Note: Confusion may present itself in your mind if you haven't already read my other stories, for this one is a continuation of my Wardens' adventures. In addition, there are a lot of original characters, so I would recommend reading the other stories (Redemption, Secrets of the Hunt, and The Runaway, in that order). But you don't have to. It is just a suggestion.
Chapter 1
It was the kind of snow that stuck to boots, squeaking as they hit the ground, and which made walking more an effort than a pleasure. The sky was clear now, the sun even making an appearance, helping to melt the snow. Some villagers grudgingly left their houses to shovel the white stuff. A path to their neighbours, to the market, and to the Keep would do in the interim for most. For it was heavy, back breaking work. The worst type of snow. To children, however, it was the best kind.
Sammy ran through the village, picking up handfuls of snow and rolling them into perfect spheres. Yes, this was the kind of snow that snowballs were made of. He happily chased around some of the other Keep's children, throwing snowballs at them with a laugh. He hid behind crates and never once got hit himself. Laughing, proud of himself, he lifted his head to peek above the crate. The other children had fled already.
Frowning, he got up and bounced the snowball up and down in his hand. Well, this was no fun anymore now that there were no more victims. Bored, he made his way back to the Keep. Just by Wade and Herren's stand, he caught a glimpse of them. The Wardens – they had returned at last. He looked to the snowballs still in his hand, considering them. With a mischievous grin, he took aim at the Wardens, their backs to him.
The snowballs hurtled through the air in a wide arc, like stones being launched from a catapult. They thudded first onto Melisende's back, and then onto Tristan's. Melisende and Tristan both turned around, wondering who had the nerve to do such a thing. As they caught sight of Sammy, he burst into joyful laughter.
"Why, you little rascal!" Melisende cried out with a smile. She felt a tugging at her chest as she saw the boy, realizing only now how much she had missed him.
"Oh, we're not going to let him get away with that, are we?" Tristan looked to Melisende with a smirk. Melisende shook her head. They reached into the snow and made quick snowballs.
"Ah!" Sammy exclaimed, taking cover behind a post as the snowballs came flying in his direction. Nonplussed by the counterattack, Sammy made some more snowballs, rolling them as fast as his little palms could. He jumped into the open, launching the fresh projectiles at the Grey Wardens. This time, however, he missed.
"Oh, Sammy, get over here." Melisende trudged through the snow, holding her arms out to the boy.
Sammy hesitated for a moment. Really, he was too old to run into her arms. If one of the other children saw him... ah whatever, he would settle any teasing with his fists. He was too happy to see her. Sammy ran, hopped more like it, through the snow and launched himself into Melisende's arms. She lifted him up briefly, twirling him around with a laugh.
"I've missed you," she said as she put him down. He smiled as Tristan pat him on the back and ruffled his hair.
"I missed you guys too. It's about time you decided to come home." Sammy said excitedly. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, planting his feet wide apart, and pouted. "I was starting to think you were staying away just to avoid my sword lessons."
Melisende laughed, placing a hand on his neck and leading him towards the Keep. "Of course not. Don't be silly."
Sammy stopped. "The new Grey Warden... I don't like her. I hate her."
Tristan looked at Sammy askance. "Isn't that word a little strong?"
Sammy shook his head, his blonde curls bouncing up and down. "Oh no. You'll see. Even Nathaniel gets riled up by her. And you know him; it takes a rock and a hard place for him to show any emotion."
Melisende laughed at Sammy's description of Nathaniel. It was so true. "Speaking of Nathaniel, shall we go inside?"
"Sure, but Nathaniel's not inside. He's on patrol." Sammy replied, trudging forward ahead of the two Wardens. Melisende gave Tristan a puzzled look.
"In this weather?" she asked Tristan.
Tristan shrugged. "Nathaniel's letter did say she was driving everyone crazy, no? In any case, I'm going to have a word with this Clotilde Caron as soon as we get into the Keep." Tristan looked a little troubled, but moved forward nonetheless.
Disappointed that her reunion with Nathaniel would have to wait, Melisende followed her Commander into the Keep with a sigh. She wasn't sure what to expect. Anders and Justice were gone. And this Orlesian Warden, what was her purpose in being at the Keep in the first place? She guessed she would soon find out, for better or worse.
...
Mistress Woolsey came careening out of the great hall, shaking her head to and fro, motioning with her hands. She clearly was frustrated. She grumbled under her breath, muttering about finances, failing to notice Tristan and Melisende coming to a pause in front of her. Instead, she brushed by them, parting them from each other's side. Tristan regarded Woolsey with slight amusement and then looked to Melisende questioningly.
"Woolsey, too upset to notice us?" Melisende asked in wonderment.
"Rather disturbing. She usually has a mouthful to say to me about the Keep's finances." Tristan replied, shrugging. He walked calmly toward the great hall Woolsey had just exited from. "Well, there could only be one reason for that..."
He entered into the hall, Melisende close behind him. At the end of the room, beyond the great hearth, stood the seneschal, Varel, who was deep in conversation with two figures. The first figure was clad in heavy plate armour, their back to Tristan. The only way that Tristan could tell that this was a woman was the figure's hair – it was pale blonde and pulled back into a braided bun, only a hairstyle a woman would wear. Otherwise, the armour left no hint at all. In front of her was a man, dark haired and goateed, also clad in heavy plate armour. As Tristan and Melisende drew nearer, he spotted them, and then inclined his head slightly in their direction.
"The Orlesian Warden." Melisende whispered as they came to a stop in front of Varel. Varel looked terribly relieved at their arrival, looking to the roof of the hall as if in thanks to the Maker. The woman turned around, a look of disdain on her face.
"So, the Hero of Ferelden has finally deigned to return to his duties," she said before Varel could emit any kind of greeting.
Tristan couldn't help but tense up at her scowl and the way she spoke his moniker with barely restrained contempt and mockery. It was a moniker he disliked himself but was powerless to stop people from using. It was also the first time he had heard somebody say it in such a way. He could feel Melisende get riled up beside him, begin to propel herself forward. No, he wasn't going to let her defend him. He put his arm out, holding her back, giving her a slight nod of reassurance. She bit her lower lip in consternation, but held back as he wished.
"Clotilde Caron, I assume?" Tristan questioned the woman. She nodded ever so slightly, her pale green eyes glowing with scorn, her delicate features bunching up into another frown. She would be pretty – if she weren't so condescending. As it was, her stance was that of a puffed up warrior, proud as a peacock in her Grey Warden plate armour.
"You presume rightly." Clotilde replied with a heavy Orlesian accent. Tristan winced at her voice. It reminded him of Leliana. Shaking the thought out of his mind, he moved closer.
"Tell me, just what are you doing in my Keep?" he asked immediately, wanting to get it out of the way at once. Clotilde seemed to be getting on everyone's nerves and he wanted to know why.
Clotilde arched her left brow very noticeably. "Your Keep?" It was her turn to step closer. Tristan unconsciously flexed his palms. "When I arrived here, there was no Commander."
"That doesn't give you the right to issue commands." Tristan retorted.
Clotilde laughed, a harsh and gruff laugh, as if the action was not common to her. "I did what needed to be done. The Keep was a mess and I fixed it. You, on the other hand, were nowhere to be found. I figured you'd show up sooner or later so I made myself comfortable in the meantime."
Tristan shook his head. He could see the others' dislike for Clotilde. She was arrogant and presumptuous. He did not want to deal with her for longer than he had to. He tried to steer the conversation back to her reason for being there, for wanting to see him. "What do you want with me? Tell me and be gone."
"No." Clotilde replied with a sense of finality.
"No?" Tristan asked, confused. "No, what?"
"Just no. I will speak to you on my terms." Clotilde answered. She leaned in close to Tristan, so close that he could feel her hot breath on his neck. She lowered her voice to a quiet but threatening whisper. "You have a lot to answer for."
With those words, Clotilde left the hall, her male companion following on her heels. Tristan couldn't believe the woman's nerve. He was Commander here, not her. Yet she had the nerve to not only command his charges, but to threaten him as well. He looked to Melisende, who watched the receding back of Clotilde with a curled lip and a look of disbelief.
"What a bitch." Melisende remarked. Tristan couldn't help but think the same. Things certainly wouldn't be dull around here for a while.
"Orlesians." Varel piped in.
"We should speak, Varel." Tristan said and then turned his attention back to Melisende. "See you later?"
"Definitely." Melisende replied, taking her leave.
"So Varel, I should apologize for leaving and creating this mess. It must not have been easy these past few months." Tristan said.
"Commander, I am just glad you have returned." Varel smiled.
Tristan took a deep breath. "To business then." He thought he would never see the Keep again. Didn't think he'd care if somebody else took his job. But now that he was back, he relished the challenge this Clotilde was laying out before him. Nobody would get the better of him in his own command. Nobody.