Varel's first sight of the Vigil, as their horses began to climb the slope, lifted his heart despite the uneasiness he felt. Here he had come, a young boy fresh from his father's farm, to be educated in arms and numbers and history - among other things - to find friends, even lovers. If there were memories of pain, there were also memories of joy.
It did feel odd to pass again under the massive guard towers, this time on a horse rather than in a prison wagon, in honor rather than in disgrace. Varel looked around, seeing the stone walls, the patrolling sentries, the soldiers and servants bustling about, the main keep towering up above, with new eyes.
It was obvious Lowan had not allowed anyone to slacken in their duties, and yet... there seemed to be fewer soldiers than was safe, bushes and even trees had been allowed to grow within bow range, and business in the market stalls outside the walls seemed slow. Barrels, crates, and other assorted debris had been left to clutter both the inner and outer courtyards. Wagons, carts, and even wheelbarrows had been jammed into any space available, getting into everyone's way.
The grooms who came to take the horses greeted Varel with surprise and some apprehension, which was only to be expected. Lowan, who had already dismounted, had to put a steadying hand under Varel's arm when he stumbled down the mounting stool a horseboy had brought, unused as he was to such exercise.
Servants who recognized Varel paused to give him a nod when he called to them, but did not stay to talk. He could detect no resentment at his presence, though there was some consternation; they were no doubt anticipating Arl Howe's inevitable wrath, should their lord find him, a condemned prisoner, in their midst. They met the housekeeper on their way into the inner courtyard; she seemed startled by Lowan's choice, but looked relieved when she realized she would finally have someone to help with the work she was ill suited to.
He made use of the keep's bathhouse for a proper wash-up, letting the hot water soak away the majority of his aches and pains, and changed back into his own clothes and boots. Lowan, or perhaps the housekeeper, had saved them, and they smelled of lavender and pennyroyal from being hidden away in a storage chest. He had forgotten what clean clothes smelled and felt like on skin not encrusted with six months' worth of grime and sweat.
As his hands were none too steady, a visit to the Vigil's barber was in order. The bath, shave, and clean garments did much to restore his spirits, and for the first time in months he felt almost normal.
The captain persuaded him not to start work immediately, but suggested they meet instead in his office to tell him all the news he had missed - what Lowan knew of it, anyway.
Varel started for the tiny office he had used before, but Lowan stopped him. "Where are you going? Surely not that miserable little mousehole the arl forced you into! You should take Aren's quarters, now that the greedy little rat's away in Denerim, scrounging for whatever crumbs his lord has deigned to leave him."
"I really do not think it would be wise to so antagonize the arl..." Varel subsided into silence when he saw the other man's hesitation. Now that he finally had a chance to think about it, without being distracted by hunger and exhaustion, his presence here and the freeing of the prisoners made no sense unless one insurmountable obstacle had, somehow, been removed. His eyes met Lowan's, and saw a calm certainty in them.
Hope, sudden - and possibly premature - nonetheless began to blossom in Varel's heart. "You know something," he said, and it was not a question.
Lowan glanced around. "This is hardly a topic I want to discuss in the middle of the hall. Come." He led the way to Aren's office - if it was still his. Varel could not think of it yet as his own.
Once inside, Lowan gestured Varel to a chair, then closed the door and locked it. Varel took in the state of the office, and sighed when he saw the haphazard piles of parchments, the scrolls and books tossed every which way onto any available flat surface. Documents had been jammed into the pigeonholes lining two of the walls with little care for their contents, fragility, or importance. The servants had done what they could with the chaos, but there was still a thin layer of dust on everything.
Then his eyes were riveted to the pot of tea that had been left on a tray, which Lowan must have had brought up. Beside it was a plate of pastries, the sight of which made his stomach rumble, despite the trail rations he had wolfed down earlier.
Lowan gave him an amused look. "Help yourself. I can't imagine they served tea in the mine, and I know how you are about your tea."
Not needing to be told twice, Varel poured himself a mug of the still-hot brew, and then just stood there for a moment, savoring the delicate scent. After taking a reverent sip, he said, "Maker, there were times in that mine when I would have killed for a decent cup of tea."
"I can believe that. They still tell stories about that one time a hapless recruit got between you and a pot after you spent two days straight staring at the tax rolls. But, here, sit down, and we'll get down to business."
Once Varel was seated, one hand possessively clutching a full mug, the other gripping a pastry, Lowan wasted no time in saying, "I think the arl is dead."
Varel gasped. "The arl? Dead?" No, he could not allow himself to believe it; that bitter asp of a man had years of life in him yet. Arl Howe was poisonous enough to spite death itself.
Lowan seemed little put out by the news of the arl's possible death. "It would explain much, would it not?"
"You truly think Arl Howe is dead," Varel said again, as his mind was still reeling. "Why? What makes you think so? It must be quite compelling evidence for you to take such initiative." Especially when their liege lord discouraged forward thinking in his underlings.
The captain did not bother to beat about the bush. "I don't know if you remember, but my wife has family in Denerim," he said as he dragged out the chair from behind the desk to the table and sat. "One of her brothers, a scholar attached to the Chantry, married a palace guard a few months ago." Black humor edged his smile. "I would've invited you to the wedding, but you were in no position to accept."
Varel's attention sharpened, and he leaned forward. "I take it that means any news you get from the palace is reliable."
The other man nodded. "My brother-in-law's new wife was part of the force that went with Ser Cauthrien to the arl of Denerim's palace, and she saw our liege lord - what was left of our liege lord. It doesn't get more 'reliable' than that."
"Ser Cauthrien?" Varel repeated, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember a face. The name sounded familiar.
"She's only Teyrn Loghain's second and the commander of Maric's Shield." The captain's voice was very dry. "Trustworthy enough for you?"
Varel remembered the intense knight who always stood at the Hero of River Dane's side, which lent the news a much greater weight of credence than he had been willing to credit. "Did she say what happened to him? Was it some accident or did someone kill him?" He could not see how anyone could have gotten close enough; the arl traveled everywhere with bodyguards outside of Vigil's Keep.
Lowan shook his head. "That part's very confused - and still is. She was outside guarding one of the entrances, not inside with Ser Cauthrien's squad. Whoever had done the deed was still there, and apparently put up a fight so fierce that it sounded like all the demons in the Fade broke loose when Ser Cauthrien tried to arrest them. After that, well, I don't think we can blame her if she kept her distance until after it was all over."
"Surely someone must have seen something -" Varel said, still unwilling to believe Arl Howe, who had expended every effort to ruin, not only his life, but the lives of anyone who had ever crossed his will, was truly no more.
The captain spread his hands. "Oh, yes, plenty of people saw something. So many somethings that they all contradict each other from one moment to the next. I've managed to piece together the few points everyone seems to agree on: an army of giant spiders, demon dogs, and nightmare shadows invaded the arl of Denerim's palace, killed Arl Howe and his guards, and slipped away like ghosts just when Ser Cauthrien cornered them."
"It sounds like something out of a deranged man's fever dream." Varel could only shake his head in wonder as he took an absent bite of his food. "Have you received any further news?"
Lowan shook his head. "No, probably because she's with the rest of the army, preparing for war. Now that that's out of the way, let me tell you the rest of what I know."
Varel was stunned, shocked, and appalled by turns, from Arl Howe's neglect of his own arling, the incipient civil war, to the political disaster King Cailan's death had left behind. More cups of tea were poured and pastries were consumed as he listened. Refugees from southern Ferelden had been streaming north in ever-increasing numbers to Amaranthine and the rest of the Coastlands, and they would have to take thought as to what to do with them.
"You certainly have your work cut out for you," Lowan said with a wry grin, when he had finished. "You may be sorry I ever freed you from the mine and gave you your job back."
Varel snorted. "Small chance of that."
"Even so..." Lowan looked at the empty fireplace, which was not needed yet, then back. "Arl Howe's negligence has left this land, if not in shambles, then badly unsettled, and the rumors of his downfall, the darkspawn, and the king's death aren't going to help matters.
The arbiters have not come to judge cases; poachers and bandits grow bolder with each passing day. The bann's sheriff is more concerned with filling his money pouch than dispensing justice. What with his frequent absences and leaving that incompetent fool in charge, some of the nobles and not a few of the freeholders were already getting restless. Now... now I don't know what they'll do."
"Hm, but at least he is also no longer here to look over our shoulders every moment." And insult, belittle, interrupt and second guess us, Varel did not say. Lowan had not been without experience in his own dealings with Arl Howe, after all. "Without his interference, small problems will not blow up into major crises, and potential disasters will not be dismissed as unimportant trifles."
Lowan relaxed a little. "There is that."
That evening Varel ate supper with Lowan in the dining hall, ignoring the uneasy glances of the servants and soldiers. That was simple enough to do, occupied as he was with the abundance, to his eyes, of his meal: hot toasted bread, roast chicken, mushrooms and barley stew, washed down with a tankard of ale - a far cry from the one slice of stale horsebread and water allotted to each prisoner.
The exertions of the ride, the grinding daily labor in the mine, and the sudden change soon had him nodding over the last of the ale, and he had to be nudged back to wakefulness by a grinning Lowan before his face ended up in his bowl.
"I wanted to chat with you a bit more after supper, but I can see you're too tired to appreciate my fine wit," Lowan said.
"You have no wit, fine or otherwise, for me to appreciate in the first place, even if I weren't tired."
"Ouch!" Lowan chuckled; the soldiers who had overheard the exchange grinned. "Well, your tongue has certainly lost none of its sharpness."
Varel pitched his voice low, for the captain's ears only. "All jesting aside, where am I to sleep?"
"You could take Aren's quarters -"
"No," Varel said, interrupting Lowan. "Until everyone hears official news of the arl's fate, I think I had better be circumspect. I am grateful you freed me, but what you did was most irregular."
Lowan looked unhappy, but did not argue with the sentiment. "Very well, though I suspect the queen's representative will bring that word soon. I suppose it truly would be easiest on everyone if you keep your head down. Will your old pallet in the servants' quarters do?"
Varel yawned again. "Right now I would be content with a spot in front of the fireplace."
As the servants began to clear the tables, the captain rose and looked around the busy hall; Varel finished his ale and stood. "I think we can do better than that. I'll go have a word with the housekeeper."
They found the housekeeper near the door to the kitchen, overseeing the flow of platters, both empty and full, as one shift of servants and soldiers finished, and another came to take their place. She was well able to carry on a conversation with them while attending to her task, snatching a dish away from a boy with dirty hands and sending him off with a cuff to the ear to wash properly first.
She had, it turned out, already anticipated the need, and had arranged everything with her usual efficiency hours ago. "'Tain't right, but ye can sleep in t' same place ye did after t' arl kicked ye down. I already brung up another change of clothes for ye, but if ye want t' rest of yer things back, I'll send some strappin' lad ta fetch 'em."
"That won't be necessary. At least, not yet. Thank you, Clara," Varel said with a bow.
The courtly gesture seemed to fluster her; she snapped her towel at him, which amused Lowan no end. "Save that for t' fine noble ladies."
"I need to talk to my second and then make the rounds of the sentry posts, so good night, Varel," Lowan said. He nodded to the housekeeper and left with the soldiers going out on watch.
After bidding Clara good night, Varel made his way to the servants' quarters, a long, dark room that shared a wall and a hearth with the kitchens. Bunk beds lined the sides, stacked three high, right up to the low ceiling, though the ones in the middle only had two levels.
This was where he had been banished when the arl had demoted him; if Arl Howe had held his hounds and horses in less esteem, Varel might well have been forced to sleep in the stables or the kennels instead. Varel was glad he had cultivated good working relationships with the servants in all the years he had worked at the Vigil, so that they protected him as best they could, rather than making his life miserable, in all the little ways resentful servants could.
There were people already inside, talking in low voices as they prepared for sleep; conversations died at his entrance, then started up again in hesitant whispers when he nodded to them on his way to the end furthest from the fireplace, where those lowest in the servants' hierarchy were relegated. Uncertain as to his status, especially when he showed no interest in displacing anyone, they left him well alone, which suited him just fine. As the housekeeper had promised, another set of his clothes had been left in a neat pile on his pallet.
Perhaps it was sleeping on his own pallet again, surrounded by familiar scents and sounds, but the nightmares that had been held at bay by bone-deep exhaustion in the mine returned to plague him. His dreams of the cramped, dark passages of the mine rippled and changed to a cell in the dungeon, but he was not alone.
"Varel, you self-righteous fool," Lowan said, half angry, half fearful as he paced back and forth outside the cell. "I warned you time and time again, but still you persist in poking your nose into the arl's private affairs!"
"I fail to see how saving Arl Howe's own freeholders - freeholders he is sworn to protect! - from outright murder, rash! You know what he's doing is wrong, Lowan! How can you lend yourself to these atrocities?"
"I have a wife and two children, Andraste burn your eyes! I can't afford to do anything but follow orders!"
"How can you say that? Those freeholders have families, too, no different from yours!"
"I had no choice!" Lowan cried, his voice rising. He looked away and muttered, "The arl wanted to flog you himself, but he's too busy with his new duties to bother with you. He intends to watch, however, to make sure you get proper punishment. I told him I would do it myself."
"How lucky for me." Varel spat.
"You blasted well should be! If the arl had his way, he'd have you whipped so badly you'd be crippled for life - or dead! At least I'll be careful not to do too much damage. That's... that's about the most I can do to help you."
Varel woke before the dream progressed any further, but weariness, the sudden changes in his life, and the events of the day overwhelmed him, and he slept once more, and this time his sleep was undisturbed.