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Ophelia kept her shoulders squared and her back straight despite the revelation. She had known, or at the very least assumed, what the odd assortment of vagabonds really were. From their eclectic, patched clothing to the windswept greasy hair, everything about them screamed pirate. But what was she to do with this information?

With a raised brow as her only flicker of discernment, she scanned the woman in front of her. “Tell me, Alba Selvaggio of Rialto, have you any say in your defense?” She had heard the pirate’s claim of innocence only hours ago but she was curious if there was anything else she might have to say for herself and her crew. 

The mention of her company’s unsavory dealings with merchant companies had her on edge. Realistically, Ophelia should cut off her hands, or seize her ship and all her valuables inside, but the mere thought had her shifting uncomfortably in her stiff throne. There was another option, something so morally questionable that it would likely cause an uproar, but she had to consider all her choices. After all these years playing as a puppet under the eyes of the Empress, and now being spearheaded by the lesser people as a token of faith, she knew it was utterly impossible to keep everyone satisfied. She would make the decision that would provide peace in the [i]long run[/i], not light a flame of false hope that would burn her at the stake when things went haywire. 

“I would like to hear more of these unseemly practices with the balance sheets. Selvaggio, if you would tell me your own personal accounts, so I may fully weigh all factors tying into your final judgment,” Ophelia spoke clearly and calmly. It didn’t escape her notice how Josephine sent her a fleeting skeptical look, but she kept her eyes on the callous pirate in front of her. 
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With the last lingering mage out of sight, Hyacinth shot out of the shadows and cast Cullen a disapproving glare. “I know all of them, it is my job. The short pasty one that was yelling in the middle of the crowd - that is Merren. She hangs out by the stables eyeing the Warden fellow all day,” she snorted as if she couldn’t possibly understand the infatuation with such a man. “And the elven man I bumped into? His name is Ryvalle, and he has only joined us recently. One of the stragglers from Alexius’ former team.” She shrugged as if none of this information really mattered. 

“The leader is the least of our concerns.” Throwing her hood back, she stepped directly into the moonlight and faced the Commander, the jut of her high cheekbones glistening under the night’s starry skies. There could be no official confirmation on whatever they had witnessed that night. The mages were angry, as they were likely to be regardless of their outcome, the finicky beings they were, but Cullen had made a good point. If the Inquisition appeared to be weak, the mages would poke and prod to expose them. 

“I shall alert Leliana of the concern, though we don’t have enough information for a full report,” she explained as she began walking out of the courtyard. “I have been overseeing these meetings for a fortnight and nothing has come out of it yet. Only complaint after complaint. We should prioritize their concerns, not dismiss them. We are in need of lyrium, and the upper council is failing to negotiate a proper resolution with the dwarven merchants, from what I hear.” 

From what she’s heard from the dwarves themselves. They weren’t exactly quiet about their demands, and about their dissatisfaction with the inability to secure a favorable deal between both factions. The issue lied with those in power, not with the people who were in need of those resources.