank and vacant, lips parting slightly.
The man nodded. “Yes, she’ll do nicely, Magister Quillian,” he purred. He pressed a few shining gold coins into her master’s palm. “Do we have an agreement?”
Quillian inclined his head and released Sparrow, only for the other man to place a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Try not to leave any lasting injuries,” Quillian said with a bored wave of his hand. “I expect her back within the hour.” And then he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sparrow with the young man, who steered her out of the ballroom and into one of the adjoining halls. They were less crowded, but a few people still leaned against the pillars with drinks, and a couple of slaves stood at the ready. One of them gave her a sympathetic look and she snuck him a small smile which she hoped looked convincingly brave.
They left the main hall and the sounds of the party faded behind them. She walked at the man’s side tensely, hyper-aware of where he touched her – one broad hand guiding her at the small of her back, not quite pushing though she saw the strength in his richly tanned arms and the cords of his neck. Like many of the other magisters there, he had a staff slung across his back – ornate and golden, with carved dragon wings at the tip and an ebony snake wrapped around the length of it. She shivered. He was not a magister she recognized. No…he was not a magister at all…but close enough.
There were still a few lingering party guests, but none of them noticed her or the Altus. It was a shock when he leaned close to her ear briefly and whispered, “I got your letter. Apologies for the whole charade, but…we must keep up appearances.”
Then it clicked. The black and gold staff, the snake – he was a Pavus. Dorian Pavus, the son who disgraced his family name by running off and joining the heretical Inquisition in savage Ferelden. She could have cried in relief, but instead she nodded tightly and murmured, “Did you come alone?”
He shook his head. “They’re in here.” They turned a corner, into one of the many small antechambers, and he closed the door behind them. Sparrow let out a long breath, the tension in her body dissipating at once. Two other men were waiting there with crossed arms, bodyguards by the looks of them – one with umber skin and warm brown eyes, and the other a lean elf who was practically a legend in Tevinter, his lyrium lines glowing dully in the presence of so much ambient magic.
“Excellent,” Fenris said. “You somehow managed not to ruin the plan.”
Dorian grinned. “You wound me. I’ll have you know that I’m a brilliant actor when I need to be.” He patted Sparrow’s shoulder before stepping back and bowing. “Dorian Pavus, at your service, though I think you already guessed…unfortunately there aren’t many other Tevinter mages working with the Inquisition.”
“There aren’t any others,” Fenris countered. “Thankfully.” He looked back at Sparrow. “I’m Fenris.”
Her mouth twitched a little, amused that he apparently didn’t know about his reputation here. “I know who you are.” Fenris blinked. She shrugged, and left him to draw his own conclusions.
The other man smiled at her. “I’m not nearly as famous as these two, sadly. You can call me Krem.” She smiled back and gave a small curtsey.
“So,” Dorian said conversationally, “you invited us here. Care to elaborate? Your letter left much to be desired.”
She licked her lips uneasily. “Ah…right. I couldn’t say everything I wanted to then, but…I can now that you’re here.” She closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself before she began. “I’m one of the leaders of the Red Crown.”
Krem and Dorian looked clueless, but Fenris leaned forward with no small amount of fascination. “The Red Crown, truly? I thought they were destroyed years ago.”
She smirked. “Cut off one head and another grows in its place. It was never really destroyed…we just had to become more careful.”
“Pardon me for asking,” Dorian interrupted, “but what’s the Red Crown?”
Fenris chuckled darkly. “You wouldn’t know about them. They were the largest organized group of slaves ever recorded – responsible for many uprisings, acts of ‘terrorism,’ and even the deaths of certain magisters – until their leaders were publicly executed.” He glowered. “It was a very public event, though the name of the organization was never mentioned.”
Dorian made a soft sound. “That does sound somewhat familiar, now that you mention it. When was it…five years ago?”
“Seven,” Sparrow corrected, surprised at her own boldness. “We went into hiding after that, but recently…well, you know about the Venatori. We’ve been gathering intel on them, and we believe that if we can get them off the playing board…well, all the corrupt magisters are joining the Venatori, which makes it easier to sort the bad out from the good.”
Fenris folded his arms. “All magisters are corrupt in some way or another.”
Dorian sighed. “Not this again…”
Krem cut in hurriedly. “So what you’re saying is that if we smash all the bad eggs, we’ll be left over with the magisters who are less rotten and maybe more open to change?”
“Exactly. But the main problem is that we don’t have outside support.”
“And the Inquisition can give you that,” Dorian agreed. “In addition, I can try to pull as many strings as I have left here…”
Sparrow shifted. “I’m…afraid you don’t have many, Altus. But…there is a way to get more. It will be risky, and you will be in danger, but your aid would be invaluable to us.”
“Danger? Oh, I love danger. I didn’t spend all of last year hunting down demons, high dragons and a darkspawn magister for nothing. I’d like to think I’m a seasoned warrior by now.”
Fenris huffed. “You’re a mage.”
Dorian huffed louder. “You know what I mean. Anyway, let’s hear it, Sparrow. What’s your delightfully dangerous idea for me?”
She sucked in a breath. Well, it was now or never. “Join the Venatori.”
Krem gaped. Fenris growled. Dorian considered it. “That certainly would give you an advantage…but the Venatori aren’t halfwits – they’re well-aware of my current pariah-status. I think everyone is. To say they’d be suspicious is a huge understatement.”
“Yes,” Sparrow said, “so change the Dorian Pavus the Magisterium sees. You…you said you were a brilliant actor? Well…put on an elaborate act for them. Make yourself appear like the kind of person the Venatori would approve of.”
Dorian sniffed. “A horrible person, in other words. You want me to be the villain? Arrogant and power-hungry, all of that?”
Sparrow smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”
“That won’t be easy, you know,” he warned.
“I think you’re off to a good start,” Sparrow said. When he gave her a questioning look, she nodded at Fenris. “Everyone – slaves and magisters alike – knows about Fenris and how he escaped and tore Danarius’s heart out. Good job with that, by the way.”
Fenris nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the fact that he was practically a Tevinter celebrity. “Thank you.”
She continued. “Fenris was the bane of many magisters here – they feared another uprising would begin once the news of him reached the Imperium. He was a symbol of freedom and defiance.”
Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Was?”
“Well…you’re back in the Imperium now, aren’t you? Under the control of another powerful mage, leashed as his bodyguard.”
Fenris’s eyes narrowed furiously and he gestured violently at Dorian. “That mage does not control me. I may be playing the role of his bodyguard but I am not his slave.”
“Oh, of course,” Sparrow agreed mildly, “but the Venatori don’t know that.”
Dorian’s lips parted in realization. “If they thought I’d managed to singlehandedly recapture and enslave Fenris again, they’d show definite interest in me. And their suspicions might be dispelled, which would allow me to masquerade freely as one of them.”
Fenris stared at them both, seething. “This is not an acceptable plan.”
Krem frowned. “Well, it’s really the only plan we’ve got. Hey, maybe you could try to get back on your father’s good side too, Dorian.”
Dorian flinched. “I’d rather not resort to that,” he said, “but I suppose I could try.” He sighed. “Oh, how I’ve missed the literally cut-throat politics here…”
“So it’s settled then?” Sparrow asked excitedly. “You’ll do it, Dorian? Fenris, you don’t have to, but –”
“I don’t see a real choice here,” Fenris grumbled. “So yes, fine. I’ll go along with it. But mage, I swear, if you even try to turn this act into reality, I’ll rearrange your organs.”
Dorian held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, yes, I understand. And yes, Sparrow, I’m in. How about you, Krem?”
Krem nodded. “You know I am. My father…I wonder if he’s involved in this Red Crown at all. And I’ll see if I can contact some of my old friends – a lot of them were involved with deep black market business and slave smugglers. They’ve got no love for the Magisterium, that’s for sure.”
Sparrow clapped her hands. “Then it’s decided. I assume you’re staying at the Pavus estate here?”
“Indeed we are.”
“Expect more letters,” she said slyly. “The Red Crown is rising.” Sparrow turned to Dorian with a spark in her eyes that had not been there before. “And now, gentlemen, I believe our hour is up.”