Arrival at Vigil's Keep
It was night by the time the small traveling party passed the borders of the arling of Amaranthine. It was also raining – no, pouring – and it was cold; much colder than the new Commander of the Grey and his entourage were used to. Ioran cursed under his breath when his armored foot slipped on yet another wet and mud-covered stone on the road and for the umpteenth time wished he had never accepted the offer of heading the newly founded compound of the order in Amaranthine. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice, though. There was only one Fereldan warden left these days and said warden was sitting on the throne. King Alistair Theirin had been in a bit of a predicament finding a suitable commander for Vigil's Keep, preferably a native of Ferelden who would be better accepted by the populace of the arling and who would see to it that the Fereldan compound was under Fereldan rule.
Ioran still wished whoever brought his name into the game to the void. He did not even consider himself Fereldan anymore. Even though he and his sister had been born here, they spent thirteen years of their lives in Orlais. When they had been ten and seventeen, their father decided that he wanted to return to his home in Jader. Their mother, a native Fereldan, had died a year prior to their move and there was nothing that bound Henry Marais to the country anymore, especially since Orlesians were frowned upon due to the still fresh memory of the occupation.
He had been fairly happy with his position in Jader. His Commander made it quite clear, though, that things would not stay that way if Ioran refused the offer. Orlais and Ferelden still were not on the best of terms. Refusing the king's proposition would not exactly put an extra strain to the relationship but it would certainly not further it, either. If the man happened to be a simple warden, matters would have been easier but since he was not just a warden but the king of Ferelden… well, one did not refuse royalty, especially when they were vital for the cause.
Ioran had no illusions about what awaited them once they arrived at 'the Vigil' as people called it. On their short stop in West Hill, he met with the king, who was on his way to visit the Circle Tower and got a briefing about the general condition of the Grey in Ferelden as well as of his new residence and the political situation in Amaranthine.
It seemed the Keep was in a desolate state considering that the former Arl spent the last year of his life in Highever and did not care too much about the fortress anymore. He also heard that Arl Howe was deemed a traitor which caused the arling to fall to the wardens after the man's execution and the crowning of the new king. Since there had been no Commander as of date, however, repairs at the Keep went slow, supervised only by the current seneschal, a man by the name of Varel, he was told.
The king also stated that the situation among the Banns of the region was strained. The Keep may have fallen to the Grey Wardens but the question of the new Arl was still unanswered. The most logical decision would have been to give that position to the new commander as well but King Alistair had been reluctant to do so. Even though right now the Blight was still fresh in people's minds and the wardens were worshipped as heroes, he explained, it would not be wise to give too much power to just one individual. People tended to forget quickly and it was only a matter of time until they would start questioning the use and the power of the order again and an independent Arl would obviate such a reaction. Until a decision was made, seneschal Varel would execute the position of Arl and aid Ioran with any problem that might occur, be it of warden or political concern.
But all these things were secondary to another problem Ioran saw himself confronted with and that was the rebuilding of the order. For now, a contingent of Orlesian wardens was stationed at the Keep, some of which Ioran knew. They would remain there until he had found a reasonable number of recruits to take their places. For all he knew, the process of recruiting could take years. It was not that there were not enough volunteers, no. The wardens were heroes in the common folk's eyes and more than enough were reported who wanted to join the order. Not everyone was suited, though. A warden's life was a hard one even when there was no immediate danger of a Blight and there were some catches as well none of those volunteers knew about such as a shortened lifespan and the danger of not surviving the Joining. Not to speak about the difficulty of conjuring children and the nightmares that accompanied a warden's dreams almost every night.
Ioran sighed heavily and his eyes drifted to his sister who walked silently and stoically beside him. She was one of those who were eager to become a warden; had been since he joined the order shortly after their father's death. Time and again, Aislyn had pestered him to allow her to join as well and time and again he had refused. The last thing he had to promise Henry was that he would protect his younger sister and make sure that she was taken care of. Her wild ways had always been a thorn in the old man's flesh.
She could make a good party with her looks if she decided to but no, there she goes scaring every suitor off with these horrible blades of hers.
Their father's complaint still rang in his ears even though he was dead for almost eight years now. The last thing Henry would have wanted was for his youngest to become a Grey Warden.
Most of the time, Ioran agreed with his father's opinion about that specific topic. Right now, however, he was glad that Aislyn was not one of those Orlesian wallflowers they always tried to make of her but a tough little spitfire and trained fighter. The trip to the Keep had not been an easy one and Ferelden was a harsh country in many aspects. A pampered, well-behaved young woman certainly would have had a hard time on the road where there were no luxuries. Things wouldn't be much better around the warden compound where she would constantly be surrounded by men of sometimes dubious character and with no servants to tend exclusively to her needs.
Ioran sighed again and cast another look at his sister whose eyes constantly roamed the darkness, hands fingering the hilts of the dual blades by her sides. Aislyn had been restless since they set foot on the dirt road that led the last few miles to Vigil's Keep. Every once in a while she turned to check on the cart that was trudging along behind them to see if the older woman up on the coachman's seat was still alright.
"Mhairi has an eye on her," he tried to comfort Aislyn, referring to the warrior-recruit they picked up in West Hill on the king's orders. His sister raised one eyebrow and gave him a look. He knew she did not trust the petite girl in the back and a girl she was, barely past adolescence, but the king insisted that she was a tough one and certainly a good support if she survived her Joining.
Knowing his sister, though, Ioran suspected that her mistrust did not have something to do with Mhairi's capability or the possible lack thereof. Aislyn would not have trusted the Maker himself if He chose to guard the cart.
The grey haired woman on the coach box had been like a mother to both of them after their natural mother's death. Although employed as a servant, Adele had always been treated as part of the family. Aislyn had an exceptionally strong bond with her. A fact that, Ioran assumed, was owed in great parts to Adele training her in the art of wielding two blades. Nobody knew where she got her skill or how she ended up as a servant but when she decided that she would take Aislyn on as a student, surprisingly not even his father dared to object the woman's intentions.
The last year in Jader, however, Adele's health began to dwindle. She insisted that they imagined things but both he and Aislyn noticed that their motherly servant tired sooner than normal and that her movements became slower and more careful than usual. They had been concerned that the trip to Ferelden would be too much of a strain for the older woman and that her condition would become even worse and especially Aislyn had been almost ill with worry.
"It is not the girl," she said after a long silence, referring to Ioran's earlier comment. "Something is… off. You feel it too, don't you?"
Ioran frowned and nodded. He had had the feeling of being watched the whole way to the Keep but he dismissed it due to the rain and the dirt and the general discomfort they all were feeling. That Aislyn had a similar notion made him suspicious now. Her instincts were better than his when such things were concerned – or at least used to be before he became a warden.
"We are almost there," Mhairi's voice came from behind and he shot her a short glance, nodding confirmation. He had no idea how the girl knew where they were – everything looked the same; dull and grey and dark – but she was a native from Amaranthine and if she did not know who would?
The pull behind his navel along with a dizzying nausea came almost simultaneously with the screams rising somewhere in the dark in front of them. Instantly, Ioran pulled out his sword and readied his shield, taking a battle stance. Aislyn beside him did the same.
"Lyn, stay with the cart! Mhairi, with me!" he bellowed over the sudden noise of more screams and the sound of clashing weapons. With one last look at his sister, he stormed off into the night, the warrior-recruit right on his heels.