Cut the tumor pt. 2

It was the anniversary of Orlais’ founding, a day that was celebrated throughout the Empire, and for historical reasons, at times reviled by the Dalish.

Since the time of its founder Drakon I, it is celebrated with great pomp and fervour, and for the nobility it is an exceptionally competitive time as players of the Great Game, being a time when the highest number of alliances have been broken or made.

This time, however, was far different. A palpable tension lay hanging in the air, thick enough to smother people to ****. Tempers were running high, like a thin string ready to snap. The rampant news of Celene’s pregnancy and your amorous lifestyle also made for a terrible combination, contributing to the worsening tension.

Amidst this, it can be forgiven if Celene’s throwing of this annual festival were seen as an attempt at escapism from the current crisis.

"And now entering, Lord Inquisitor Aedan Cousland!” The Senaschal announced to the jubilant applause of the audience, “Shepherd of the wayward order of templars! Purger of heretics from the ranks of the faithful! Champion of the blessed Andraste herself!"

You were thankful he was strictly instructed to not announce your status as Queen Anora’s husband, since there was no point at this juncture. Not wanting to bother with overly tiresome fashion preparation, all of you were dressed in a simple unisex dress uniform of red and blue, the same unform worn to the Winter Palace at Halamshiral.

“Time to face the music,” You mused to yourself, “But this time’s awfully… how do I describe it?”

“I think you’re looking for ‘overwrought’, Inquisitor,” Said Josephine.

“I have to agree - it’s an apt description,” Said Leliana.

“And here I thought fighting the Venatori was nerve-wracking enough for most,” Said Cullen, “I would have preferred they leave their politicking for after the Venatori are dealt with.”

“That’s politics for you, Cullen,” Said Leliana, “Everyone has their own agenda, Venatori or not. It’s not as if they’ll instantly forget.”

“And we’ve become so powerful and wealthy in the short span of a year, not to mention we’re holding onto strategically important land in both Orlais and Ferelden,” Said Josephine, “In any case, we can’t keep carrying this baggage with us.”

“Don’t worry, Josephine,” You said, “Today’s the day we settle it in one stroke.”

“That it is, Inquisitor,” Said Josephine.

You could hear the muted whispers exchanged among the nobility, their hushed tones and agreements, plans being exchanged in plain sight, their expressions hidden behind their masks of gold and silver.

Such was the nature of the Great Game, a murderously thrilling and lethal game that claimed more lives than the battlefield of steel and blood. Whether it be facial or body language, family troubles, political **** or even love, no pawn was outside its reach, no tool off the table.

You could feel an army of eyes on you and your companions, but where most would squirm uncomfortably, you simply took it in stride with a smirk, a smirk you elected to not repress. That smirk only grew wider at the subtle tones of anger and offence reaching your ears.

And after a series of routine and boring introductions, the festivities were now underway.

“Let the feast begin!”

Armies of servants brought forth trolleys bearing extravagant platters of dishes and snacks, and the nobles wasted no time feasting with dainty hands and overly polite and restrictive manners.

At the same time, musicians started playing and the nobles started to dance. Thanks to Josephine being your dedicated dance teacher, you effortlessly sway through the dance floor, impressing many young women and the not-so-young ones.

You wished you could dance with Celene, but being just days from the expected due date, she had to refrain for the sake of your baby’s health.

“Oh? You seem rather happy, Inquisitor.”

Your current dance partner was a comely but elderly noblewoman named Kenilda Côté. A very powerful and influential noblewoman, her House among a dozen others has dominated Orlesian politics for generations since long before the Fereldan Occupation.

Her smile was a polite and practised mask, with no flaws or imperfections even beneath her silver ornament. Were she a commoner, she would perhaps be the kind matronly owner of an orphanage caring for less fortunate children, and none would be wiser. Yet as you dance with her, you feel something prickling at your skin, like a rash that stubbornly refuses to fade away.

And your decade-old instincts as a warrior were being tickled as well.

In spite of this, as a seasoned politician yourself, you gave away no weakness, maintaining a polite smile as you always have.

“A good friend of mine is expecting a child, you see,” You answered, “I’m just happy for her.”

“A good friend, you say?” Asked Kenilda, “Could it be your lady friend, perhaps?”

“She is someone’s lady friend, Kenilda,” You said.

“And who is the father?” She asked.

“Her husband, of course,” You said.

“Wouldn’t that be you, dear Inquisitor?” Asked Kenilda, “Rumours are running rampant, after all.”

“Rumours can be started by anyone, dear Kenilda,” You replied, “Be careful what you listen to.”

In the midst of the festivity, many nobles look in your direction either with curiosity, disdain or something in between.

And knowing them, this would be the perfect time to strike.

Too bad for them - you were no easy target.

And with a flourish, you finish the dance with a false fall, holding Kenilda in your arms.

The audience clapped uproariously, whether it be out of admiration for your elegant dance or to maintain appearances. With courtesy you left the dance floor, quickly heading to the nearest banquet table.

And you resist the urge to sigh heavily.

‘I hate eating all this extravagant food, day in, day out,’ You thought to yourself.

Ignoring the rich tasting food, you notice many nobles lingering around talking and laughing with themselves, with others, or to your companions.

Leliana and Josephine, as always, were in their element, effortlessly smooth-talking their way through the webs of intrigue that were being spun in this very banquet hall. Cullen, on the other hand, looked on the verge of collapsing from fatigue, trying desperately to fend off many young noblewomen smitten with his looks.

But from the corner of your eye, you could see Kenilda in furious discussions with several others. Feigning ignorance, you quickly make your way to Cullen and quickly drag him away, much to his gratitude.

“Cullen, it’s almost time,” You whispered.

Cullen wordlessly nodded, as did the others once you gave the signal.

Suddenly, everyone heard the Empress clapping loudly, causing all the attendees to look at her.

"Lords and Ladies of Orlais, respected elites of our illustrious Empire,” She said, “Tonight I wish to make an announcement on a very important subject."

She smilingly caressed her half-pregnant belly.

"I know that some of you are wondering who is the baby's father, and that some of you might be angry at the man who did this,” She said.

Many courtiers were now exchanging hushed whispers, a mixture of emotions raging in the air.

“Wait, who is the child’s father?”

“Please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is…”

“Are you serious? Of course it is who it is!”

You and your retinue resist the urge to snicker.

"I pray that you don't have to be worried, because the father of my future child, heir to Orlais, is none other than the Lord Inquisitor, Aedan Cousland!" She announced with a hint of pride in her voice.

And all eyes turn instantly on you.

The ballroom instantly fell into a cacophony of disbelief, excitement and all kinds of emotions. Soon the Orlesian nobles forewent all pretence of politeness and business, turning the entire ballroom into a shouting arena.

“Traitor!”

“Whore!”

“You sold out our proud nation!”

Not all jeered and insulted Celene, others merely nodding in acceptance or keeping to themselves.

Celene’s smile turned strained, and you quickly moved to her side, holding her hand.

She squeezes it gently in turn.

“Thank you, Aedan,” She whispered.

“I say we welcome this announcement!”

They turned to face Yvette, Josephine’s sister. The poor girl was jittery and shaking like an earthquake, but she found the strength to step forward and raise her voice.

“Yvette!” Josephine cried in alarm.

“It’s alright, sis,” Said Yvette, who then turned to face the audience, “Tell me, Lords and Ladies of Orlais, who is responsible for helping to drive back the Venatori threat?”

The audience went silent at her words.

“Who’s money helped Orlais replenish its coffers? Whose troops are protecting our people where our own armies were struggling? Who is responsible for thwarting countless plots of villainy against us and our allies?”

Many among the audience, the traditionalists especially, grit their teeth at her words, but they said nothing.

“Does it really matter?”

Kenilda stepped forward, her mouth set into a deep frown as she approached, her slippers gracefully gliding along the marble floor.

“Have you forgotten that the Inquisition is also responsible for killing the heads of dozens of noble houses, eroding our power and influence on the continent and holding rightful Orlesian land?” She said, her eyes fixed on you, “Have you forgotten who is responsible for plastering mud on our national pride, especially when our last conquests were forfeit?”

“Orlais treated Ferelden very cruelly,” Said Yvette, “They wouldn’t take it lying down.”

“Our world is a world where the strong devour the weak, little girl,” Said Kenilda, “Do you think morals matter?”

“Even if morals don’t always prevail, you think people like it when they’re treated as lesser beings?” Said Yvette.

You had to admit, you were surprised by Yvette’s daringness. Most times, she tended to be a rather kind and giggly but almost demure girl.

Then, a voice backed up Yvette’s statement.

"Many of you seem very shocked at the mention of me being the father of Celene's child... I swear on my honor as the Champion of Andraste that I shall treat her well, and by no means am I engaging in subversive acvities against Orlais.”

Your sudden declaration ruffled the feathers of many nobles in the ballroom, but also served to shake them a little.

“As such, I suggest you all reaffirm your oaths to your Empress and desist. Continue your hubris, and you will find yourself a footnote in the annals of history... just like how half of your counterparts in Ferelden found out the hard way."

Many shivered at the mention of the brutal purge of the Ferelden nobility, forcing the country to reform their hierarchical system from the ground up.

"In fact, all I'm demanding is for Celene and the child to be left alone. Keep your tradition to yourself. Play the Game however you like, but lay a hand on her or my child...."

You left the threat hanging in the air, the clear implication not lost on anyone

“I, for one, do not care. This is the greatest insult to Orlesian honour and pride, and I will not stand for it! And it is a Fereldener that holds the position of Inquisitor, leader of an organisation that holds rightful Orlesian land,” Said Kenilda, “But I think it’s time to end this farce. Now!”

*line break*

Kenilda Côté’s brother Jacques was a very cruel and calculating man, but one who cared for his family in his own way. They owned many Elven servants who had **** in their life, and whose families were sold to Tevinter as slaves.

Not a single day went by that Kenilda did not hear of him exploiting them in the mines and on the fields, bringing rich coin to their coffers.

When Aedan arrived, he brutally put him and all his lackeys to ****, exiling his family out of Orlais for good and freeing grateful Elves. This incident permanently damaged the prestige of the Côté family, putting them as outcasts.

It was luck that spared her punishment, being away in Antiva for diplomatic meetings.

And when she heard the news that Celene was pregnant, she used her sources to find out the child’s father.

She was filled with great hate and disgust for Celene upon finding out, and thus vowed her vengeance, gathering like-minded nobles to oust her.

Never did she realise, however, that the ballroom became the tomb for her and her conspirators, as their severed heads rolled onto the floor.