The Amell Legacy: Transgressions

[Marian Hawke]

She flinches a bit. "No, if you don't think you can -- if you don't think you could pull it off, it could be your nephew."

[Varric]

"I- not because of- " Varric glances at the ground, trying to work up the nerve to actually say what he needs to say. "Not because of... anything bad. Just... In addition to... my... preferences or lack thereof, I, uh, I well- Ricky is your nephew, to me, in a way that has nothing to do with Barty."

[Marian Hawke]

"Because he's-- oh," says Marian, quietly. "Oh. I can be his aunt? Pretend Bianca was my sister?"

[Varric]

"That... could work... hells, most people in Orzammar couldn't swear that Bianca wasn't a tiefling, given how reclusive she was," Varric says slowly. "You helping me raise our shared nephew would be... pretty reasonable."

[Marian Hawke]

"And it makes us kin," she says quietly. "Without getting in either of our way, romantically."

[Varric]

"It does," Varric agrees with a faint smile, finally lifting his gaze again. 

[Haliel Lightsong]

Haliel loses her fight, moving over to pull Marian into a hug. "You have family- more family, a big brother," she says, giddy. 

[Marian Hawke]

Marian presses her head against Lightsong's shoulder, smiling faintly. "Yeah," she whispers. "I do."

[Aveline Vallen]

A few days after rescuing Bianca, in Nyra

"Right behind you," Aveline murmurs supportively. She's clad in her dressiest loadout- mithal armour visible but enhanced with fine inlays of gold (glamour of course, she would never allow such a soft metal into her armour), a fresh tabard of Vangal draped over that (as opposed to her guard tabard, which she would normally where on a task such as today's) and her braid down her back, not pinned to her scalp. Okay, dressiest for Aveline anyway. Still, aside from a bit too much militance, she fits in with the room's decor. The waiting room just outside the Wick is a bit fancier, what with the down-filled silk pillows on the seats, the gold sconces holding eternal flame, and the plush carpeting, but it's not gaudy or stuffy.

[Bethany]

Still, Beth rather feels comforted by having the paladin in combat gear and suspects her twin feels the same. Sure, even one of her strength couldn't hope to actually stop the Lantern if they choose to arrest them, but it's a comfort regardless. Gods. The Lantern. Sure, she and Carver have both been here, though she doubts that Carver really remembers much, given that it was only after Gamlen fucked with his head, but it's entirely different, being an ignored spectator and being one of two star witnesses (and possible suspects for... something) in a closed inquiry by the full cast of Guiding Lights. Well, as full as it can be, given that not one but two seats are being contested. The Beauregard seat has been in contention for ages, but that's a Founder Seat. That one will just seat there, given that none of the Lights want to be the one to propose how to fill a seat that is supposed to only go to a family line. The Amell seat? That's a Merchant seat and those are literally bought and sold every decade. Not directly, sure, but...

Smoothing down her high-quality but simple midnight blue silk dress, Bethany drifts a little closer to Carver. "You ready? Going to call us in any minute now I figure. Need to go over anything?" she offers for the dozenth time. It's clear by now that her offers are as much to calm herself as him. What if I ruin this? After all our running and trying to make our lives our own, we walk right back in here. We are such fools. No. No, this is fine. We'll be fine. We are zi'Amells, we deserve our birthright. Carver deserves to become a nobleman, a Lord, after being forced to play little noble girl for so long. I want to see Shan again. I want to see all of my friends again. Well, 'friends' sure, but still. Some of them are alright, mostly.

[Carver Amell]

By contrast to his twitchy twin, Carver is calm -- deadly calm. It's probably not healthy; it's the calm of a man sitting on death row, the calm of someone locked into a plummeting minecart who knows escape is inevitable. This is going to suck, he thinks, on the offhand, but he knows there's no way out but through, and so he sits, calm, implacable, watching his sister. 

His vest matches her gown exactly. It should; they were a matching set before he had a seamstress rip it up, stitch it back together into a vest. The suit jacket is too small for his broad shoulders, so he left it in the carriage, leaving just the slate-grey (off-the-rack) silk shirt, the jet black (slightly too long) trousers. He felt like a fraud, looking in the mirror in the morning, but Merrill called him handsome so he left it be. He had Aveline trim his hair as best she could, with advice from Beth, so at least that was tidy, if not particularly fashionable. 

If only there was more time. But there isn't. There's only as much time as there is. They're going to murder me,he thinks, and it might be literally true, for all he knows. Back in town one day and already that unearthly calm, that distant sense of despair, that sense of being detached from his body is back in full force. The only way out is through. 

[Roland]

"Steady on lad," Roland murmurs gently, squeezing Carver's shoulder. He wasn't willing to do the full vest and jacket and such- he certainly hadn't brought anything like that with him on this little trek. He had taken a quick detour to Golden Green when they slipped past to get most of the rest of his stuff, but the nicest thing he owns is some drakeskin trousers and a light green linen shirt. He does accept Beth's (demand) offer that he borrow some fingerless gloves and dress shoes, not impressed with the soft-sole leather shoes he'd been planning to wear. 

He's still not entirely sure how he ended up where he is. Or why he agreed to do it. Sure, he feels a debt. Not just to Mal for letting the younger elf make the trip by himself, for not going himself. But also to Mal's kids, for being at least partially responsible for them growing up without a dad. But this? Agreeing to take a seat in the ruling body of a fucking city-state? Sure, just to keep it warm until the twins are old enough to take over things- whoever wants it, though Roland figures Beth is gonna be the one to take it eventually. Still though. He hates politics. Talking to people sure, even dealing and bargaining and such. 

He smiles faintly. Prolly gonna regret this. Regret not doing it a helluva lot more.

[NPCs]

Before Carver can reply, if he even was planning to, a Lantern servant enters the waiting room. He bows deeply towards Carver and Beth, then rises. "The Wick has been readied and the Lights stand ready to receive you," he intones ceremoniously. Aveline nods curtly and moves towards him, ready to lead the twins inside. 

[Carver Amell]

Carver stands, straightening his vest -- the small sign of nervousness his body forces out through the disconnected, floaty feeling -- and nods to Roland. "Let's go."

[NPCs]

The Wick is more or less as Beth remembers- intimidating, awe-inspiring and majestic. For the center of the government for the largest and most magical city-state in the Free Outlands, the Wick is fairly simple in design, if not in construction. A perfect circle of white marble tiered seating surrounds an open area roughly twenty feet in diameter with a pair of short stools. The twins follow Avaline down a short tunnel under the seating and end up in the center platform. There are three such tunnels, all of them seeming to lead to the center of the Wick. However, once one takes that last step out of the tunnels, they instead appear either at the bottom of the steps to their seat- for Lights and guests- or the center if you are there to give a speech or testimony.

Or to be judged.

Above them is a glorious tongue of flame, naturally in the shape of a massive candle flame, though light seems to bleed into the world from nowhere as well to ensure the entire room is illuminated. It's perfectly comfortable in regards to temperature and air quality- and the seats are not only magically pristine but comfortable no matter who sits in them despite the variety of shapes mortals come in. And of course there are various wards in place to prevent violence- or at least harm, should violence break out. The seats are strangely empty and filled both.

Nearly every seated Light is here today: twenty and nine out of thirty-three. Given that there's no Amell at the moment, and of course the Beauregard family is still in dispute, that's a very high attendance record. But it's a closed session, with no other nobles or family allowed to attend. They even stopped Roland from entering, Aveline getting in from force of personality and brandishing her orders to 'bring back the twins to give their testimonies' like a crudel. The room goes quiet as they enter, most of the Lights staring at them both.