Vhrinn sat in her quarters, rasping her fingers upon the heavy oak table. It was finely burnished a deep cherry hue, the lacquer atop it was thick and clear, without a flaw. She could see the reflection of her fingers as they drummed heavily on its surface. She should stop, she knew it, before she plowed a hole in the finishing, but it was the only thing that kept her nerves, and stomach, still.
The new Wardens from Orlais were arriving today, to meet with her. She, the only surviving Grey Warden, was ceremoniously charged by Queen Anora as the new Warden Commander. She needed to know how to recruit new Grey Wardens, but Riordan had taken that secret with him when he plunged to his death. So she had sent for help.
Another reason for her discomfort, truth be told, was because she didn't like the tone the Grey Wardens from Orlais had set in their letter when she detailed she needed their assistance. They sounded suspicious of her report, wondering how one they never heard of was the only remaining Grey Warden. And that she had single-handedly stopped the Blight. She hadn't, of course, single-handedly stopped it, she had help in the form of Alistair and all her other worthy friends. Again, it came down to the fact she was the only one that remained.
Vhrinn stopped her rhythmic drumming and bounced up to her feet, beginning to pace her quarters. They were roomy and plush, filled ceiling to floor with colorful tapestries, velvet curtains, gold-inlaid suede chairs, and soft silk rugs. The Queen had insisted she take the room in honor of her being the Hero of Ferelden, and as the Warden Commander. Such a prestigious position demanded such royalties that went with it. To be honest, she'd have preferred the campfire with Alistair and her friends. At least there, the entire atmosphere felt warm and accepting.
For all the exquisite pieces and commodities, the room she had been given felt dark and empty, lonely and cold. Without the one man in her life that she had truly loved, and loved in return, no place had felt . . .right. After the battle with the Archdemon, as Alistair's body lay lifeless, fracture without his soul, she recalled being held by many hands as she wept. Even through the bitter grief of her heartache, she smelled Leliana's white jasmine perfume, heard Wynne's motherly whisper, felt Sten's mighty embrace, smelled Zevran's Antivan leather boots, felt Kacyee's wet tongue lick the tears from her face, whimpering in shared agony, and Oghren's ale breath as his thick red whiskers caress her face. Even Shale's stoney hand was gently placed upon her body, as she cried too. They had all been there for her during those hours that she had lamented Alistair's sacrifice.
But, now they were all off pursuing their own agenda's. Wynne and Shale were off looking for help from the Tevinter Magi. Leliana was heading back to Orlais to deal with Marjolene, Sten had gone back to his people. Only Oghren and Zevran chose to stay with her, but even they were heading to the Spoiled Princess to see Felcy. They'd be back once Oghren was done rutting with the spicy dwarf, but that would be weeks before they returned. Hopefully, enough time for her to see to the Orlais Wardens.
Vhrinn strode to the window in her pacing, stopping to look down on the stonemasons below. The people had demanded a statue of Alistair to recognize his heroic deed. With Vhrinn to back the people's voice, Anora had given in and dug into the coffers to have two statues built. The second one was to be dedicated to her father, the one who had liberated their country from Orlais in the first place. Although she smiled as she conscripted the stonemasons, Vhrinn could easily tell she was not pleased that no one had asked for a statue of her father. It seemed ironic that they wanted to honor the one man who had killed the man that had freed them all. To her, it was as if they had forgotten all he had done for Ferelden.
And maybe they had. Vhrinn had no love of Loghain Mac Tir. The man had abandoned the battlefield at Ostagar, dooming King Cailen Therin, widowing his own daughter, and killing most, and almost all, of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He then saw to it that his nation had been thrown in civil war, having Arl Eamon poisoned, the Circle Tower thrown into an uproar as he seized the power upon the throne, locking away his own daughter so that she would not dissent against him. Not only that, he also had a bounty placed on any surviving Grey Wardens, and even hired an assassin, who failed. That assassin had become Vhrinn's friend and trusted ally, but it was the intent of the deed Vhrinn had held against Loghain.
A knock on the door shook Vhrinn from her thoughts. A royal messenger stepped in and bowed low to Vhrinn. "The Grey Wardens from Orlais have arrive, Commander. They await your arrival in the Courtyard. And if I might be so bold, you should hurry."
"Did they bring the Chevaliers?" Vhrinn asked, although she didn't need to. She had specifically mentioned in her letter to the Orlesian Wardens to not bring them, as the ruling Family held disfavor to their former adversaries. Again, it showed the very disrespectful tone towards her position as did their letter.
"Yes, Commander. And the Queen is most upset."
"Indeed." Vhrinn said, grabbing her fur lined cloak, Ferelden and its harsh climates be damned. They saved the stinking land just in time for winter to set in. It was cold enough to freeze spit before it hit the ground. She was beginning to hate this Winter cold. Back in the Circle Tower, she was never blessed enough to be allowed outside enough to enjoy the splendors of ice and snow, and now that she was, she despised it. She did not envy the Orlesians and their two month journey here.
As she was about to leave the bedroom, Kaycee, her Mabari War hound scrambled out from under her bed and caught up to her before the door swung closed behind her. He was like that, always joining her side before she could leave him behind, as if that had ever been her intention. And, for all coins in the Golden City, she never understood why he slept under the bed. Back in camp, he lounged by the fire, on his back with his legs outstretched. In the castle, though, he stayed under her bed unless she left the room, and then he came out to be by her side. Still, it was comforting to know he was nearby when she slept at night.
"Are you the one known as Vhrinn Amnell?" A man in Chevalier armor asked, as she emerged from the castle, stepping forward from a large group of people standing in formation. The mage searched the man's eyes, and a certain recognition flashed in her mind, a recognition she only got around Alistair and Riordan.
"I am." She replied, pulling on a pair of thick riding gloves. She despised this part next.
"I am Bosnin Abirark, Warden of Orlais. I came here per your request." he bowed low. Vhrinn smiled, despite the feeling of unease within her. At least he was being civil.
"Unfortunately, you are not here per my request. I specifically detailed for you to not bring Chevaliers with you, and you ultimately ignored this portion of my correspondence. So, now I must tell you to have your men turn around and strike back out of Denerim." Vhrinn said, as a black mare, already saddled was brought to her.
"I beg your pardon, Vhrinn," Bosnin said, growing irritated at the sudden change in what he figured was going to happen. "But my men have been marching everyday for two whole months now. They deserve some warmth and a good meal."
"Which we will get once we are in Amaranthine and the new Grey Warden base I have established there." Vhrinn said, mounting the horse. Kaycee barked happily knowing he was going to have a chance to get out and run. The Orlesians eyed the dog warily. They respected a Mabari's prowess in battle, having once been on the receiving end of it.
"I must protest, Warden." Bosnin reiterated. "My men need some well deserved rest. How dare you turn us out like this."
"Had you followed my instructions to the letter, the Grey Wardens of Orlais were more than welcome within the walls of the Denerim Palace. However, Queen Anora Mac Tir frowns upon your intrusion upon her land with these Chevaliers. If you know your history, you may come to understand why your men are not welcome here. In ten minutes, she will lower the portcullis and leave you to pound at the gates to your hearts content. Or, you may accept my invitation of hospitality in return for one extra week through the cold climate of Ferelden. Your choice."
Begrudgingly, Bosnin remounted his horse, and turned back to his men. Before he so much as uttered a word, there were loud moans and grumblings that ceased as the Warden raised his hand. "Now that we have found our Sister, we march north for Amaranthine. Move out!"
The trip to Amaranthine, while cold, was uneventful. As the approached the barracks to the new base, Levi Dryden, and his family poured out of every crevice and came to meet them. They took the horses away, and showed the men to the barracks, while Vhrinn took Bosnin and the other Grey Wardens up to an office she had claimed for her own. It looked out over the mountainside, and would have a fantastic view when the land was green again, but for now, all she saw was a blanket of snow, everywhere. It was hideously bland.
"So, now we are here. Do you wish to see your quarters, or get down to business?" Vhrinn said, sitting down in her chair. It was not as eloquent as the one in her room at Denerim, but it was sturdy, and more practical. And away from all the fawning fans, she felt comfortable. As a mage, she never had resplendent luxuries, and so the simple, if not expensive items she furnished her office with suited her much better than the Denerim Palace.
"If you don't mind. We had some questions for you." Bosnin said, taking a seat. The other four wardens joined him. Vhrinn nodded, her gut wrenching. She had feared answering their questions. And for good reason.
After days and days of being poked and prodded by her 'good friends' from Orlais, Vhrinn sighed in exhaustion and fell upon her bed. It had gone worse than she feared.
She had told them about being recruited, taken to Ostagar, and the events in which resulted in them surviving when everyone else had fallen. They had grilled her about why she had been at the Tower instead of down below with the others, why Alistair had been with her, about the battle plan, and on and on. She answered as best as she could, but it never seemed good enough.
Then, in the Korcari Wilds, afterward, they wanted to know all about Flemeth and Morrigan, their magic, why they rescued to the two Wardens and nursed them to health. What aid they had given. Vhrinn had been as forthcoming as she felt, knowing that Morrigan was still out there, as was her mother, in one form or another. So she had lied, saying that before the Blight was over, recognizing the threat Flemeth and Morrigan had been, had gone back and killed them. They seemed ill-at-ease, but eventually accepted her reassurances that they would find nothing at the hut.
All through her blasted travels they picked and pulled apart every decision she had made, every battle she fought. Everything she had learned. When she spoke to them of the Broodmothers, they suddenly became very interested. It was something they had never known themselves, a piece of the whole puzzle they were able to put into some place in their minds. They didn't share this, of course. To them, she was not a Warden Commander, she was still a new recruit. Someone who had gotten to big for her britches. They saw flaw in everything she'd done, and didn't mind rubbing her nose in it. They never congratulated her, never thanked her for doing her job, never thanked her for stopping the Blight without having involved another country. Only one man had ever stopped to thank her for her hard work and perseverance, and he lay entombed in a sarcophagus in Weissualpt Fortress.
They ever scrutinized her about Alistair. Why, if Riordan had died, as the remaining leader of the Grey Wardens, why she had not taken that blow. Her only response to them, had been what Riordan had said. "The senior member of the Grey Wardens picks who gets to take that blow." She might not have been the senior Warden when it came to the length of time served, but Alistair had undoubtedly made her the leader, and therefore, she made that call. Or so she told the Orlesians.
She couldn't make herself tell them that she had been too weak to resist his charms, as he held her in his arms and kissed her one final time. His eyes staring so intently into her own, his final goodbye one she'd never forget. "I love you." in his own words, would forever echo in her head. They almost nearly drove her to tears thinking about them, but as she faced the Orlesians, she managed a calm she had never before. They accepted her explanation with no further questions.
Still, in the end, they dismissed her, cast her aside, and almost nearly stripped her of her Commander title, except, she had reminded them, she was the only Ferelden Warden to date. That the title had been granted by the Queen herself, and she would look upon Vhrinn only as the authority on Wardens in Ferelden. That, had been made very clear before Orlais reinforcements were requested. And that was the only reason she had not been stripped in rank thus far.
She felt very much out of place, amidst Wardens that were supposed to be her Brethren. Men that had undergone the same Joining as she, faced down the same monsters as she. Still, they held suspicions because she had lived, was an untrained Warden, unknowing of the 'proper' ways, and still she had succeeded. She had done her duty, and they condemned her for it.