Seer

by Carmen Willow

Angharad is a peasant woman with a knack for healing and a talent for seeing the future. At Vigil's Keep, she witnessed the fall of Rendon Howe, survived the Siege. Can she save Nathaniel from his future? Can he save her? Mature Sexual Content & Violence

2. Seer - Part Two

Part Two

Chapter Eleven

Letters

(A letter from Etienne Caron to Giselle du Lac sent to Val Royeaux by special courier)

My dearest heart:

It gives me great joy to know that you have been able to secure passage to Weisshaupt. The First Warden has assured me that I shall be recalled within the month and will be free to join you at last. It was a curious agony, Giselle, to watch my friend Nathaniel and his petite ami, Angharad together. It brought back so many memories of our early days. I long for you, my heart. I cannot wait to hold you once again.

I have forwarded 50 sovereigns to be held in your name at the fortress. You need not worry to be without funds until I arrive. Take care. I shall see you soon.

All my love,

Etienne

(A letter from Angharad Whittall to Nona Gaudet sent with a caravan driver to the Wending Wood)

My dear friend,

Nathaniel has been ordered to another command across the Waking Sea. I must be strong and not burden him, but Nona, I do not know how I shall survive. I love him so much.

Angharad

(A letter from Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever to Angharad Whittall sent by regular courier to the Palace in Denerim)

Angharad:

I write to thank you for the service you rendered to me during my last visit to the Vigil. Your words were very helpful. You gave me cause to see the situation in another light, and for this I am grateful. As a token of my thanks, please accept the 5 sovereigns enclosed to help with your journey. You must plan to call on me when I next come to Court.

Fergus Cousland, Teyrn, Highever

-2-

How do you count the cost to your soul after you are parted from a loved one? Do you count the tears shed or the days that seemed an eternity? Do you count each time you turn to say something to him only to remember that he is no longer there? Do you count the ache in your middle that makes it hard to breathe or the twist in your stomach that keeps you from eating? Do you count the moments of fear that you will never see him again? Angharad asked these questions of herself and the Maker, but there was no answer. There was only the pain. There were only those moments when all seemed well to be followed by a flood of tears that could not be stopped.

In the days that followed Nathaniel's departure, Angharad struggled to move forward despite the sadness she felt. With Delilah's help she was able to put together a decent court wardrobe. Heeding the Warden Commander's words and Delilah's, she chose fine woolens for her winter under tunics and linens for summer. The women made three bliauts, the beautiful tunics that fit close to the body until the hip and then flared into a fuller skirt. The style was just coming into fashion in Ferelden, although they had been all the rage in Orlais for awhile. Two were made of merino wool: one in a blue-green; and another in a deep purple. The final bliaut was made out of a coral silk. It was very expensive, but it was also quite beautiful. Delilah had the seamstresses refurbish Angharad's purple silk dress as the fabric was still good. To these were added a fur lined woolen cloak in dark gray, an unlined woolen cloak in brown and soft leather gloves and slippers. With extra coin, they were even able to get a pair of good boots made before her departure. A leather trunk that the cobbler had constructed for a noble who hadn't cared for the color was their final purchase. Delilah haggled a good discount on that which pleased her no end.

The morning Angharad was to leave, Delilah and Liam walked with her to the departure point. "Now, you have your letter of introduction from the Arl?" Delilah asked her. "And the command sent by their royal majesties for you to come to court?" When Angharad nodded, she went on. "When you arrive at the palace, present your papers to the major domo at the door. He will send a boy to carry your things to whatever apartment you have been assigned. Give the lad some coin and he will be gentle with your baskets and trunk. If the King and Queen are in residence, you may be taken immediately to be introduced, but this is not certain, so do not worry if it does not happen. If they are on progress, you will probably be introduced to your master." Delilah recounted, going over some of the court protocol. Then she smiled and hugged Angharad tightly. "Be well, Angharad and try not to fret. We are all in the Maker's hands." Liam also embraced Angharad, for he was thrilled when she was able to tell him stories of Nathaniel's exploits. As she hugged the Lad, she had the merest of flashes.

Angharad said goodbye to him and then turned back to Delilah and said, hesitantly for she did not wish to offend her friend, "Liam doesn't want to sell wool, Delilah. He longs for his birthright. The blood of your ancestors courses through him like a river and he hero worships his uncle. He will only be happy as the warrior he was born to be."

Delilah hesitated only a moment before she nodded and whispered, "I know. I just dreamed of a quiet life for him."

"A quiet life is every mother's dream for her child. But try not to fear; Liam has a long life ahead," Angharad said. Then in a lighter tone, she added. "Be well, my friend, thank you for saving me all those years ago. And thank you for these last few days." She climbed up in the wagon beside the caravan driver.

"Maker turn his gaze on you!" Delilah called out.

"Maker watch over us all!" Angharad responded, blowing Liam a kiss.

The caravan reached the edge of the Wending Wood without incident two days after their departure from Amaranthine. The caravan would not travel up the mountainside to the miner's camp, but word was sent of the caravan's arrival in case they had anything to trade or messages to be posted. A few hours later, as Angharad was helping to set up camp for the evening, people from the quarry and mine appeared.

To her surprise, one of them was Nona who came walking up to her with a basket in hand. Angharad squealed in delight and went to embrace her friend. "Nona, il est si bon de vous voir!"

"Je suis aussi très heureuse de vous ," Nona replied, happily, "Donnez-moi un instant." Nona left Angharad's side and went to converse with the caravan leader. They were obviously haggling back and forth, and then Nona gave him some coin. She came back and put her basket in the cart. "There. It is done."

"What is done?" Angharad asked her.

"Why, I am going to Denerim, what else?" Nona answered with glee. "I grow tired of this country air and desire the atmosphere of wet dog and fish. I also desire the company of my friend on the journey. Now, what can I do to help?"

Angharad and Nona finished setting up their portion of the campsite and started helping with the meal preparation. As they did this, Nona shared news of the camp. Some of the women she knew had moved on to other places, some new women had arrived. And some of the men were sending for their wives and sweethearts. The site was growing in size and permanence.

"So tell me more about Nathaniel," Nona said later as they were eating their meal.

"What is there to tell?" Angharad asked.

"Did he live up to your expectations?" Nona asked her. "Did his skill with archery carry over into your bed?"

Angharad looked at the ground as she blushed. The color spread even into the roots of her hair, but she also smiled and finally nodded. "Nathaniel is a master in more than just archery," She admitted.

Nona laughed. "He struck me as a man who strove for excellence in everything he attempted." Then she grew serious. "So his superior sends him away from you. Do you think he will find someone else?"

"No. I fear that his first mistress will claim him completely," Angharad replied. "The Grey Wardens are his first love."

"Hélas oui! A man's true calling is always his first love. But it does not have to end your relationship. He cannot make love to his profession," Nona retorted merrily. Then she grew more serious. "Angharad. He loves you. Hold onto that." She rose, "Now let us clean this mess and retire. Tomorrow will be a long day."

All went well on the journey to Denerim until the last night in camp. Angharad knew one of the soldiers, Dywdd, sent to guard the caravan, but the other one was new to her. As they sat near the fire the last night the soldier she did not know began to harass Nona.

"Hey, Hey you. Orlais! Come here!" He began. "Come here and get some of this." He said making a rude gesture. Come on gel, I have coin, I want to see what you Orlesian whores can do to a man." The soldier continued, walking over to where they were sitting.

"Leave me alone," Nona told him firmly, "I am not for sale this night."

He started grabbing at Nona's arm. "Whores are always for sale," He stated. The man managed to catch her arm and pull her up, but she pushed him away so hard he stumbled and fell. "You will pay for that," He said as he started to rise.

Angharad stood up. "I will warn you once, leave my friend alone."

"Leave her alone, Jack, don't be an ass!" Dywdd told him, rising to come and drag the idiot away.

"No woman tells me what to do." Jack grabbed Angharad's arm.

"No woman tells me what to do." Your father said those words as he beat your mother and broke her arm. He beat her because she begged him not to hit you again. She begged him not to hit you for playing with his tools and damaging his chisel." Angharad 's eyes glowed and she stared at Jack but what she saw was his past. "It was not the first time he'd had hit her. The last time your mother stood between you and your father, he beat her to death, and the Arl sent your father to the mines. It terrified you to think that he was your father that you could ever be like him. But over time you forgot how to be gentle. You forgot your mother and that you had her eyes and that you had her gift for laughter. You fed the dog of violence until you knew nothing else."

Jack still had hold of Angharad's arm. He tried to let go, but Angharad grabbed his hand and held on.

"You wanted to be gentle with her, that pretty girl in Farcross, but when you quarreled, it was your father's way that felt right to you. So, frightened that you would hurt her, you went away. You think of her and my friend has her look. But the dog you fed demands and bullies. You must starve that dog." Angharad came back to the present and looked at Jack and smiled. "Your father gave you other things, Jack. His way with stone and his ability to see a building, a house, a castle before it even comes in to being. He was a great stonemason and he taught you well. When he worked the stone, he was a different man, as are you. That is the dog you should feed. You can stop you know. And then you would not be afraid to find a wife."

Jack started to raise his hand. Angharad simply stood there. Then he dropped his hand and stared at the ground.

"You kept his tools. He gave then to you, didn't he, before they took him away. You should use them and put your sword away. If you want a wife and a life without loneliness you must starve the dog who bites. Volrik. You should show Volrik what you can do with those tools. He would ask for you then and the Commander would release you from your term of service as a man-at-arms to work on the Keep. The Commander believes in building."

Jack said nothing to Angharad. She let go his arm and he slowly walked backward until he was out of her reach. He looked at Nona, and said, "Please forgive me. I was rude." Then he turned and walked away.

Angharad casually stepped into the shadows beyond the light of the campfire and cast up every bit of food in her stomach. She remained there until the shaking stopped. Nona saw her move away but said nothing. Instead she merely wet down a cloth and silently handed it to Angharad when she returned to the fire.

"What did you do to him, Angharad? How did you know those things." None said after a time.

"I do not know. It is a curse with which I must live." Angharad replied, wiping her mouth.

"But you defended me, Angharad. Thank you." Nona said quietly.

"I meant to wave my knife in his face But fate had other plans."

"Well then, ma chérie, I thank both fate and you." Nona replied. "No go and sleep."

-3-

The next day as they neared Denerim, Angharad said to Nona, "Truly, Nona, what are you going to do in Denerim?"

Nona shook her head. "I do not know. I have some coin put by, and perhaps it is enough to start something new," Nona said. "I grow weary of the life, and I am growing too old for it."

On impulse, Angharad said, "Then come with me. Come to the palace with me."

Nona laughed. "Have you lost your mind? Angharad, what would I do at the palace? Why would they even let me in?"

Angharad thought. "You would be my assistant. Surely people bring their assistants to court. Why not me? "She frowned in concentration. "You know the amount of business I was able to do in the camp selling good quality medicines and potions. I have no idea how much time I must spend as the healer's apprentice, but I could share with you, and we could continue to sell medications and ointments. Neither of us can afford to be without a source of income, and this would provide it for both of us. And you would be a friendly face in a sea of strangers." Angharad said.

"Apprentice to the apprentice?" Nona teased. "Why not?

"And friend. Please don't forget that."

"Mais oui."

Angharad had paid the driver extra coin to deliver them to the palace in Denerim. So, in the late afternoon hours, they were deposited at the side entrance reserved for servants. Angharad presented her papers to the guards at the door who sent for someone who could read.

The woman who came to examine the documents said, "What are you doing here at this entrance. You should have gone 'round to the front." As she glanced up from the documents. Before Angharad could answer, she added, "Oh well, never mind. Come in. Let me find someone to help with your things."

Angharad and Nona stepped into the vestibule that led to the kitchens. There were servants working at tables preparing heaps of food for the evening meal. Many of the servants were elves, though not all. Most seemed busy with various tasks. Nevertheless, the woman saw a young elf hurrying by so she grabbed him by his shirt, "You, there! See to this luggage." The young man was a about to protest when the woman added, "One word and you'll wish you'd kept your mouth shut." With that, the young man took up as much of the luggage as he could manage. There were two pieces left. Angharad and Nona each took one of the remaining pieces.

The woman's eyebrows went up a little, but she said nothing as she led them through the maze of back hallways and up two flights of narrow stairs. Near the end of the hallway, there was a small door with a hidden lock. The woman pressed it and the door opened. She led the way through. They now stood in a grand corridor that displayed tapestries, shields and other regalia.

"This way," the woman said leading them to a suite of rooms. Clearly the rooms were meant for visiting nobility for there were three of them connected to one another with one containing a large bed, a second with an area in which to sit and relax and a third that had two long tables, shelves above and racks overhead.

"There must be some mistake. I am only an apprentice."

The woman gave Angharad a disparaging look. "No mistake. Rywik told us to house you close by so that he didn't have to chase you down at odd hours. He also insisted you have a workroom. So here you are." The woman headed for the door. "I'll let someone know you are here. In case no one comes, supper begins at the 19th hour." And she was gone before Angharad could say thank you.

Angharad gave the young man carried her things a sovereign. He looked rather strange when she placed it in his hand, but merely said, "Thank you, messer."

"Thank you," Angharad replied. When the door shut, Angharad grinned at Nona. "Oh Maker! Have you ever seen such quarters?"

"Not for some time," Nona replied, but did not elaborate.

When they toured the rooms and returned to the bedroom space, Angharad noticed a small door. She opened the door and inside there was a tub much like the one in the room at the inn. "Oh Maker!" Angharad repeated happily. Nona laughed and the two of them began putting away their things.

Angharad spent most of her time arranging her equipment in the workroom. It took some time, but she finally sorted everything out to her satisfaction.

"Is the room to your liking?"

Startled, Angharad looked up to find an elven male studying her from the doorway. He was, perhaps five feet seven or eight, with very black hair cut short enough that one could see the points of his ears quite clearly, and he had very green eyes made more green by the dark tattoos that surrounded them. Those had to hurt! She thought to herself and was rather shaken when he responded. "Indeed. They hurt like hell-all, but it was part of my right of passage so to speak, so I couldn't back down."

"You are not Dalish?" Angharad hesitated when she said this for his Dalish tattoos and his standard Ferelden accent were at odds with one another. He wore a Tevinter robe and carried a staff that shimmered with power .

"No way to know, really. I was thrown into the Circle at about age two. Can't say I remember much about my life before that," he replied. "As I said, the tattoos were a moment of adolescent rebellion more or less. I researched the history of Dalish tattoos, made some blood ink, and convinced one of my fellow mages who was also a bit of an artist that my face would be the perfect canvas." He walked into the work room and began to look at her things. "Can't say that the First Enchanter was very pleased with me. I had to clean latrines for a month without using magic." He looked directly into Angharad's eyes. "Anders was certainly happy. He'd had latrine duty prior to my misbehavior."

"You know him?" Angharad asked, coming closer.

"Rather tall fellow, good looking in that blonde-haired, human sort of way, sarcastic wit and an abiding hatred of the Circle and Templars. Chased the skirts no matter who was wearing them as I recall. That the one?" He asked coming closer still.

Angharad could only nod.

Then he put out his hand to her. "Give me your hand Angharad."

Angharad started to place her right hand in his. "The left hand, Angharad. The one with the mark." She put her left hand into his hands. She tensed, expecting to be flooded with his thoughts and feelings, but there was—silence. "Now look at me, gel," he commanded quietly. Their eyes met across an arm's length of space. Angharad could swear that his eyes changed somehow.

She had the strange feeling of power flowing from her to him, but before she could be afraid, he closed his eyes and let loose her hand, turning away slightly.

"You saw and felt nothing of me, Angharad, because I was blocking you. I will train you so that you can prevent others from reading you, and prevent yourself from reading others when you do not wish to do so. I will also teach you what I know about herbs and medicines. In return, you will be a good student, do as I say, run a few errands, fetch a few things." He faced her once more and smiled He seemed younger than she was when he smiled. "Sound like a fair bargain?"

"Fair bargain or no, I am here to learn," Angharad said to him. "I promised the Warden Commander that I would be your apprentice and work to master the Sight."

"Even though being anywhere near a mage scares the demon out of you. Now, I wonder why that is? Oh well, a question for another time. Now to business. The King and Queen are at Redcliffe for the moment, pretending to be friends with the Arl. When they are not in residence, I eat in the kitchens where I don't have to put up with the politicking and boot licking from the nobles hanging about, although why they bother with me, I don't know. Alistair doesn't listen to me much these days, and Anora hasn't been the same since I executed her father," Rywick said.

"Oh Maker!" Angharad whispered.

Rywick smiled. "See, I knew you'd recall the name sooner or later, once you'd gotten over the mage thing. Rywick Surana, Elf, Mage, Apostate, Warden, and Hero of Ferelden. Well?" He asked when she failed to speak.

"I thought you'd be taller," Angharad replied haltingly.

"Well, I am taller when I wear my boots." He said arching an eyebrow. "But not by much. Come gel, back to business. Do you want to eat with the servants or the nobles?" He asked.

"Servants," Angharad replied.

"Right. Then there's no sense in going down to eat until the twentieth hour. The piggies in the main hall won't be done before then. Bring your pretty assistant. And don't bother with the new gowns. You won't need them in the kitchen." Rywik walked out the door.

When he'd gone, Nona appeared from the other room. "That is the Hero of Ferelden. Incroyable! And such a wit. Did you know he was to be your teacher, Angharad?"

"No, not at all."

Angharad and Nona went down to the servants' hall for supper precisely at the twentieth hour.

The servants' hall of the palace was larger than the Great Hall at the Vigil. Large tables were set up in row after row in the middle of the room, while the food was set out on narrow tables lining the walls. Everyone in the room went round the walls to collect their food and drink and then found a place at the tables. It was immediately clear to Angharad that each group had their own little area.

The castle guard seemed clustered near a door that obviously led to their quarters, while most of the elves sat in the corner as far away from the humans as they could manage. The serving staff grouped around the kitchen doors. Angharad couldn't make out the tables for the stable hands, but she would in time. As her mentor had not yet arrived, Angharad was at a loss. She knew that first impressions were often critical, and she did not wish to violate castle custom. About to choose someone with a friendly face to ask, Rywik came through the door and started gathering food. Angharad and Nona fell in behind him, took up bowls and began to choose something to eat from the large pots.

When they had done so, they looked around to find that Rywik had already taken a place at a table in the middle of the room. Strangely, those who had been sitting there moments before were gone, leaving an entire table free. Angharad and Nona looked at one another without speaking, and then went to sit across from him. They all ate in silence for a few moments before Angharad gathered enough courage to ask, "Do they always flee from you?"

Rywik looked up from his soup bowl as he continued to eat, "Always. Elves are contemptible and mages are feared. I am everyone's worst nightmare. Those that abuse my kind are well aware that I have the power to blast them to the void. That doesn't make them like me any better. It just makes them get out of my way. Now shut up and eat."

"How lonely," Angharad said, and then stopped when his eyes met hers once more. She saw the warning there.

Nona began making off-color remarks about some of the guards just loudly enough for Angharad to hear. In moments she had Angharad biting back laughter and totally unable to eat. It was stupid, but it broke the tension. Like girls in a chantry school, they poked one another and giggled their way through the rest of the meal.

"It would be nice if we could leave this hall before midnight," Rywik said as he rose to his feet. Angharad and Nona picked up their extra bread and followed him out of the hall.

In the corridor outside their room, Rywik pointed at the door opposite. "Be there tomorrow immediately after your break your fast. You can find bread and cheese in the servants' hall at dawn." Before they could thank him, he was gone.

(Letter from Angharad Wittall to Nathaniel Howe, taken by regular courier to the Grey warden outpost in the Free Marches)

Anwylaf,

I have arrived safely in Denerim and will begin my training in the morning. Little did I know until I arrived that the "King's Healer" is a certain Grey Warden. One would expect to meet a paragon of might and virtue, given the tale, but instead he is a lonely and profoundly sad person. I suspect that being unhappy is one of the requirements for induction into the Grey Wardens.

The King and Queen are in Redcliffe and shall not return for some time. I have yet to meet them. The rooms assigned to me are a palace in themselves, Nathaniel. I could fit my old workroom in this space five times over. Another bit of news; Nona from the Wending Wood is here with me. She was traveling to Denerim, and I convinced her to come to court as my assistant. No one here seems to notice or care that I came with an entourage.

Nathaniel, my love, I miss you so. I don't wish to burden you, but I do want you to know that you are in my heart and my thoughts. I have only one question, anam cara. When will I hold you again?

Always,

Angharad

Chapter Twelve

Free Marches

Nathaniel discovered that the Grey Warden command in the Free Marches was very different from his old unit in Ferelden. The Free Marches unit was very formal. There were uniforms, protocol and daily muster. He was assigned to an eight-man squad being led by an older man with graying hair named Georg and was handed a blue and silver uniform immediately on arrival. The tunic was too big, though the armor itself seemed right. Nathaniel found a seamstress at the outpost who, for a bit of coin, took in the tunic while he waited. If Georg had hoped to initiate Nathaniel into the unit by ragging on the fit of his outer wear, he did not get the chance.

Stroud's command was configured as a regular army unit, rather than as a ranger squad. Nathaniel understood that. Stroud had more Grey Wardens to work with. Caron had been forced to turn the Arling's guard into the main infantry unit of the command because he had so few Grey Wardens available. This was not a concern for Stroud who had the luxury of many men who wore the Grey.

Nathaniel adjusted easily to the military structure. He had served many years in a similar unit while a squire. But adjusting did not mean he had to like it. He was best working ahead of the army, scouting, sniping and harrying the enemy from stealth. And he wasn't thrilled with the uniform either.

Nathaniel knew better than to grouse; he knew to keep his mouth shut unless he was questioned or specifically asked to speak. His father had begun his training early in life and had trained him well. His lord in the Free Marches had put the finishing touches on the training Rendon Howe had begun. That he was lonely didn't matter. He'd been lonely before. It came with being a soldier, particularly with being a Grey Warden. Do what's expected of you and don't expect sympathy. Feelings did not matter. Performance did. He concentrated on that.

At first, he was left to himself in the mess hall. After about a week, the others from his squad put out feelers. It began when one of them, a tall blonde man who seemed to be from one of the southern tribes of the Chasind sat across from him at table one morning. "Good morrow. Name's Torag." He said as he took a bite of his bread.

"Nathaniel." Nathaniel put a slice of his cheese on top of his own bread.

"How long you worn the Grey, Nate?" Torag inquired.

"Less than three years."

"You were regular army before?"

"Ayah,"

"Ayah." Torag took a swig of his ale to wash his bread down. "See you then, Nate."

Nathaniel nodded.

The next day as he approached the tables, he was waved over to where Torag and the others were eating. He joined them at the table and took a seat. It was a beginning. Nathaniel didn't push being included. He just let it happen.

The unit to which Nathaniel had been assigned fought with sword and shield. Nathaniel was more than capable of wielding a sword in combat, but it was not his preferred weapon. So, when they were given free time in the practice yard, Nathaniel worked with his daggers and his bow keeping his skills sharp. A couple of the men were interested enough in the fighting style to spar with Nathaniel, and in return, he began teaching them the basics of what he knew.

Nathaniel's method of fighting was based on an economy of movement. The idea was to get in close and deliver as many cuts and stabs as possible in the first attack so that the need for a second attack was unlikely. Trained as an assassin, Nathaniel's primary objective was to prevent the enemy from sounding an alarm. The easiest way to do this was to go for the larynx, carotid and jugular. One had to be swift and balanced to execute the moves, but when done correctly, it was extremely effective.

When the primary target was not a possibility Nathaniel's second objective was to puncture one of the lungs and the heart. This was simpler if it could be done from the front, but not impossible from the rear. Finally, faced with a skilled opponent who could defend against the first two tactics, the object became that of disarming the enemy while at the same time delivering as many stab wounds and lacerations as possible in the hope that blood loss would weaken the enemy before he or she could do the same to him. Because this style depended on speed, Nathaniel preferred shorter knives or daggers to swords, but he'd killed effectively with just about any edged weapon.

His first love, however, was his bow. There was something about the feel of exhaling as you released the arrow and the soft thunk of a solid strike that thrilled him like nothing else. Nathaniel often took archery practice just to relax. When he drew his bow and knocked an arrow, for the brief second it took to aim, draw and release, the only things that existed were the weapon, the missile and the target. Whenever the sergeant asked for volunteers to hunt game, Nathaniel was the first to offer.

Six weeks or so later, as his unit came in from a patrol, he was called to the Commander's office. Stroud was a man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties with black hair and a thick black mustache of which he seemed proud. Nathaniel had not been in the field with his Commander to date, but knew from the talk among the men that he was well respected by the troops. He came into the office and saluted, then stood at attention. "Commander, Warden Nathaniel Howe reporting as ordered."

"At ease, Warden," Stroud said.

Nathaniel stood at rest.

"I have been observing you, Warden, because I am not certain how best to employ you," Stroud began. "We've done well enough with things as they are, but I am not one to simply stand still with tradition." He glanced down at the documents on his desk. "Caron used you in the field as a cross between a scouting unit and a guerilla force. He wrote that you and your men were quite effective in numerous battles."

Nathaniel said, "I am happy that my former Commander found my performance to be adequate, sir."

"More than adequate, Warden. So, with this information, I am willing to see what can be accomplished with such a unit here. Choose eight soldiers for a squad and start training them. This will have to be in addition to your regular duties at this time. When you feel your team is ready, we will see what you are capable of doing."

"Are there any restrictions on whom I may choose?" Nathaniel asked.

"No mages. I have too few to spare," Stroud said. "Other than that, no."

"Thank you sir. May I be dismissed?"

"Dismissed, Warden."

Nathaniel left the room.

During the next two weeks, Nathaniel spent much of his free time watching the other Grey Wardens drill and practice. Since he had the entire unit from which to choose his squad, he took his time to watch and select. Nathaniel was looking for a combination of great eye-hand coordination coupled with the ability to move quickly and a certain quality of ruthlessness. When he had narrowed his selection down, he asked to go out on patrol with their units. He watched them as closely in camp as he did in the field and in combat. He narrowed his choices down to twelve and then approached each of them, starting with his first choice and moving on. Nathaniel wanted only volunteers for his group. Many Wardens were conscripts like he was. He didn't want his soldiers to feel drafted a second time. He went through his ten top choices before he had his eight person team. He ended up with seven men and one woman.

Then they trained. Nathaniel's people already had many of the necessary skills he required. This made it easier to teach them the additional skills he knew. He also encouraged his people to share any combat tactics they'd picked up along the way, because there were always new tactics that could be added to a warrior's skill set. For those who hadn't been an irregular before, he taught stealth tactics; he taught them how to walk, how to move from shadow to shadow, how to hide in tall grass and move out of it without being heard. He required each person on his team to have at least a basic proficiency with bow and arrow. While he would later choose the best archers to be their primary artillery, it was important that everyone be able to kill from a distance and provide artillery cover.

As Nathaniel observed and trained his squad, unbeknownst to him, Stroud was observing him. Stroud was interested to see what sort of instructor and leader the younger man was. Etienne Caron believed Nathaniel had great potential. To see if this were true, Nathaniel would be posted to at least one more command for evaluation. The reason was simple. There were no old commanders in the Grey. Everyone died young in the order, one way or the other. If you weren't killed in combat, the darkspawn taint claimed you. In those who reached the age of fifty or so, the calling was so strong that most could no longer function. A last battle in the Deep Roads seemed a better choice than becoming a mindless ghoul. It was critical that younger men were groomed and ready to take command. Nathaniel was considered to be a candidate for leadership, and everything that Stroud observed supported Etienne's estimate of Nathaniel's ability to lead.

On the day before was to employ his team in the field, Nathaniel returned to his quarters. On his bed in the barracks lay what appeared to be a letter. Nathaniel unsealed it quickly and sat down to read. Angharad's news about her teacher and Nona brought a grin to his face. Her last words brought a lump to his throat. It was the same question that circled in mind in the minutes before sleep claimed him or in those rare times when he was at leisure. "When, my love, when?" The pain that came with the question was great and sharp. Best not to be too quiet. Best not to think. Best to stay busy.

-2-

Angharad came into Rywik's workroom immediately after her morning meal. She found her new mentor sitting at a high stool at the workbench. He was dressed breeches, boots and a shirt, with the heels of his boots hooked over one of the rungs of the stool and his knees up. He leaned forward over some sort of instrument, made of circles of glass held in hoops. Without looking at her, he motioned her over. "Angharad, come here."

Angharad came to his side. Rywik moved over. "Look, Angharad, look." Angharad bent over the instrument. "Do you see a clear image?".

"No, a blurry one," Angharad replied.

Rywik moved circles of glass in and out, one at a time.

Angharad gasped suddenly and she exclaimed, "What is that? What are those?" She amended. Below in the dish underneath the glass instruments there was what appeared to be broth. But in the eye of the glass instrument she saw things, tiny little things that as she watched, moved, met and became more things. Rywik smiled but Angharad did not see him smile, for she was still intent on the glass.

"More of the Maker's children," Rywik told her. "Too small for us to see with our own eyes, but alive none the less, living their little lives in the world, entirely unnoticed by us. Right now, those in that dish are busy spoiling that bit of broth."

Angharad turned to look at Rywik. "Spoiling the broth? You mean they cause the broth to rot?"

Rywik nodded his head once more. "Yes, they do." He stood up and took her arm. "Now come, let's get to work."

"But—"Angharad started to protest, but Rywik said, "I'll let you play with my toys later."

Rywik took Angharad into another room that held almost nothing except for cushions and a glow light and a long, wide bench. He bade her sit on one cushion while he sat on the other. "Hands, Angharad," he told her, holding out his own. "Hands."

Angharad placed her hands in his. Their eyes met and locked, but this time as the energy began to move out of her, she felt energy returning to her. In her mind, she could see it, the energy between them swirling like a soft whirlpool in a river. The streams of energy drew in and swirled together, circled for a time and then separated once more. Angharad mentally stepped into the whirlpool and the combined energy passed through her. As it did, she looked about and realized that she was standing in an almost empty hall with many dead lying about. Angharad was standing over a woman, lying on the floor. Directly across from her stood a young man with black hair. As she watched, the young man plunged a knife into the woman's neck catching the blood as it spilled from her dying body.

She felt profound sadness, guilt and some trepidation; but, before Angharad could say anything the vision faded, and she stood in the swirling energy once more. This time Rywik was with her in the circle. "Angharad, just be." Angharad cleared her mind and allowed the energy to wash through her. In that time, she saw other flashes; the Deep Roads, familiar because of her vision of Endrin's children, filled with darkspawn, a long, long battle just to stay alive; then, she saw an old round stone building with many, many books and people; a ruin, a ruin in the late summer wind, cool, bright sunny day followed by a terrible thunderstorm and battle. Fear, excitement and anger moved through her with the vision, and there was the taste of metal in her mouth; and then there was a room with a large fireplace, and a beautiful woman with dark hair. Angharad started to feel a stirring of desire and pulled away, withdrawing her hands and coming back to reality once more.

"That was Morrigan," Rywik said easily, amused by Angharad's discomfort.

"Did you love her?"

"Maker no!" Rywik said with a laugh. "Ah, but she was a most beautiful woman, and I greatly enjoyed having her!"

Then he became serious. "You must learn to do on your own what you accomplished with my help just now. You must learn to see the flow of energy and step in and out of it as you will, instead of allowing it to flood you like a spring river."

"I see."

"No you don't but you will see, in time," Rywik assured her.

He began to train Angharad in earnest then. He taught her simple meditation exercises; and he left her there to practice while he retired to his workroom. Rywik sat on his stool, deep in thought.

When Etienne had asked him to train Angharad, Rywik had agreed because he had been certain that she had to be a mage. An untrained mage was a danger to everyone, not the least the mage herself; and Rywik planned to give her the skills to prevent possession. If he determined she was already possessed he would kill her.

That very first evening, when he took her hand, he unwrapped her psyche like a feast day gift. He peeled back the layers of her mind so that her memories and feeling were completely open. To do this was completely unforgiveable from an ethical standpoint, or so he had been taught; but, Rywik had ceased to follow the rules the day he walked out of the Circle with Duncan to become a Grey Warden. Besides, he did not have time to be "polite." He had to know if she was possessed, if she was hiding any magic use, if she was demon-plagued.

He found himself looking out through her eyes, a very disconcerting thing in itself, but when coupled with her instinctive need to look back at him, it was almost overpowering. She was filled with mana, brimming with it, overflowing with it, but as he traveled the pathways of her memory he could find no magic use, no indication at all that she could cast a spell, had ever cast a spell. It made no sense! Unless one counted the Sight as a spell, there was nothing. He also found no sign of demons. No dreams, no voices, nothing. On this day, he'd allowed Angharad to step into his mind a little and share a bit of his life. Over time, he would share more. She had to learn to trust him, and they were almost out of time.

When Rywik discovered that Angharad used what little free time she had to teach Nona about potion making, he told Angharad to bring Nona with her in the afternoons. If he was to teach one shemlen what he knew, he may as well teach a second at the same time. Besides, Nona was nice to look at. The three of them worked on herb lore, and Rywik was pleasantly surprised to discover that Angharad had a few things to teach him as well. The afternoons were a definite reward for the grueling morning sessions. In those weeks, the three forged a good working relationship, and Rywik allowed himself to take pleasure in the camaraderie.

The King and Queen came back to Denerim two weeks later. Two days after their return, Rywik told her to be ready the next morning to be presented to their majesties. Rywik tried to work with Angharad but she simply could not concentrate. The idea that she was to meet King Alistair and Queen Anora was intimidating. In her mind she was trying to decide which gown to wear, how to dress her hair, whether or not she would be able to bribe someone to bring her hot water—

"Andraste's Flaming Knickers!" Rywik exploded. "Will you please stop the mental fashion parade and concentrate!"

Angharad tried to clear her mind, but it wasn't long before she drifted into a comparison of the chemise with the leaves embroidered into the neck and cuffs or the plain—

"Stop!" Rywik got up from the cushions. He shook his head as if to clear it, took a deep breath and turned around. "Wear the coral dress and the chemise with the embroidery. Wear your hair up and back, and quit fretting about having hot water. I'll fireball the tub if I have to." He pressed his palms to his forehead. "Now, is there anything else?"

Before Angharad could speak, Rywik said, "Wait! Wait!" He disappeared and there was the sound of a chest being opened. He came back with a gown in deep wine red wool with cream colored embroidery in an elven pattern at the neck and on the sleeve. He threw it at Angharad. "For Nona. Now get out of my sight. I don't want to see you again until you are ready for the hot water."

Angharad and Nona spent the rest of the day preparing for Court. The gown Rywik had given Angharad for Nona was an old fashioned cut, but the color was perfect against Nona's skin. Angharad had a linen chemise that was unbleached. It matched the color of the embroidery well. Nona had it on under the tunic as Angharad worked on the hem.

"Why would he do this, Angharad? Why would he give me this gown?" Nona asked.

"I could not stop thinking about it? None of my dresses were a color that suited you, and I wanted you to have something nice to wear?" Angharad said, speculating. "Clearly I was driving him crazy ruminating about it. I think Rywik thought this would quiet me. Nona, hold still. I must get this hem straight."

Nona took out her braid and started brushing her hair nervously.

"Nona, hold still!" Angharad repeated. "There!" She added, finishing the hem.

"I must go thank him." Nona turned and left the room before Angharad could say anything.

Nona crossed the hall and opened the door to Rywik's sitting area. "Messer? Messer?" she called out moving into the room. When she saw no one there, she opened the door to the workroom. "Messer?" Rywik turned to face her. "I came to thank you. It was very kind of you." Nona's voice trailed off as another man who had been sitting, stood up. Nona looked in confusion at Rywik and at the man and back again.

"I didn't know you were the kind sort, Rywik," The man said with a grin. He was tall with reddish blondish hair and hazel eyes. "What have you done now?"

"Messer lent me this gown for the Court tomorrow. I had nothing suitable."

"Cross-dressing now are we?"The man said to Rywik.

Rywik replied easily, not offended by the teasing, "It belonged to an old friend."

The stranger started to speak once more when Angharad entered the room. She immediately knew who he was. He looked very much like his half brother. "Your Majesty," Angharad said firmly, sinking into a curtsey.

Nona, nonplussed, curtsied as well.

Alistair came forward and held his hand out to Nona, "Please, rise. You'll get your gown dirty." He said, smiling as he helped Nona to her feet.

Angharad hoped that the "rise" was meant for her as well as she came back up from the curtsey. It was immediately clear that the King wasn't concerned one way or the other. Alistair gave Nona a rather curious look before saying. "Well, Rywik, perhaps I'd best be on my way. See you in the morning ladies."

"Of course, Alistair. See you tomorrow." Rywik turned back to the two women.

Nona dropped her face into her hands, her long black hair tumbled in while curls over her shoulders. "Oh I am so embarrassed. The king. And I intruded on him."

Angharad was about to say something but Rywik walked over to Nona and took her hands in his. "Nona. Stop. Alistair is a man like any other. He likes to look at beautiful women. So he would not feel as though you imposed on him. Actually, knowing my friend, I think he was delighted."

"He will not be, when he learns what I used to do," Nona replied sadly.

"Au contraire, mon cher. Il comprendra. Alistair is surprisingly cosmopolitan when it comes to such things. You will see, when you tell him." He turned her around and gave her a little push toward the door. "Now, go. Angharad has something she wishes to say to me in private."

Angharad waited until Nona was gone from the room. "Rywik. What are you doing? Nona is my friend."

Rywik turned back to his work bench. "I gave your friend a dress, and she thanked me. Nothing more."

"But I thought—you seemed to be interested." Angharad replied.

"I know what you thought, Angharad, I know just about everything you think, but you were wrong. Now leave me in peace."

The next morning Angharad and Nona stood outside a set of large double doors with many other supplicants, waiting to be called into the throne room. She and Nona had done each other's hair, Angharad's hair was twisted with green ribbons and pulled up and back to fall behind her down her back. The hairstyle displayed her delicate shoulders and long neck to advantage. Angharad's over gown caused a murmur as few of the women had seen such a style before. It suited Angharad well due to her slender figure. The coral color lent her warmth without being obvious while the white chemise with green leaf embroidery was entirely modest and appropriate. Nona's hair was thick and curly, so rather than braid it, the women found a piece of ecru colored lace that they used to pull the hair up in a tail. The Angharad teased the curls into a beautiful riot tumbling down her back. The two women stood together in the hallway, being stared at by the nobles and their retinue as well as the merchants and others.

As the morning wore on, Angharad began to fear that they had been forgotten, both by Rywik who was nowhere to be seen and by the major domo who did the announcing. Finally, Rywik appeared. He walked toward them from one of the side halls. He was dressed in a mage robe quite unlike anything Angharad had ever seen before. Unlike the Tevinter and Circle robes that fit close to the body this robe was more like a cloak with loose folds. It was also dyed a purple so deep it was almost black. It had gold trim on the collar which stood upright and was about one inch wide. As he drew closer, Angharad saw that the robe itself was simply a sleeveless garment that was drawn over a shirt and pants of the same material. The shirt and pants were close fitting, and Angharad saw that it was actually the shirt that was trimmed in gold. Rywik's boots were flat soled. The staff he carried was made from a wood unknown to her. It was very black and highly polished with a blade at one end and a weighted gold ornament at the other. He wore a thin gold circlet that sat approximately half way on his forehead.

Before, Angharad could say and word or ask a question, Rywik nodded to the major domo. In a loud booming voice, they were announced. Rywik walked the length of the hall, now filled with many nobles and other observers. Angharad could hear voices and sounds from above and knew that there were people in the upper level looking down at them, but she kept her eyes focused on the King and Queen who were seated on their thrones.

Rywik came to a stop far enough away from the dais to allow Angharad to see the King and Queen without craning her neck. He did a deep and graceful bow. Angharad and Nona dropped into curtsies and held them while Rywik stood upright and said, "Your majesties, may I present Angharad Whittall, Apothecary and Surgeon to the Arling of Amaranthine and her assistant, Nona du Lac. They are here to further their education in the healing arts."

Anora spoke, "Rise, Angharad and Nona. Welcome to our Court. We are most pleased to meet representatives of the Grey Wardens of Vigil's Keep and to hear of the good news of renewal and rebuilding that is occurring there. You must dine with us while we are in residence. I will welcome your company at supper this night."

"Thank you, your majesty." Angharad replied, bowing her head. She moved to withdraw, but King Alistair spoke up. "Sirrah, please make an appointment with my secretary. I should like to hear what news you have from the Commander."

Angharad bowed her head once more. "As you desire, your majesty."

Rywik began to back away. Taking her cue from him, she did as well. They stepped back a few steps before turning and walking out of the hall. Once they were back in the anteroom once more, Rywik said, "You two can go on about your business until supper. I must return to the throne room and listen to even more nobles whining about their taxes and their military obligations to the Crown."

He got the smallest of grins on his face. "Remember supper is at the nineteenth hour. And wear something easy to clean. The nobles tend to fling food bits about as they eat." With that he turned and went down the side hall.

Chapter Thirteen[

The Palace

In the days that followed their presentation to the King and Queen, Angharad and Nona were left pretty much to themselves. Rywik was concerned with affairs of State. So, aside from exhorting Angharad to practice her meditation exercises, he disappeared in the mornings and did not reappear until meal times. Angharad and Nona took supper those first few nights in the great hall, but decided that it was easier to eat in the servants' hall. Too many Nobles thought that two women sitting alone must be in need of male company.

Angharad continued to teach Nona what she knew about herbs and medicines. The palace had extensive gardens and greenery, so she was able to point out many of the plants used to make remedies to her friend. Their dream to make potions and ointments and sell them was quickly ended when Angharad discovered that the Denerim market was strictly apportioned to licensed vendors. The penalties for selling goods without such a license were severe. Angharad wasn't sure what she and Nona would do once her dwindling cash was gone, but at least they would not starve so long as they were allowed access to the servants' hall.

A letter came from Nathaniel during this time.

Angharad:

I write to tell you that I am well, 'm asgre. I have been given a small command, a squad of eight to train as a scouting unit. My new commander seems to be well respected and admired by the men. I have not yet had the chance to judge his capabilities for myself, but I have no reason to doubt what the other men have told me.

The patrols and training keep me engaged, but when I am alone and at rest, I miss you more than it is possible to say. I close my eyes and imagine you beside me. There are times when you are so real to me, that I can feel the touch of your hand on my shoulder and the whisper of your breath on my face. You are always with me, anwylaf. Be well.

Nathaniel

Angharad read the letter and began to cry. Nona read the note and sat down beside her weeping friend. "Angharad. You must not grieve so. You will see him again."

Angharad shook her head. "It is just that I am so lonely for him," Angharad sobbed. She went into their bedroom, curled up on the bed, and cried for a long time before falling asleep.

The next morning, Angharad dressed in her blue-green bliaut. Today was the day of her appointment with the King. He had said he wanted to talk about the Grey Wardens. Angharad did not know what she could say about them that would be of interest to the King. Still, it did not matter. If his Majesty wanted to meet with her then she would meet with him. As he stepped into the passageway. She had no need to ask for help in finding the way to his office. She had traveled the servants' halls of the palace many times and knew exactly which secret door to exit to be near the King's study. When she reached the anteroom she found another petitioner waiting to see Alistair. The door opened and the man who was waiting went in. Angharad closed her eyes and tried to relax as she waited her turn.

She woke as someone shook her shoulder. She looked up to find the King gently shaking her awake. Angharad jumped up, embarrassed. "I'm sorry your Majesty," she began, but Alistair interrupted her.

"You don't have to apologize. I find waiting a bore myself. Sleeping seems a good use of your time." He started down the hall, forcing Angharad to jump up quickly. "Do you mind walking?" He added, indicating the hall that led to the gardens. "I don't walk enough anymore. Used to walk all the time when I was a warden. Now I sit on my arse all day."

"No, your majesty. I would like to walk." Angharad caught up to him as he passed through the doors leading to the gardens, opened for him by the guards.

Once they were outside, Alistair slowed his pace a little and said, "They tell me you were at the Vigil during the siege, Angharad."

"I was, you majesty. There were many brave souls who died defending the Vigil during those weeks. Our Seneschal, Varel, was one of them. He was a good and decent man. Oghren was a great hero, for he fought ogres and held the gate."

"Did he? Maker! Is he still drinking anything and everything?" Alistair asked.

"Yes. But it is no longer a joke among the wardens. They are concerned for him."

Alistair sighed but said nothing else about his old comrade. Instead he said, "I understand that Caron chose to defend Amaranthine rather than the Vigil. Did the soldiers understand the necessity?"

"Yes, your Majesty. The Vigil was a military target. We who resided there understood that we could expect an attack. The Commander had spent a great deal of coin to upgrade the keep's defenses, and he had a wonderful stone mason to do the job. Our walls held for weeks. Amaranthine, on the other hand, was filled with civilians. They were almost overrun before the Warden Commander arrived. Had the Commander not defended the City, he would have been forced to torch the town, and many more lives would have been lost. The Commander took seriously his duty as the acting Arl to defend Amaranthine. He is a great hero in their eyes."

"Yes. Etienne Caron is a good man, and an excellent soldier. I am unhappy that political circumstances forced his recall," Alistair said.

They continued to walk the garden. There was little left to see there, for the autumn was on them in earnest now and most of the perennials were dying, the root vegetables harvested, and the ground waiting to be turned and covered for winter.

Angharad thought of the smile on the Commander's face the last night she had seen him. "I have to tell you, Your Majesty, that the good Commander was quite happy to be recalled. His maîtresse will be waiting for him at Weisshaupt. He has not seen Giselle in three years. "

Alistair grinned. "Lucky man! They continued to walk together in silence for a moment. "So, Angharad, tell me about Nathaniel Howe."

Angharad stopped and turned to the King, "You have to understand, your Majesty, that anything I would tell you about Nathaniel is colored by what I feel for him. I am, after all his mistress."

"Another lucky man." Alistair gave Angharad and appreciative but not lecherous glance.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Angharad replied, trying to be as easy about it as he was. Then she thought for a moment and began.

"Nathaniel is much like you. He loves being a Warden. Like you, he was conscripted into the Wardens and found purpose there. As a lad, he was forced to leave his home for a place that he hated; again, much like you. Unlike you, he will never give up the Wardens. Nathaniel has completely dedicated himself to the Order's goals."

"Ouch. Now that hurt!" Alistair said, mindful that he had left the Wardens to become the King of Ferelden.

Angharad blushed. "Your Majesty. I did not mean to imply that you—' Angharad bit her lip and started again. "Majesty, everyone in Ferelden was overjoyed that you decided to marry the Queen and become our King. Your decision reunited our country so that we could defeat the darkspawn. Perhaps others cannot understand the sacrifice you made for us, but I do."

"Oh yes, quite a sacrifice. I gave up a life of constant combat and camping for the comforts of a palace, political power and military might. Although foregoing the boiled lamb and pea stew has been difficult at times, I would say that I have the better bargain! Not much sacrifice there," The King quipped.

Angharad laughed. "Now, there, your Majesty, is another difference between you and Nathaniel. Nathaniel seldom gets a joke, let alone makes one, but you have a well-honed sense of the ridiculous."

Alistair frowned. "No humor? How does he get through the hard times?"

"Good planning, your Majesty," Angharad replied, straight faced.

Alistair laughed for a long time. They walked on.

Rywik was waiting for Angharad when she returned to her rooms. Angharad lost her smile and stepped past him. "Why are you here?" She asked him.

"To teach you?" Rywik countered.

"I don't want to be taught today." Angharad said, pulling the laces loose on her bliaut, pulling it unceremoniously over her head and throwing it on her bed. She went to her chest and took out trousers and shirt. Kicking off her fancy slippers, she stepped into the trousers and began to pull them up under her chemise. "And you seem to be in no hurry to teach me, so what does one more day matter?" Angharad added.

Rywik followed her into the room, but stopped short as she drew the chemise over her head. She stood with her back to him, but it was still a pleasant experience to see the graceful line of her spine and shoulders as she put on a shirt and pulled it down to tuck into her pants.

"So what do you intend to do?" He asked, amused by her rebellious attitude. He stood there watching as she put on socks and boots, withdrew two scabbards from her chest and fixed them to her waist and arm.

She turned around. "I plan to find somewhere private where I may draw these blades and wield them, pretending all the while that you are my opponent."

"If you will but wait a moment, I will show you where you may practice, and I will give you a chance to take me on in earnest." He retorted, almost laughing at her now.

"I'd like that."

Rywik changed from his fancy Court attire into pants and shirt. He appeared quickly, his own weapons in hand and two sets of wooden knives as well. "Follow me." He led her quickly down to a high walled area accessible only by a single gate.

Rywik ushered her inside and without speaking to one another, they went through warm up exercises. Rywik handed Angharad a set of wooden practice knives and took a set himself. "All right, shem, eviscerate me if you can."

Angharad and Rywik began to spar. If he expected her to rush in and attack him, he was sorely mistaken, for both Nathaniel and Tomas had taught her to be patient. As she would usually be smaller than an attacking enemy, she had learned to allow her attacker to move so that she could counter. With Rywik, though, this strategy did not work. He, too, was patient, and he was faster. She tried her best to score hits on him, but he was just a little out of reach, a little more agile. It had been too long and Angharad was out of condition, so after only a short time she was out of breath and shaky.

Rywik on the other hand was barely breathing hard. With a scream of anger, she threw the wooden knives at him and then covered her head with her arms and began to cry. She sank to the ground, cross legged and curled into herself, sobbing. Rywik had dodged the knives easily and now leaned against the stone wall waiting for Angharad to settle down. When the sobs turned to sniffles, he dropped gracefully into a half lotus position beside her. "Tell me."

Angharad slowly sat more upright. "I miss him, Rywik. I miss him so much. We were so happy together. I hadn't been happy since my mother died. Do you know that the first time I saw him, I was thirteen? I had almost ruined his Marbari pups, but instead of being angry, he spoke a few words of kindness to me and then he was gone to be squire. But I never forgot. I did not hope that he would care for me, but he does. And, when I am with him, I feel safe and excited and comforted and loved. I feel beautiful because I can see that in his eyes I am beautiful, and I miss him so much. Angharad's voice took on a note of anxiety. "I do not allow myself to imagine what might happen to him. I can be brave for him, but it is harder when I cannot hold him in my arms at night and hear him breathing, feel his heart beating." She started to cry again.

Rywik let her cry awhile longer, but finally he intervened. "Enough of that, Angharad. A certain amount of crying can be beneficial, but too much is just indulgence. You will not change your situation with tears. Come let us walk back to our quarters and you can tell me who taught you how to use those knives."

Angharad stood up, and helped him gather their things together. She did calm down, realizing that Rywik was right. More tears would not help. "I did not do my teachers justice today. Nathaniel and Tomas taught me well. I just did not perform to their standard. I must say that I am more than impressed however, by your skill. I thought combat arts were considered too plebian by the magical crowd."

Rywik smiled at that. "On the contrary, a smart mage knows that the best addition to spell casting is a good weapon or two and the skill to use them."

"Who taught you?" Angharad asked him as they walked.

"Zevran and Leliana taught me a great deal; and, there was a woman named Isabella," Rywik replied. "A year in the field fighting darkspawn, demons and abominations also honed my skills. I must say that you fought well enough, though it is clear that you are out of practice. I drill every morning at dawn in that small courtyard. You are welcome to join me. It would be good to have a sparring partner."

"Thank you. I would like that."

Angharad started to go into her own quarters to change, but Rywik stopped her. "What did you have to say to our King this morning?" He asked her.

"We talked about the wardens and the siege at the Vigil and Nathaniel," Angharad explained. "Why?"

"He is coming up later to my quarters to play Wicked Grace and talk. He wondered if you and your friend would care to join us."

Angharad looked troubled. "Do you think this is wise?"

"Accommodating kings to the greatest extent possible is usually a good idea, Angharad. I presume you are wondering if his Majesty has more in mind that merely your company. I can assure you that even if he did, he would never demand of you more than you would willingly offer. He simply isn't that sort of man. Too much chantry training at an early age, I suspect."

"Very well, then. What time?"

Rywik shrugged. "Around the twentieth hour. Alistair doesn't stay in the main hall much longer than it takes him to eat his meal. Now that the formalities of Court have abated, he tries to leave before dancing starts. Angharad, when you are dressed, come across the hall. We really must do some productive work today."

"Very well, master. I hear and obey," She replied with an exaggerated bow.

That evening, after their meal in the great hall, Angharad and Nona went back upstairs to Rywik's quarters. As they approached the door, the two men's laughter rang out and Angharad hesitated. Nona sensed Angharad's timidity and took her hand. "Not to worry, Angharad. Underneath the Crown and the titles, they are only men. I will handle them. You will see." They walked into the room together.

With the King's return to Denerim, Rywik had brought back the comfortable couches and chairs that he'd put in storage. Rywik was stretched out on one of the couches while the King was sitting in a chair with his feet up on the low table in front of him. Rywik turned at the sound of their approach. He wondered to himself if Angharad and Nona knew how beautiful a tableau they formed standing together in the candlelight.

Angharad was as supple and slender as a reed, her long waist and gentle slope to her hip made all the more beautiful by the snug fit of the bliaut. Her dress was dark purple, a color that made her skin shine like white marble. Her hair was braided, Orlesian style, with purple and silver ribbons. She was a swan, gliding into the room, a little shy, ready to take flight if startled. Her features were even, her nose straight, her mouth a perfect bow of classical perfection. She possessed a quiet sort of beauty that appealed to his sense of order.

Nona was again dressed in a wine red gown but this one drifted over her generous curves at bosom, waist and hips. Unlike Angharad, Nona was clearly at ease with their stares. Her chin, with its small cleft, was tipped slightly upward as if to challenge them, and her eyes were bright with merriment. Nona had a generous mouth, one that begged to be kissed. Her eyes were dark and one expected them to be black, but if you looked closely they were more ultra-violet. You could not see the color except in certain light, but it lent her mystery. Her thick black hair was a riot of curls, begging to be set free from the ribbons that held it in place. Rywik's groin tightened a little just thinking of how she would look dressed only in her hair. Slowly, he looked away and grinned to himself.

The two women dropped into a curtsey. "Your Majesty," They said in unison.

Alistair sat up and removed his feet from the table. "Please get up, and let's not have any more your majesty tonight. I always want to look around the room for the real king."

Before Angharad could think of something to say, Nona said, "Gentlemen, I understand that you wish to play Wicked Grace tonight. I must warn you of two things: One, I am a master of the game; and, two, Angharad and I have no money with which to begin, so we will need a loan."

Alistair frowned. "No money? Truly? How have you managed without money?" He looked over at Rywik who also seemed puzzled. "I was certain that provision had been made for your stay here, Angharad. Wasn't there a note to the exchequer for a loan in your name to be repaid by the Arling?"

Angharad blushed deeply. "I do not know. I know nothing of such things."

Nona interjected merrily. "The exchequer can hardly help us out of this dilemma tonight. Will you accept our marker?"

"Of course," Alistair replied promptly.

"Parfait," Nona replied. "Card?"

Entranced, Alistair handed Nona the deck of cards and the men watched as she deftly shuffled the deck with the skill of a professional dealer before offering them to Alistair for a cut.

Angharad did not sit down. Instead she said, "I do not know how to play. My work at the castle left little time for cards."

Nona laughed, "While I, a courtesan, was required to know many games of chance that included card and dice."

Rywik silently caught Angharad's eye and motioned her to sit beside him on the sofa as Alistair spoke to Nona. "Now I am entirely curious as to your origins ladies, and I shall not be satisfied until you tell your tales to me."

Nona looked at her friend. "You go first, Angharad."

Angharad briefly summarized her life for the two men. Alistair asked, "And how much about horses did you learn from your father?"

"Enough, messer, to tell good horse flesh from a nag. Papa was a good teacher."

"And you, Nona. How did you come to be here in Denerim?" Alistair asked.

Nona smiled at him. "It is a very old story. I was sold to a whorehouse by parents who were starving and needed money. A wealthy patron liked me well enough to purchase me for himself. His patronage gave me access to the highest courts in Orlais, and for a time, I wore the finest silks and best shoes. Then, he grew tired of me and sent me into the street. I made my way from there as best I could. For a time I traveled with a group of people and ended up in Ferelden at the Wending Wood. " Nona smiled at Angharad who took her friend's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "And the rest you know. But one of the skills I learned from my time as a nobleman's pet was how to play cards. I give you fair warning that I intend to win all your money tonight," Nona teased.

Bemused, Alistair replied, "You may try,"

Nona dealt the cards to Alistair and Rywik saying, "Angharad, you watch tonight and learn how the game is played."

Nona had both men laughing at her amusing stories of life in the Orlesian Court and the fashion wars that took place there. They laughed so much that they paid little attention to the game and were consistently losing to her. Angharad watched, but cards were simply not something she found interesting. Instead, she contented herself with pouring wine from time to time as she listened to the banter between Nona and the King. After Rywik had lost all his coin, Nona taught Alistair a two-handed game called Spinster's Gift. Her comments, rife with sexual innuendo, kept him laughing.

By the time the candles had burned down, Nona had most of the coin on the table in front of her. Angharad was asleep on the sofa, and Rywik had disappeared. "I think, your Majesty, that it is time to fold the cards and say good night," Nona told Alistair.

Alistair stretched his shoulders and yawned. "I truly enjoyed learning Spinster's Gift, Thank you for an interesting and entertaining evening."

"My pleasure, Your Majesty, particularly since I have won most of your coin." Nona smiled at Alistair without pretense. He was a very nice man, a kind one. He was easy to like.

Alistair returned her smile and then looked around. "Well, my friend has vanished. If you see him, tell Rywik I said good night."

"I will your Majesty." Nona waited until Alistair left the room before waking Angharad. "Come, amie, we must find our own room. The night grows late."

Together they crossed the hall to their room.

Rywik lay stretched out on his own bed and listened to his company leave. Hands behind his head, he stretched and rolled to one side. Rywik felt relaxed for the first time in months. Everything was now truly set in motion. He could now do what he had to do without feeling guilty. He fell asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Lessons and Examinations

The days moved one into the other and became weeks as Angharad and Rywik fell into a routine. She met him at dawn in the walled courtyard and they sparred, usually with knives but sometimes hand to hand. Rywik also began teaching Angharad the rudiments of using a staff. After an hour or two, they gleaned what they could find in the kitchens for breakfast and then went up to his quarters and worked.

One morning, they walked into his quarters to find a stranger waiting. It was an elf, dressed in breeches and shirt. "Thank you for coming." Rywik said to the lad, and gave him a sovereign. "Hold out your hands, please. Angharad, come here. Take his hands."

Understanding what Rywik expected of her, Angharad took the elf's hands in hers, drew breath and opened. She stepped into the man's past as simply as she stepped through a door into another room. As she saw his life unfold, inside her head she could hear Rywik, "Now Angharad, turn and see what is to come. Slowly." Angharad turned in a slow circle.

Then it came, a pinpoint of darkness that swelled to completely encompass her and then fade. The light changed, became bright sunlight. She was standing near a very old oak tree decorated with symbols. At the base of the tree lay flowers and other natural things. The tree was scarred, as though it had been subject to a fire, but it still lived, its leaves green.

As she looked around from the tree, she saw that she stood in the midst of the poorest of slums among the meanest of buildings. She walked slowly through the muck and the mud, away from the tree and toward the sound of laughter and celebration. In the midst of the mire and the sickening poverty, there was a beautifully painted platform. On the platform stood the young elf beside a graceful girl with silver blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes, As Angharad watched, an elder came forward to join their hands together. Around them stood happy people smiling and wishing them well.

The darkness grew once more and retreated. Now she stood in a small home, the young elf no longer quite so young, with a little boy on his lap. The beautiful elf was a woman now, with another baby on her hip. She kissed the man before handing him the child she held. She turned to the cook pot, humming. The darkness came once more but this time she found herself back in Rywik's room, holding hands with a stranger.

"She is all silver and blue.

And your daughter will be as well.

Beauty incarnate will they be to you.

Your son will be strong and brave, bold and bonny.

Pride of the ancestors. Hope of the future.

And your lady will love you always."

"Will she?" The young man said, suspicious. "Who is this paragon of beauty?"

"Your father is arranging a marriage for you this very month. Your bride comes from Redcliffe. She is very beautiful. You haven't met, but your father knows the family. And when you see her, you will be so happy!"

Rywik said to the young elf, "Go. Thank you for your time."

Puzzled, the man bowed slightly and left.

Angharad waited for the sickness. When it did not come, she turned to Rywik. "I am not ill. It cannot be a true seeing. I am always ill afterward."

Rywik shook his head. He sat down and pointed to the seat beside him. Angharad sat next to him and waited. "You were always ill, Angharad, because you were fighting the visions. Your fear caused the nausea. It is also the reason why you so seldom had a visual image. Now you no longer fight your gift; you accept it willingly. You may still experience the sickness, especially when what you see troubles you, but it will grow less in time and with practice."

Rywik took her hand. "Angharad, you have always believed that the future was immutable, but I tell you that this is not so. The future is never written in stone. Every choice carries a different possibility forward in time. Every decision, however small, can affect and change what is to come. Yes, some things are almost impossible to change because they hinge on one moment or one choice. But those times are rarer than you believe." Rywik sighed deeply. "There isn't much left for me to teach you. I have given you what I know about your ability to see the future. Now you must use it."

Rywik looked away from her and stared into the distance. Seeing him in profile reminded her of the ancient statutes at home, in the cellars of the Vigil. One was the warrior at rest. Another was the hunter stalking prey. His black hair framed a perfectly sculpted nose and chin. Elves often seemed childlike in their appearance, but there was nothing of a child in Rywik's features. His very essence radiated the power that hummed inside him like leashed lightning. He was a most handsome male and she wondered yet again why there was no woman in his life.

Rywik said nothing for a long while. He seemed to make up his mind about something and turned to her once more, taking her left hand and rotating it so that she could see the scar on her palm. "Angharad. A word of caution, if you will listen."

When Angharad nodded, he pointed to the symbol in her hand. "This mark, this ward, is an ancient symbol of my people. It is older than you know, older than the Arlathan culture. This mark is a warning, not to you but to protect you. The mark says, keep away. Asha'bellanar set a mark in your hand to warn others away, Angharad, and that concerns me. "

Rywik paused for a moment as he carefully framed his words. "Morrigan, Asha'bellanar's daughter, believed that her mother managed to live all these centuries by possessing the body of a younger woman when the one she inhabited grew too old. Because Morrigan believed she was to be her mother's next body, I and three of my companions went into the wilds and slew Flemeth. Do you understand? I personally killed that old hag after she shapeshifted into a dragon, and yet, somehow, she still lives."

"Is she a demon, then?" Angharad asked him.

"No. Not a demon. But I cannot tell you what she is because quite frankly, I do not know. But I know that she is very powerful, and you must beware."

Angharad started to rise, but he took her arm once more. "Sit down, Angharad. There is something else." Angharad sat down, but Rywik rose and began to pace. "Angharad, I know that you have guessed a little about the joining, but I must make all clear to you so that you will understand what Nathaniel , Alistair, I and all Grey Wardens face." He looked directly at her and said, "You must promise me that you will not share what I am about to tell you. The Wardens might decide to kill you if they knew that you knew, so swear on whatever you hold sacred that you will not reveal what I am about to say."

"I swear."

He began to pace once more. "You know that the darkspawn carry a something that is contagious. It infects everything they come in contact with in time. It is like a disease or a slow poison. Plants, animals, people, all change, become monsters, corrupted and mad. Even the very soil on which the darkspawn travel becomes cursed and will not grow anything for decades."

"When you travel the Deep Roads and come to the places the darkspawn inhabit, the walls are covered with their corruption, their taint. Living men who are captured and exposed become ghouls, insane and inhuman. Women have a worse fate, they too are changed, but they are also impregnated in some way and they produce the next generation of darkspawn. Not as we do, not one child at a time, but like ants or bees, spawn after spawn, day and night."

"And underneath it all, Angharad is the Call. It is the sound of the old ones, the old gods, or dragons who are buried deep in the earth. The Call drives the darkspawn to dig, to search and find yet another old god buried deep in the ground. When they find one, their disease taints the old god just as it does any other living thing. When that happens, an archdemon is born and another Blight begins. The spawn use the taint to sense one another as well as hear the Call. The archdemon speaks to them and to us through the taint."

"During the first Blight it was discovered that some few, some very few humans, elves and dwarves, when given a mixture of darkspawn blood and lyrium did not die and did not become ghouls. Instead, those who first drank this mixture were able to hear the Call and sense darkspawn. These volunteers who took the potion and lived gave us the advantage we desperately needed to end the first Blight. Angharad, few people would believe how close our world came to total annihilation during the first Blight. Our numbers were so few, it was uncertain if we would survive. Someone discovered that adding a bit of the archdemon's blood to the potion improved its effectiveness and lowered slightly the mortality rate for ingesting it, so that has become the standard for the drink used at the joining. We lose about one in every five recruits at the joining because the drink kills them outright."

Rywik continued, "Because we knew that there were still old gods to be found, and that eventually, another Blight would begin, The order was created. We became the Grey Wardens, dedicated to one set of goals: Eradicate the darkspawn, slay the archdemons, and end the Blight should it reoccur. On the whole, it works well. Even when the two only two wardens left in Ferelden were new recruits who hadn't a clue as to what they were getting into. Somehow Alistair and I managed, but it was a near run thing."

"Our immunity does not last, though. As we age, our ability to withstand the taint decreases. The nightmares all Grey Wardens suffer as a result of drinking the potion—what we call the joining-become truly hideous. And, the Call grows louder and louder. When that happens, the warden knows it is time. We find an entrance to the Deep Roads and go down into the deep to seek out a quick death at the hands of our enemy."

"I know." Angharad said quietly.

Rywik made a shushing gesture with his hands. "Yes, Angharad, I know that you know this. I spent a great deal of time traipsing around in your head to discover just what you did know, remember? But; what you do not know is what the taint does to mages."

Rywik turned to face her once more. "The taint infects our gift as surely as it infects our body. I cannot explain it other than I know that while I gained some abilities, there were others that I lost when I was joined. I used to be able to see the future as you do. When I became a Warden, I lost that part of my gift, not because I no longer see things, but because I cannot trust the visions not to be sent by an old god rather than a true telling."

"But I am not a mage." Angharad said to him, puzzled.

Rywik tilted his head a little. "Aren't you? You certainly are not a spell caster. But mana flows through you like a waterfall. I don't know what you are, though I've tried to figure you out." He waved his hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter, Angharad. Ultimately, it does not matter. Mage or not, if you take the joining I am almost certain that you will lose your gift, or at least your ability to trust your gift. So, unless it means your life, you must not become a Warden."

"Why are you telling me this?" Angharad asked him quietly.

"Why I am telling you is not important, Angharad. That I am telling you this is important. You must remember what I have said this day," Rywik insisted.

"I will remember." Angharad promised him. Mischievously, Angharad drew a little closer. "You are in a talkative mood, my master. May I ask one thing more?"

Rywik rolled his eyes. "You may ask."

"For a mage, you don't cast many spells. Why is that?"

"Smarter than she looks." Rywik murmured. Louder, he said, "What do you think happens when a spell is cast?"

Angharad thought for a moment and said, "You draw on mana and use it to modify reality in some way. In a fire spell you convert mana to light and heat through combustion. With lightning you use mana to charge the particles in the air so that they give off electricity."

"You have been studying. I am impressed Angharad," Rywik told her, quite pleased that she was taking the work seriously. "What you said is true enough, but there is one thing more. Each discharge of mana lights up the Fade like a summer storm. Fade spirits, be they demons or not are drawn to that energy discharge, and to the mage who wields the energy. Every use of mana opens a way, however small from the Fade into our reality. They come to that opening because they want to slip through. And they surround the mage who provides the opening." Rywik shrugged his shoulders. "If I don't cast spells, then they leave me alone. It's quieter that way."

Angharad thought for a moment. "I see. It must be difficult enough to be demon plagued. The demons themselves try to enter you through dreams. And then to suffer the dreams caused by taint—unbearable."

"Clever gel." Rywik responded.

"And why no sweetheart?" Angharad threw out, hoping to catch him off guard.

Instead, Rywik laughed. "I strongly suspect that all your prior questions were merely a cover to ask me why I have no mistress! Why is it that women cannot bear to see a man unattached?"

"I suspect it has do to with economy of purpose," Angharad told him. "Women see a handsome male and think Now there's a fine looking baby maker. Why isn't he being put to good use?"

Rywik laughed a long time at that. "Thought that one out on your own, did you?"

"You aren't going to answer me, are you."

"No, I am not. Now go and do whatever it is you find amusing when you aren't torturing me."

Smiling, Angharad left his quarters.

When she returned to her own quarters, they were empty. Angharad had been working from dawn until dark every day with Rywik, and she had left Nona pretty much on her own. It was no surprise that Nona found other things to do.

Angharad washed and changed her clothing into something more suitable for supper in the great hall. She then sat down at her table to study. Rywik had given her a great many things to read. There were books on everything from the history of Ferelden, to the ancient cultures of the Avvar, Elven and Dwarven folk. She found the books fascinating and she drank in the knowledge like a thirsty traveler on the Pilgrim Road. There were days when she drove Rywik mad with questions about the things she had read. Outwardly he growled at her, but in truth, he was pleased by her desire to learn.

Nona came rushing in just before time to go down to the great hall. Angharad watched, bemused, as Nona changed from her simple dress into something more formal. "Oh mon Créateur! I am so late!" She moaned, struggling into her gown.

"Sit, your hair needs rebraiding." Angharad said to her friend, as she deftly rebraided Nona's unruly hair. "Come, we will be late and the bread will be eaten."

Nona began cursing softly in Orlesian as they walked, quickly, to the hall. When they arrived and started toward their usual place at the table, the major domo, said. "Messers Whittall and Du Lac, Highever has invited you to sit at his table this evening. If you will follow me."

Alistair's great hall was set out in the usual fashion for a Ferelden lord. The high table sat alone, with room enough for the King and Queen and their councilors. Two tables, set slightly lower, were arranged at right angles. One placed on the King's side and one on the Queen's. These tables were occupied by the nobles with the highest precedence who were in residence at the time. The Teyrn of Highever was the noble of first precedence; He sat on the King's side whenever he was at Court. The Teyrn of Gwaren, was second in precedence. He or she sat on the Queen's side. Since the Queen was the Teyrna of Gwaren, a title she retained despite being Queen, she decided who would sit at the Gwaren table. Anora often used a seat at her table as a reward for good service to the Crown. Below the Teyrn's tables were the Banns' tables, occupied by those who had sworn fealty to either Highever or Gwaren. All nobles swore homage to the King in Ferelden.

Angharad wore her old violet gown this evening. Aside from ribbons braided in her hair, she wore no adornments of any kind, though tucked in her long sleeve was her favorite knife, securely fastened in its sheath. At her waist was the more ceremonial knife she would use for the meal.

They were late. Alistair and Anora were already at their place at table. Angharad and Nona walked the gauntlet of stares, and curtsied deep, looking to Anora for leave to rise. It may have been her imagination, but Angharad suspected that Anora let them stay in the uncomfortable posture for a little longer than was usual before signaling them to rise. Only then did Angharad turn to the Teyrn's table and curtsey.

The Teyrn was not at the table, but the Teryna gave them leave to rise immediately and said, "Please, join us, ladies. My husband tells me that you were most hospitable to his grace during his visit to the Vigil."

"Thank you, my lady." Angharad and Nona rose to walk to the chairs farther down the table that were still empty, but before she could sit down, the Teyrna whispered something to the woman beside her, who moved away.

"Angharad," The Teyrna said, "Come. Sit beside me." Angharad did as she was bid and sat beside the Teyrna, completely aware that every eye in the hall was now on her. The Teyrn was up at the King's table, having been invited to sit there for the evening.

Petra Cousland was a woman only slightly older than Angharad herself. The Teyrna was appealing without being classically beautiful. She had dark brown straight hair that flowed down her back to her waist held in place by a thin gold filigree circlet of elven design. Her skin was the color of rich cream, smooth and unblemished. The Teyrna's eyes were her true beauty, for they were almond shaped and a clear amber color underneath fine, winged eyebrows.

The Teyrna allowed Angharad to settle herself at the table and take food. Once the hall seemed to settle down, Petra leaned over a little and said, "My husband tells me that I have you to thank for mending his wounds at the Vigil. You helped to heal much more than you realize."

"I was glad to give service to his lordship, my lady. The Teyrn is a wise ruler good man who deserves his happiness."

Petra held out her hand to Angharad. "Please, see. I have been using your soap. Not only is it my favorite fragrance but it has helped to heal my chapped hands. You must tell me the secret ingredients!" Angharad took Petra's hands in hers and turned them over and back again. She saw only good things there, at least for those remaining years of peace that all were to experience. She saw children and a faithful couple loving one another.

"When is your baby due?" Angharad asked casually as she let go the Teyrna's hands and turned to her meal.

Petra blushed. "I think in late summer or early fall. But no one save my maid knows of this. How did you?"

Angharad smiled. "Your lord knows. He is waiting for you to surprise him, but he knows already."

"How?" Petra asked, astonished and a little uneasy.

"My lady, when a woman conceives a child, there are changes that happen to her body. Color changes in places a man would surely notice. Also, a colored line begins to show down the center of your belly. It is an unmistakable sign that a woman is carrying a child. Your husband has seen these changes in you. He knows." Angharad lowered her voice and leaned closer to the Teyrna. "He loves you very much, my lady. You bring him happiness he thought never to experience again.

"How—" Petra started to speak, but Angharad interrupted her.

"Look at your husband, Lady. Now." Angharad commanded softly.

Petra looked up in time to find her Fergus staring at her from the King's table. No woman could mistake the love and desire in his expression; and when their eyes met, he smiled before turning his attention to the King once more.

"Oh my!" Petra said, blushing, but then she smiled, her question as to how Angharad knew her secret forgotten.

Angharad turned her attention to her meal and the conversation to lighter things. Angharad promised the Teyrna more soap and the recipe for making it. She also promised the Teyrna a list of herbs that would protect her pregnancy.

Soon the food was cleared, save the wine, ale and cider, and the Queen's musicians began to play. Alistair and Anora came down to lead the dancing, beginning with the Pavane. The lords and ladies of the court formed sets for the dance. Fergus came to claim his wife and Angharad watched with pleasure as everyone took their places and began the stately steps. Angharad watched the King and Queen dance together.

It was strange. Angharad saw that there was no love between them, but neither were they enemies. She expanded her consciousness to try and get a feel for their relationship. Not lovers. Not truly friends. Partners. That was it. Partners with a common interest. She thought. In time, friends, perhaps. But not yet, not yet.

Angharad happened to catch the King as he glanced toward her table. The expression on his face was that of a man interested in a woman. Angharad turned to see whom the King favored. Angharad realized that it was Nona who drew his admiring glance. Nona was engaged is conversation with another young woman so perhaps it was she who drew Alistair's attention, but Angharad doubted it. Angharad got up from her place at the table and started to sit down by Nona, but she was intercepted by Rywik.

"Care to dance?" He asked, taking her by the elbow and leading her away.

"Except for the Carole and some country dances, I am afraid I do not know how. It is not a part of the competences one needs as a servant girl."

"Then let us walk a bit and observe our fellow sentient beings." Rywik replied, indicating the way forward toward the far end of the hall.

Without looking directly at Rywik, Angharad asked, "What do you know about my friend and the King that you have not yet told me?"

"Not much. Not yet. But I have hope for them. They are good for one another."

Angharad used all her control not to stop and face him. "It may be good for the King, but how is it good for Nona? She is the one who will be discarded, not your king."

"I can assure you, Angharad that what you fear will not come to pass. Alistair is a good and just man. He would never treat a woman so, particularly one he was fond of. You will see." They continued around the room, walking too quickly for others to pick up more than a word or two of their conversation.

"And if Alistair does not live up to your expectation of him, what then of my friend?" They had reached the back of the hall and turned to walk the other side of the room. Angharad took the opportunity to glance at Rywik who seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Make provision for her yourself if you are concerned for her future," Rywik told her.

Angharad did stop at that point. "With what? Tell me, master. I have no fortune—"

"Yes you do."

"No, I do not."

"Yes you do!" Rywik insisted. "Angharad, I spoke with the exchequer. You have seventy-five sovereigns credited to your name. All you need do is produce that paper you have in your chest and as much or as little of that money will be turned over to you as you desire. And more is being deposited every month."

Angharad shrugged her shoulders and threw up her hands in bewilderment. "But how? Who?"

"Fifty sovereigns were put there by the Order for your use. It was waiting for you when you arrived. As for the rest? I suspect your cariad, Nathaniel, has been sending funds, but I could be mistaken," Rywik replied.

"Why would he not send the coin directly to me?"

Rywik grinned. "You are thinking like a peasant, Angharad. Nathaniel thinks like a noble. Sending coin is dangerous. It is tempting. It may be stolen along the way. Nathaniel knows that he can take coin to his post's exchequer and give them the coin. His exchequer sends a document to ours promising that amount of coin minus a small fee for the two of them and our exchequer gives you the balance. At some point during the year whichever treasurer owes the other more will actually exchange the balance in gold. Until then, it is all on paper." Rywik laughed. "I doubt it even occurred to Nathaniel that you would not know about these things. He has grown up with them."

Angharad shook her head. "We have gone off point, Rywik. What about Nona?"

"Angharad, trust in your friend's good sense. Nona is a survivor. She is an intelligent, clever, worldly woman who is also honest and loving. She is no victim. Nona will do well."

Angharad was about to argue with Rywik when suddenly her vision went dark with a pinpoint of light in the distance, as the light grew closer, it grew larger. She looked around. Suddenly her perspective was no longer from the floor of the hall. She now saw the great hall from above. The music was very loud. Angharad turned to find that she was near the musicians but not with them. Angharad made herself look down at her hands. Gloves? Not just gloves, but the sort Nathaniel wore with his armor. Armor but not guard armor. Then she was merely watching from within as someone drew the string on a crossbow with her / their feet. As the crossbow was drawn up, Angharad was looking at the dancers from above, the dancers, the dancer, the crown, the queen, The Queen!

Angharad forced herself back to her own perspective and began to move forward through the crowd watching the dancing. She looked up, trying to figure out where the Sight had come from and realized that it was the musician's loft up and to her left as she moved forward. Angharad looked over her left shoulder and caught the glint of metal gleaming from a shadowed space in the loft.

"WARE! ARMS! To the Queen, to the Queen!" She yelled, trying to reach the Queen, but she was too late for Alistair had already pushed the Queen to the floor as the quarrel whizzed by her by inches and embedded in the wooden trim beyond. Alistair was already drawing the only weapon he had, a large ceremonial knife at his waist.

Dancers scattered everywhere. Men yelled and women screamed. The guards moved forward toward the royal couple.

"The Loft!" Angharad cried out, but she scanned the crowd for other assailants. Nathaniel had taught her that a professional assassination often involved more than one assassin. She saw a woman moving through the crowd, not away from the danger, but toward it and in her hands were knives. Angharad started after her but just before she could engage the woman with her blade, both of them were blasted into the air and then to the ground by a wave of pure energy. Angharad struggled to her feet, looking for the mage who had cast the spell. She spotted another woman, this one dressed in a robe of power. But the mage was trapped in some sort of spell that held her upright. The mage screamed as though invisible force were pushing on all sides of her body. Angharad saw blood begin to run from the mage's nose and mouth. She stopped screaming.

Angharad looked for the woman with the knives. A shimmer of light warned Angharad that the woman was stealthed. Angharad dropped to the floor and rolled as best she could, hampered by her dress. It was enough so that the assassin missed the backstab she meant to administer to Angharad. But she was more than ready when Angharad managed to get back on her feet. She quickly unsheathed her own knife to face her opponent, but she saw blue energy begin to gather around the woman.

The assassin felt it as well, for she suddenly threw her left hand blade at Angharad. Angharad managed to move quickly enough so that she only took a nasty cut to her right cheek. Fortunate, for the blade had been aimed for her throat. Angharad watched in horrific fascination as the blue stream of energy sucked the life force out of the woman's body.

Angharad looked around the room. There had been three, no, four assassins. One lay dead at Alistair's feet, neatly dispatched by the King's dinner knife. The mage lay in a crumpled heap across the hall. The woman was dead as well, drained dry, a desiccated husk. "Where's the bowman?" Angharad exclaimed, the adrenaline causing her almost to shout.

Rywik pointed to a bloody splash on the wall in the musician's loft. "There's what is left of the bowman," He told her. "No threat any longer." Rywik was near Angharad now, taking her face in his hands, turning her head so that he could see the cut. He began to murmur arcane words of healing under his breath and the power began to flow from him to her. Angharad could feel a strange sensation in her cheek. Not heat, not cold, but something else, and after a moment, it itched. Angharad recognized that feeling. It was the itch of new healing flesh. Rywik ceased his incantation, but he before he dropped his hands, he said, "Nathaniel would have been very proud of you this night, Angharad."

Then he moved to Alistair and the Queen. Alistair was already helping Anora to her feet. "Any wounds?" He asked the Queen.

"Only my bottom," Anora said calmly. "I doubt that a bruise on the arse requires healing."

Alistair, in a voice that carried the hall said. "Guards. No one leaves the palace, see to it now. Cover all exits. Run." Men from the palace guard took off double time to carry out the King's orders. Then Alistair knelt beside the body of the assassin he'd run through with his dinner knife. Rywik did as well. Alistair said to his friend. "Antivan Crows by the look. That means someone with enough coin to afford Crows."

"Orlesians, Someone in the Free Marches who isn't happy with the raiding wars?"

Angharad shook her head. "No, your Majesty. This is something more personal. You were wise to seal off your entrances. Let us hope that whoever paid for this wanted to stay and watch. Call everyone into the hall, everyone who has enough money to hire such assassins."

Anora was about to call Angharad to task for her impertinence, but Rywik said, sotto voce, "Anora, she's good at this. Let her try before this whole thing gets out of hand." Alistair caught Anora's eye as well and nodded.

Angharad knew nothing of this for she was already scanning the room in her mind, lowering the barriers between herself and others, hearing the whispers, the murmurs, experiencing the feelings. Curious, curious most were simply curious, watching, interested, not involved, entertained. Angharad felt a little shaky, she was burning energy at a fast rate. Then, she felt power flowing to her and recognized Rywik's essence in the stream of energy. As she walked around the hall, weaving in and out of the people, she felt, and heard and tasted their essences. Through her eyes she sought their auras. Curious, curious, interested, entertained, sad, sad dark, sad so dark. Angharad turned toward the source of the darkness. People hurried to get out of Angharad's path as she moved closer to the source.

Finally, she stood in front of an older woman, dressed in a fine gown, wearing beautiful jewelry. The finery could not disguise her pain, her anger and her madness. Angharad pushed open the door in the woman's soul that she was trying to keep closed. Angharad stepped inside. She was standing in the courtyard of a keep that had been fired, all around her things burned, people screamed and ran. Everywhere there were soldiers wearing the Gwaren colors, bearing the Gwaren standard. Angharad saw a man, a girl and a boy being dragged into the courtyard. The man was dressed in armor, but sorely wounded. The lad, about thirteen, had a knife which was easily knocked from his hand. The little girl was younger, picked up and carried by one of the men at arms.

"You dare to defy King Loghain?" Someone shouted in her ear. Angharad tried to struggle but was being held by two soldiers. "This is what happens when you turn on your master." Angharad watched in horror as the man was executed with a sword. His was a quick death. The boy and the girl were not so lucky. Angharad watched, sickened as their clothing was stripped away, she turned her head but could not stop the sound of the screaming from reaching her. Then, she felt her hair being pulled back at the same time she was being lifted off her feet by rough hands. Angharad pulled back, unable to witness further. Instead she looked at the woman with deep compassion.

"Come with me, lady." Angharad said. "Do not try to harm her further. All that is left to you is bear witness to the truth."

The woman nodded as the tears rolled down her face. Rywik came to Angharad's side. "We need privacy. This is not something the Queen will want the entire company to hear."

Rywik spoke to Alistair who announced. "The Queen and I will withdraw for a few moments lords and ladies. I suggest you use the time to find somewhere to sleep." Alistair smiled as everyone tried to effect a nonchalant withdrawal from the hall as those who did not already have quarters went to speak with the castellan regarding a bed.

"To the guards, Alistair said, "Bind the woman's hands." He then had the guard escort the woman to a private room with a sturdy door.

"Wait outside." Alistair told the guards as he and Rywik took the woman into the room.

Angharad hesitated outside the door but Anora turned to her and said, "Messer, inside. I believe we'll have need of you."

The woman looked at the Queen. Angharad expected to feel hatred from her for the Queen, but there was nothing. Anora was merely the symbol that had to be destroyed. Nothing more, nothing less.

Angharad knelt by the woman that Alistair and Rywik had seated in an armless chair. "Tell them, Kyra. Testify to the truth so that you may go to the Maker's side in peace. Be a witness for their suffering."

The woman's eyes travelled from Angharad's face to Anora's. "My name is Kyra Illiuan. My husband was Bann Johanes, loyal vassal to Redcliffe and Highever…." Angharad watched Anora carefully as Kyra told the tale of her families' destruction and degradation. Whatever Anora felt, it did not show either in her face or her body language. Years of being at Court had trained Anora to hide everything.

"….I sold all that I had, all that was left to purchase the Crows. I meant to take from the Queen's father everything important that had been taken from me," Kyra finished.

Anora ignored the woman and looked to Alistair. "So. No Orlesian plot, no Free Marcher lords hoping to gain from my death. Just a sad and silly woman who thought to kill me in revenge for my dead father's crimes."

A look passed between Alistair and Anora. Alistair opened the door and called in the guards. "Take this woman outside to the punishment yard and execute her. Make it quick. She has suffered enough."

As the guards moved to take Kyra, she reached out to Angharad with her bound hands. "Messer. Will I be with them again? Will they be well?" She sobbed.

Angharad shook her head, fighting back tears. "I know not, Kyra, but I promise you, your pain will end. It is over."

Kyra's eyes met Angharad's and she nodded, rising from the chair and walking with dignity between the soldiers and out of the room. Angharad bit her lips to keep back the tears.

"Come." Anora said, as she walked out the door and into the hall. "We must return to the hall and assure the company that the situation has been resolved."

Angharad followed the others to the hall but held back before entering. She began to tremble as the terrible things the woman had suffered caught up to her and tore her heart open in sorrow. Suddenly there were warm arms around her and a familiar shoulder to lean on. "You mustn't grieve for her, little bird, her pain has truly ended now. She is at peace."

"It isn't fair, Rywick. It isn't fair."

"It never is, Angharad. Sometimes it's damned unjust," He told her, continuing to hold her until he felt Angharad draw away. He stepped back and dropped his arms.

"Thank you," Angharad said, strong enough now to enter the hall.

Angharad returned to the Teyrn's retinue to offer the Teyrna her bedroom for the evening. Angharad started to speak but everyone just kept staring at her. "What? What is wrong?"

Nona came up to her friend, smiling. "Your cheek cher amie, your cheek. There is no scar. None. Neither a new scar nor an old one. It is gone." Nona hugged her. "How brave you were tonight!"

Angharad's hand slipped up to her face. The thin groove that had travelled her cheek for all these years was absent. There was only the feel of unblemished skin. Forcing herself back to the business at hand, Angharad turned to the Teyrna. "My lady, Nona and I have ample quarters that we might share with you and your ladies tonight."

Fergus Cousland walked up at this moment. He kissed his lady's cheek. "Go with her my love. The King has called an immediate council. I doubt I shall see rest before dawn." The Teyrn bowed his head to Angharad. "You are a credit to Amaranthine, messer."

Angharad curtsied. "Thank you, my lord. Come, my lady," Angharad said to the Teyrna, "Let us depart this madhouse and seek some peace."

Chattering among themselves, the ladies quit the hall.

Chapter Fifteen

New Recruit

Nathaniel and his team had just returned from a bloody patrol. As they sat in the weapons room, repairing and re-edging weapons, repairing salvageable arrows and making new ones, the team joked and heckled one another about the mission. Pætur, Javier, Logan and Moshe were teasing Eneko, Mykyta, Hanzah and Lilou about ending up in a mud hole. They'd been moving forward toward their target on a moonless night, and the ridge line Lilou, Mykyta and the others had been following gave way causing them all to slide down into the stream below, with the resultant splashing. They'd been forced to regroup and lost the element of surprise, but they'd managed to complete the mission without serious casualties. The unfortunates had spent that entire fight loaded down with about five pounds each of extra mud caked from head to toe.

"I tell you, Lilou, the mud brings out the color of your eyes. You should wear it more often!" Pætur teased. "Hanzah though just looks sad in brown."

"Shut-up, Pætur." Moshe said as he ran the wet stone expertly down his blade. "I am sick of mud in any form; and once I sharpen this knife, I plan to go the inn, get a bath, and get drunk. Anyone wants to come, fine by me."

"Ayah." Logan nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Nathaniel walked into the weapons room and his squad rose, but before they could snap to attention, he waved them back down. "At ease. You will be pleased to know that you have a 48 hour liberty, beginning now. Enjoy, all of you. I expect to see nothing of you until two days hence. Please get your ruddy arses out of my weapons room and to the inns and taverns forthwith."

"Ayah." Lilou and the men rose, put the tools away, and hurried out of the room. Nathaniel watched them leave, satisfied that they were forging an excellent team. Nathaniel took their place as he tended to his own weapons. After examining his knives, however, he decided that one of the blades would need the attention of the blacksmith, so he rose and walked outside to the forge. He was in deep conversation with the smithy when one of the younger recruits came running up to him.

"Squad Captain?"

Nathaniel looked up from the blade.

"Messer, Warden Commander wishes to see you in his office, messer."

"Thank you, recruit," Nathaniel said, rising to his feet.

Nathaniel walked to Stroud's office. He knocked on the closed door.

"Enter."

Nathaniel snapped to attention. "You wanted to see me Commander?"

Stroud looked up and smiled. "Sit, Squad Captain." He waited until Nathaniel got comfortable. "Nathaniel, I know how hard you have worked to achieve an excellent synergy with your team. I am afraid I must ask you to upset that balance, at least for a time."

Nathaniel stiffened but said nothing. He needed more information before he could make a reasoned protest.

"As you know, I led a team into the Deep Roads north of Kirkwall recently. With the darkspawn beaten back for a time, thanks to the Hero of Ferelden and to Etienne Caron and you, we thought it an excellent time to explore the Deep Roads further, add to our maps and try to go deeper. We were perhaps a half day from the surface when an old comrade of yours caught up to us. The mage, Anders, along with three other companions approached us. One of their companions, a young man, had been tainted, and Anders asked that we recruit him."

Nathaniel tried to keep his face still, but clearly some of his surprise showed through for Stroud said, "Yes, I know, not something I would ordinarily do. We do not recruit out of the pity. But the young man had held off the Blight for some days; Anders vouched for his prowess; and his sister, who appeared to be an apostate mage, assured me that he was worth saving. She and Anders were most persuasive; however, it was their family name that tipped the balance. The mage's companions kept referring to her as Hawke!"

Now Nathaniel did let his feelings show! "Hawke? As in Malcolm Hawke?"

Stroud nodded. "Although I could not be certain at the time, I subsequently discovered that the lad is indeed Malcolm Hawke's son. He does not have magic, but his sister is definitely a mage, and untainted."

"So; having a brother in the Wardens might be an incentive for her to help us in the event we need her magical abilities," Nathaniel reprised.

"Exactement! The young man survived the joining, even after being tainted for some days. That speaks to his constitution, Nathaniel. I want you to evaluate his skill and his temperament."

"Would it not be better to put him into a regular unit? Let the other wardens sort him out?" Nathaniel asked.

"Perhaps. But Carver Hawke was not born a Free Marcher, although his mother's blood is here. He comes from Lothering in Ferelden. You understand your countrymen better than I. Take his measure, see what his is made of, and we will decide how best to use him," Stroud ordered. "Dismissed, Squad Captain."

Nathaniel rose, saluted and left. He would have argued the issue with Etienne Caron, but Stroud was another matter. It was better to simply do your best with what he commanded you to do. Nathaniel walked across the yard to the infirmary. As he walked into the infirmary itself, the stench made Nathaniel think of how much they could learn from Angharad with regard to cleanliness and good wound healing. The men who were awake sat up a little straighter as Nathaniel came through the door. He already had a reputation as a brilliant field commander, and many of the wardens would have cut off an appendage to join his group.

Nathaniel found the surgeon and learned from him which sleeping man was Carver Hawke. "Is he fit for duty?" Nathaniel asked his caregiver.

"Light duty, Captain. He was very near death when he took the joining. Made it through, but he's still recovering his strength," The physician said.

"Very well. Dismissed," Nathaniel replied.

Nathaniel walked over to the bed where the young man was sleeping. Nathaniel decided the man couldn't be much more than twenty, if that. Dark haired, good features, well structured for a warrior. Nathaniel noted the strong shoulder muscles and the thick neck. The young man, for he was no longer a lad, was used to wearing heavy armor. So, he wielded either a sword and shield or a two-handed sword most likely. Scars on the man's arms indicated that he'd seen battle a time or two. Nathaniel also saw the fading signs of the taint. Clearly the joining potion and the man's own good strength was beating back the disease and holding it in check. Nathaniel did not wake him. That would wait until his squad was back from their liberty in town.

Nathaniel returned to the physician. "Can you keep him are until morndas? I would prefer to have him at leisure here in the infirmary rather than in the barracks."

"Yes, Captain. Of course. The two additional days will do him good."

"Very well, carry on. I'll be back for him soon."

Two days later, an hour before dawn, Nathaniel went back to the infirmary and once more stood next to Carver Hawke's cot. With a hard shove of his boot, he pushed Carver's cot over, dumping him on the ground at the same time he yelled, "Andraste's Ass, boy, what are you doing sleeping? Get yourself up and dressed on the double!" Nathaniel noted that the man was quick to respond. He was up on his feet and in fighting stance before he had truly even come awake. Once he was awake, the man snapped to attention. "Yes, Commander. Immediately, Commander."

"I'll be outside, sprog. Don't keep me waiting," Nathaniel growled.

Once Carver appeared at the door with his things in hand, Nathaniel walked him over to the squad barracks. His team was just rising. As he walked through the door, they snapped to attention. "Squad!" Nathaniel proclaimed. "This is our new sprog, Carver Hawke. May I remind you that as a sprog, he is the lowest of the low, the meanest of the mean and will be taught to overcome these deficiencies by you all so that someday we may address him as "warden." Nathaniel announced "Find him a bunk, and a chest and then get his lazy arse out on that practice yard in three minutes. All of you have been lying about with whores and strong drink and are useless to me in your present state. Let's work all that alcohol out of your systems and return you to the pristine state of darkspawn killers extraordinaire."

"Ayah!" The team shouted, coming to attention once more.

Nathaniel left the room and Mykyta turned to Carver and grinned. "Welcome to hell-all, Carver Hawke. May you enjoy your stay here." Mykyta pointed out the bunk farthest away from the door. "That's yours. Get your gear stowed and get out that door on the double. He'll flay you alive if you are late, sprog!"

Carver did as he was bid. He knew better than to show it, but this felt like coming home. He had been through boot camp in Cailan's army. He knew what to expect. He almost grinned.

As soon as everyone made it outside, Nathaniel called them to attention. Once they were all at attention, he started in on Carver. Nathaniel got right in his face and shouted. "Sprog! Why are you not in uniform?"

"Messer, this sprog does not have a uniform, messer." Carver said, taking care not to break attention and care not to look Nathaniel in the eye.

"What? You had two days to acquire a uniform. Did you think this a palace with servants who would bring you whatever you needed?" Nathaniel yelled in his face.

"Messer, no messer." Carver replied in a loud voice.

"Then you will give me ten pushups immediately sprog, and then you will procure yourself a uniform, is that understood?" Nathaniel shouted.

"Ayah, messer. Understood, messer." Carver replied, dropping to give his ten pushups, before running off to find the armorer.

Once Carver was out of earshot, Nathaniel signaled for the others to relax. "Dismissed. Go. Eat."

As they all sat down to eat their bread, cheese and ale, Nathaniel looked around the table at his squad. "Well, what do you think? Regular army perhaps?"

They all nodded. "He's been through the grinder before, I think," Logan said. "Where's he from?"

"Ferelden refugee, I'm told, but he's related to some family in Kirkwall," Nathaniel replied.

"Then it is obvious. He must have been at Ostagar," Moshe said.

"Why is that obvious?" Nathaniel asked as he tore off another piece of bread.

Moshe shrugged. "Simple. If he served Redcliffe or Gwaren, he'd still be in Ferelden or dead. No, I'll wager a silver that he was with Cailan at Ostagar."

"I'll take that wager," Javier said. "He may have deserted someone else's army."

"We shall see, "Moshe replied, he downed the rest of his ale, and stood up. "Time for practice."

Carver found the armorer who provided him with a uniform. Fortunately, it fit him well-enough. Even the standard issue boots would do for him. He was in the practice yard in plenty of time to satisfy the rest of the squad. Nathaniel watched him move through a set of exercises for a two handed-sword, some of which he'd seen before and some which were new to Nathaniel. After watching Carver for a while, he warmed up himself and then took a two-handed practice sword down from the weapons rack and threw a second one to the new recruit.

"Come, sprog. Show me what you're made of." Nathaniel brought his sword up. Carver advanced, his sword held in a high ready position—tricky unless one were very proficient with the weapon. Nathaniel tested. As fast as he was, the young man was faster. Nathaniel barely had time to counter before Carver brought a second attack, this one striking a good solid hit that would have wounded. "Ah, not so clumsy as I had feared, "Nathaniel shouted. "But surely you have more than that in you?"

Carver couldn't help it. He grinned. He'd just spent the past few months in the company of the best two-handed swordsman he'd ever known. Carver had watched, imitated and learned. In three swift moves he put Nathaniel on his back and had his own sword to the Captain's throat. He backed away, afraid that he'd angered the Squad Captain, but Nathaniel smiled broadly as he got to his feet.

"Andraste's Flaming Knickers, where did you learn that move?" Nathaniel asked his sprog.

"Messer, I learned it from an elf, messer," Carver replied.

Nathaniel's eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "An elf?"

"Messer, runaway slave from Tevinter, messer. Was a bodyguard to a Magister there." "He show you anything else, sprog?"

"Messer, I learned a few things watching him, messer." Carver replied.

Nathaniel laughed. "You'd better show me then." He said, bringing his sword up once more. As Nathaniel and Carver sparred, someone went to fetch the sword master, who asked to take Nathaniel's place in the yard. Others came to watch. Carver had a more difficult time with those whose weapon of choice was a two-handed sword, but he still bested most of the opponents. He began to look a little pale, and Nathaniel remembered that the man was still recovering from his joining. He called everyone in for a rest.

Carver gave him an unguarded smile.

"Don't look so happy, sprog. Everyone in my unit has to use a bow and arrow." Nathaniel said. "Better find one and start practicing. By the way, where did you serve before this?"

"Messer, I was in King Cailan's army, Messer. I was at Ostagar," Carver replied.

There was a cheer from Moshe who had just won his bet. "

Ah, by the time we managed to evade the darkspawn and get north, Lothering was under attack and I had to help my family flee."

"You and yours are lucky to be alive, Recruit Hawke. Few made it out alive from that battle." Nathaniel said.

In the weeks that followed, Nathaniel evaluated his new recruit. With the Blight having just ended a year or so ago, the darkspawn population was reduced, but not gone. The Wardens went out to patrol areas above ground where darkspawn had been sighted; or, if there had been no reports, into the Deep Roads to whittle on the darkspawn population and push them deeper underground. Carver fought well in every engagement. He was courageous in battle, but not foolhardy and he instinctively knew how to draw the enemies' attention to him while the rest of the team attacked from stealth and with artillery. He would, in truth, be the perfect Grey Warden were it not for the gigantic chip he carried on his shoulder.

Nathaniel recognized the cause. He was the eldest child with two younger siblings who had been forced to live up to Nathaniel's achievements. His sister had done well enough with the pressure, but Thomas, his brother had not. Though it was not Nathaniel's idea to be compared to his siblings, he still felt guilty every time Thomas had been called to account for not being as good as he was. Nathaniel listened to the talk between the squad without comment, until one evening at camp.

"I'm sitting here because of my sister." Carver said as they huddled around the light of the fire. "I came into the Deep Roads because of her."

Nathaniel had had enough. The man had been blaming his sister for just about everything, including bad weather. Nathaniel had been leaning against his bedroll, but he sat up. "Let me understand you. Your sister drugged you, tied you up and dragged you into the Deep Roads just so that you would become tainted."

Carver, startled that Nathaniel was even listening said, "No, of course not."

"Oh, then she had some terrible secret she held over your head and blackmailed you so that you were forced to come to the Roads?" Nathaniel asked in mock puzzlement.

Carver, realizing that his squad leader was rather put out with him, merely shook his head.

"Then why did you not tell your sister no?" Nathaniel asked. "What terrible thing did you sister do to you to make you go?"

Carver looked into the fire. "My mother wanted me to stay, but my sister said she needed me."

Nathaniel nodded. "That is terrible! Your sister valued your ability as a warrior so much that she told you she needed your talents on the expedition to the Deep Roads. Truly a heinous act on her part. But you could have declined. I am certain that your sister would have found someone else to go."

Carver was beginning to be a little peeved himself. "And your point, Messer?"

"My point, boy, is that for whatever reason, you chose to accompany your sister on the expedition into the Deep Roads. You chose. Blaming your sister for your misfortune is a child's ploy, not a man's. Men take responsibility for their action or inaction. They don't blame their unsatisfactory lives on someone else." Nathaniel looked Carver dead in the eye and said, "Instead of crying about how your sister made you do it, you should sit down and discern why you made yourself do it."

Nathaniel waited for Carver to explode. He had pushed pretty hard, and he knew that the younger man was angry. But to his surprise, Carver said, "I was looking for some way to step out of her shadow. My elder sister is a very talented, very bright woman who has been and always will be the best and brightest of our family. Her goal in going to the Deep Roads was to secure enough money to buy back our inheritance for our mother's sake. I wanted that too, not for the money, but so I could leave with a clear conscience that they were safe."

"And did you succeed in that goal?" Nathaniel asked. "Do your mother and sister now have the inheritance? Do they have enough money?"

Carter nodded. "Yes. Yes they do."

"And here you are, among people who have never met your sister, who do not know her name and will never compare you to her. I would say you achieved your goal. "So why are you complaining?" Nathaniel asked the younger man.

Carver thought about it for a moment, and then it seemed to dawn on him that what Nathaniel said was true. He grinned and chuckled softly. "I take you point, Messer."

"Good. You aren't as stupid as I'd feared," Nathaniel said. Then he looked about at everyone. "Let's turn in." Everyone crawled into their bedrolls and looked for sleep.

The remainder of the patrol went well, and Carver had reduced his complaining to a tolerable level. When they reached the outpost, Nathaniel reported to Stroud. After he'd given the standard information about approximate darkspawn killed, Stroud asked him about the new recruit.

"He'll do well enough. He's a fine swordsman, and a good soldier. He needs to get over not being his sister, but I think he'll manage that in time," Nathaniel reported.

"Do you want me to rotate him to another unit?" Stroud asked.

"I'll keep him, Messer. His combat skills are excellent, and growing up in a house full of mages, he has a healthy respect for their abilities without being panicked by them. I would suggest Templar training for him. It would be nice to have someone in the unit who could neutralize spell casters," Nathaniel said.

"Very well then. You may keep him, and we shall see about the Templar training in time," Stroud said. "Now, there is something else. I am sending you as an escort for a supply shipment for the Ferelden garrisons at the Vigil and Denerim. You will also shop for Ferelden goods that we cannot find here in the Marches. Finally you will return with a very important shipment. The Denerim garrison will send you back with a vial of the archdemon's blood."

Nathaniel's years of training kept him from reacting to this unexpected and wonderful news. "When do I leave, Messer?" Nathaniel asked, as nonchalantly as he could.

"In two weeks. You will leave from Kirkwall, travel to the Vigil and from there go to Denerim. You will need to secure your own passage back from the Denerim port," Stroud said. "Now, who do you want to command your squad while you are gone?"

"Pætur, Messer." Nathaniel replied. "He is very experienced, and a natural leader. This would be a good time to test his ability to command a squad."

"Very well. Make it so. You are dismissed, Squad Captain."

"Yes, Messer." Nathaniel left.

As he crossed the compound, he wanted to shout for joy! I'm going home! He thought. Angharad, I'm coming home.

Nathaniel wrote letters to Delilah and to Angharad letting them both know that he was going to be in Ferelden for a time.

-2-

In the weeks that followed the unsuccessful assassination attempt on the Queen, Angharad was the center of unwelcome attention from the nobles who had witnessed that event. Most of them were simply seeking an advantage; they wished to be able to claim that they knew the woman who had saved the Queen's life. Whatever their reasons, Angharad found herself invited to a number of houses in Denerim for various social events. When she sought council from Rywik regarding this phenomenon, his response had been, "You must do as you will, Angharad. I cannot be your social secretary too."

Help came from an unexpected place. Angharad was ordered to the Queen's apartments two days after the assassination attempt. When she arrived, she was shown into the privy chamber immediately. Anora was behind her desk. Although now in her early thirties, Anora ruthlessly maintained the figure of her youth through exercise and strict adherence to a limited amount of food. Daughter of the Hero of Riverdane, who was later executed for treason, Wife to the betrayed king and then wife to his half-brother, Anora had obtained and sustained her goal to rule Ferelden. It had not been without cost. She would never have children, and she would never again know the touch of a man's hand, for her second marriage was purely political by mutual consent.

When Angharad began to sink into a curtsy, Anora said, "I believe we can dispense with that formality in private, don't you? Sit, if you will, Angharad." Anora waited until Angharad sat down and said, "I haven't had the chance to thank you for saving my life. I also wanted to thank you for protecting my privacy in this matter."

"Your Majesty is quite welcome. I was glad to be of service to Your Grace."

"Yes. Well, I have sent a gift to your room as a token of my esteem," Anora replied, touching her finger tips together. "I notice that you have been the talk of the Court. How does it feel to be a celebrity?"

Angharad shook her head. "It is most uncomfortable, your Majesty. I come from humble stock. My parents were simple people. I know nothing of the nobility and its ways."

Anora stood up from her chair. "You would be amazed at how quickly one can assimilate. My father was a common man in his youth." Anora walked to the window of her apartment. "Before you decide that society is not for you, you should attend a few of the soirees first."

"I shall consider it, your Majesty," Angharad replied softly.

"I have one other question to ask you, Angharad. What can you tell me about your assistant, Nona du Lac?" Anora asked.

Angharad hesitated. She did not wish to betray her friend's confidence but she also did not wish to allow the Queen to form a poor impression. Finally, she said, "Nona is my friend. We met when I went to the Wending Wood to gather medicinal plants to replace those that had been destroyed at the Vigil during the siege. She was working at the camp, your Majesty."

"I see. And is she a sensible woman?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Nona is quite sensible. She was the mistress of an Orlesian noble for some years and understands the ways of Court life much more than I."

Anora nodded and turned around. "Then she will know enough to be discreet. Please tell your friend that while I do not care that my husband finds pleasure in another woman's bed, I should not like to see him hurt, nor should I like him to be subject to public scandal. The King is a good man, and I am rather fond of him." Before Angharad could reply, Anora added, "Thank you, Angharad. You may go."

Angharad rose and curtsied, "Thank you, your Majesty."

Angharad returned to her rooms. She wished she knew what Nona was up to with the King. Then again, perhaps it was better not to know. Angharad changed from the fancy dress she'd worn to attend to the queen to a simple one made of dusty blue wool. She walked back into the main room of her quarters and noticed that there was, indeed, a small chest sitting on the table. Angharad opened it to find twenty sovereigns and a thin gold filigree circlet for her hair. There was also a note in the Queen's own hand that said simply "Thank you." It was sealed with the royal seal.

There was a knock on her door. Angharad went and opened it to find one of the Palace Pages standing there. "Message for you Messer, from a man who said he would wait at the gate for an answer."

Angharad took one look at the handwriting on the note and went flying down the hallway. The Page had a difficult time keeping up as she ran past people as fast as her feet could carry her. Angharad's skirt kept getting in her way, so she held it up and began to run faster through the antechambers and foyer.

Finally she reached the exterior courtyard of the palace and sprinted across the flagstones at full speed. The guards watched her curiously, but saw that she bore no weapon, wore no armor, so they left her alone. Angharad was running so fast that she almost fell down the stairs that led to the lower terrace, but recovered, and sprinted across the drawbridge. She saw him then. "Nathaniel!" She screamed. "Nathaniel!"

He barely turned in time to catch her before she was in his arms, hugging him tight, crying on his shoulder, saying his name. Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair so that no one could see the tears in his own eyes. "Angharad." He whispered over and over as he held her close.

Finally, Angharad was calm enough to lean back in his arm and look at him. "How did you manage to come to Denerim, Nathaniel?"

"You didn't receive my letter? Angharad, I sent you a letter telling you I was coming! I brought supplies for the Ferelden garrison. Some of the things needed to be stored here in our outpost here in Denerim as well. I will purchase supplies that we cannot find in the Marches and return them to Kirkwall." Nathaniel told her, brushing back her hair from her face. "Ah, lady, it is good to see you so well."

"How long can you stay?" Angharad asked, touching his face to assure herself that he was truly real.

"Only a few days, anam cara. Long enough to purchase the supplies and see them loaded on the ship."

"I see." Angharad put on a brave face. "So, where are you staying?"

"I have a room at the Gnawed Noble Tavern."

"And why are we standing here?" She asked him with a smile.

"Because I need to pay the Page for finding you."

Angharad laughed at that. Nathaniel started to give the lad coin, but she said, "A little extra, please, love. "

To the Page she said, "Please tell Rywik that I shall not be in residence for a few days, but that he need not concern himself for my safety. And ask him to inform my friend, Nona."

"Yes, Messer," The lad said, going back through the palace gates.

Nathaniel kissed Angharad once more and then frowned. He ran his hand over her cheek. "Angharad. Your scar. It is gone," He said softly.

Angharad nodded.

"But how?"

"A long story, Nathaniel. And one I would prefer not to relay in public." She told him softly.

"Very well."

Angharad and Nathaniel walked arm in arm from the palace district to the markets and the tavern. Nathaniel ordered a bottle of wine and one of hard cider to take back to the room from the barkeep, and they went down the hall to his room in the Gnawed Noble.

Once inside the room, Nathaniel turned to set the bottles down on the table. When he turned round again, Angharad was already out of her woolen surcotte and was drawing her chemise over her head. Nathaniel came close and ran his hand slowly down her naked hip. He started to say something, but she covered his mouth with hers as she kissed him. All coherent thought left him as Angharad began to remove his clothing, kissing him in between each garment, caressing him as she uncovered another part of his body. She was down to his pants and boots, when he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Angharad watched him with pleasure as he removed the last of his clothing. Holding out her arms to him, she sighed in contentment as he lay beside her.

There was little love play between them. Both needed the reassurance of the act itself. Nathaniel entered her quickly, possessed her with great passion but little finesse. Angharad welcomed his eagerness, though it was painful at first. She understood his need of her, for it was her own need as well. They assaulted one another, in a desperate need to reunite and become one again. Tears of happiness ran down her face as she held him in her arms.

Once Nathaniel could speak, he said "I hurt you. I am sorry, anwylaf." He rolled off her body and lay next to her, trying to regain his breath.

Angharad raised up on her elbow so that she could see his expression. "I don't care about that Nathaniel. I only care that you are here with me." She kissed his shoulder.

Nathaniel stroked her now unblemished cheek and said, "Tell me about this."

Angharad told him about the assassination attempt on Anora, her part in stopping it, and the injury she sustained. "Rywik used healing magic."

"Maker's Breath! Angharad, why were you so reckless? Antivan Crows are the most vicious assassins in Thedas."

"I did not know they were Antivan Crows, Nathaniel. I only knew the Queen was in danger." "If I had known you were going to act as the Queen's bodyguard, I would never have taught you those tricks." He said, touching her cheek once more.

"Nathaniel, you aren't upset that Rywik removed the scar are you?"

"No. You were beautiful with the scar. You are beautiful without it, my love."

Angharad kissed him and nestled into his arms. She felt Nathaniel relax into sleep. Angharad signed contentedly and drifted off as well.

Nathaniel woke a short time later and renewed his acquaintance with Angharad's lovely body. This time he took great care to tease and caress her into a ardent state of readiness, something he loved to do. Angharad with strangers or when in company, was cool and reserved. In his arms, the in the privacy of their love making she became as wanton and wild as any man could dream of. She gave herself over to him completely when they made love, eager for his touch, eager to touch him. He loved to see her skin flush from pearl white to pale rose red when she was in the throes of passion. He loved it now as she made a soft sound and arched into him. Nathaniel cupped her hips and thrust deep, holding still so that he could feel her release. Nathaniel waited as long as he could and then he took his own pleasure for a second time. For the rest of the night they rested, made love and then slept again.

At dawn, Nathaniel woke with a start. He sensed rather than heard the presence of someone else in the room. He pulled a knife from under the straw mattress on which he and Angharad lay. He turned his head at the same time he readied the knife in his hand. As he slowly sat up, he found an elf standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in leathers and carrying a staff. Nathaniel saw the tattoos around the elf's eyes and knew who it was. About that time, the elf brought a finger to his lips, and motioned Nathaniel to follow him. He turned and left the bedroom. Nathaniel pulled on his clothes. He strapped on his daggers as well.

Nathaniel stepped into the small sitting room to find Rywik waiting there. "Rywik Surana, I presume. What brings you uninvited to my room? Is it for the same reason that you went into my father's house?"

"I did not come to kill you, Squad Captain. I came to discuss ein aderyn hardd." Rywik said, keeping his voice calm. He did not mistake Nathaniel's stillness for relaxation nor ease. On the contrary, it was only Nathaniel's innate good sense that kept him from launching himself at Rywik and Rywik knew it. He did not want to have to kill Nathaniel, but kill him he would if needed.

"Nathaniel, I am here, not as your father's killer, but as a fellow Grey Warden. In the name of our Order, I ask that you hear me out."

"What about Angharad?" Nathaniel asked nodding his head toward the door.

Rywik shook his head. "I cast a sleep spell on our little bird. She will not waken for some time." Rywik saw Nathaniel tense. "It will not harm her, Nathaniel. I seek to protect her, not harm her."

"Speak your mind, then mage. And then be out of here." Nathaniel hissed.

Rywik smiled. "You forgot elf! The insults work better in combination. I prefer mage elf myself but you may reverse the order if it rolls off your tongue more easily." He studied Nathaniel's face for a moment and then said, "I see that she was correct. You have no sense of humor. Very well, then, on to business." Rywik sat down on one of the chairs.

"When Etienne told me of Angharad, "Rywik began, "I agreed to train her gift for two reasons: Firstly, because the order needs healers; secondly, because I have never known a true Seer who was not also a mage. Therefore, I had to meet Angharad in person so that I could learn for myself what she truly was."

Nathaniel did relax a little then and took a chair opposite Rywik.

"When I met her—no when I examined her—I found no indication that she had ever cast a spell nor knew of any. But Nathaniel, the mana that she can command, that she can draw upon, is quite extraordinary. The question was always why? Why has she never drawn on the mana to change the reality around her?"

Rywik stood up and began to pace. "I could not answer that question in the beginning, so I worked to help her control her ability to see the future, to cease to fear it. It took some time, but Angharad became comfortable with her gift. It is no longer a wild unruly talent but a well-honed skill. However, in training her Sight, I think I opened a door in her that was securely locked a very long time ago."

"Angharad has told you of the assassination attempt?" Before Nathaniel could answer Rywik continued, "Of course she has. You noticed her face. She told you how she came to be healed. Well, certainly she informed you that I cast a spell or two."

Rywik's eyebrows rose a little. "What she does not realize is that I did not cast the last spell, if it could be called a true spell. No, Angharad used pure mana to completely drain her opponent's life force away. She used her power as an infant does, without form, without conscious purpose. She thought it was my doing. It was not. Angharad does not realize that she is what she is, Nathaniel. But she is a mage."

Nathaniel leaned forward. "I don't understand. I thought all mages displayed involuntary expressions of their power as babies."

Rywik nodded his head and then shrugged his shoulders. "I am certain that Angharad did as well. I am equally certain that her parents, in an attempt to keep her from the Circle and the Templars, rigorously worked to suppress in their daughter any expression of magic she displayed as an infant and small child. Not cruelly mind you, but much as one trains a child not to bite her fellows or wet her small clothes."

Rywik sat back down again. "It is no wonder that her parents chose to travel the road instead of settle in one community. It would have been much easier to hide Angharad's ability until they had taught her to suppress her talents. But they could not suppress everything. Her gift for scrying and the sight broke through from time to time. And now, Nathaniel we are here. The lock on her talent is broken, the door is opening, and soon every Fade creature in the universe will be aware of her."

Rywik leaned forward "Make no mistake, Nathaniel. This is a most dangerous time for her. I must make Angharad confront the reality of her situation; I must teach her how to use her ability; and Maker willing, if she does not fall to a demon during that time; I must harrow her."

"What is that? How will you harrow her?" Nathaniel asked.

"The Wardens are not the only organization with secret ceremonies and trials, Nathaniel. Every Circle mage must pass and life or death trial at the end of his or her apprenticeship. The test is always the same; and in this instance, I will be the one to administer it. I will capture a demon in the Fade, and then, through the use of a great deal of lyrium, I will send Angharad through to either defeat the demon or to succumb to it."

In an instant, Nathaniel's right hand was around Rywik's throat. He leaned in, "You would do that to her?" In the very next instant Nathaniel found himself colliding with the wall so hard that he saw stars. Rywik stood up and walked over to Nathaniel.

"You should know better, Nathaniel. I really did defeat an archdemon, you know." Rywik told the other man. He held out his hand. After a long moment, Nathaniel took hold, and Rywik pulled him up onto his feet.

"Now. Where were we? Ah," Rywik murmured, "Yes, I would do that to her. Better for her and for everyone else. If she fails the test, Nathaniel, she becomes an abomination. It is better that her first attempt be in a controlled environment with someone there competent to strike the killing blow quickly rather than have her trapped in her own body with a demon in control. If you get the chance, ask Anders what that is like. He knows."

Horror filled Nathaniel's eyes. He'd killed abominations himself in the course of his duties. It had not occurred to him that a person was trapped inside that deformed body along with a demon."Oh Maker! Why are you telling me this?" Nathaniel asked.

"You love her, Nathaniel. And she loves you. She trusts you as no other person alive, and you must help me convince her to stay here, in Denerim instead of leaving with you. Which is what she most wants to do."

For the first time that morning, Rywik allowed his compassion for Nathaniel's situation to show. "You want her to live? You leave her behind; and, you leave her behind with no guarantee that things will be the same between you."

Nathaniel stroked his unshaven jaw as he considered Rywik's words. He didn't need the lecture on how Angharad might change. He knew all too well that people changed. His father had changed into something unrecognizable. "How do I know you are telling me the truth?"

"Don't be an ass, Nathaniel. You know damn well I'm telling you the truth!" Rywik cocked his head to one side. "Ah, I think our beautiful bird is rising. Good morrow, aderyn hardd."

Angharad appeared in the doorway, dressed in her chemise, her hair unbound and falling over her left shoulder. "I'm not a bird. Why are you here, Rywik?" Angharad did not ask how he had found her. He was almost as capable as she of finding lost things.

"Warden business. Court business. Does it matter? Nathaniel has leave to come to the Palace from both the King and the Queen." Rywik took a sealed document from his robe and gave it to Nathaniel. "I have some supplies he will take back to the Marches. Forty-eight hours, Squad Captain. Be at the palace."

Rywik left the room.

§-§

(Author's note: My thanks to the brilliant author, Stephen King, who in his book Firestarter demonstrates quite well how societal taboos are built in babies and toddlers and how they may be overcome. It's a great read BTW.)

Chapter Sixteen

Choices

For the next two days, Nathaniel and Angharad roamed the City of Denerim by day, seeing all the sights, walking and talking about inconsequential things, eating at whatever tavern they happened upon, haggling in the marketplace and just simply being together. In the afternoons, they went back to the Gnawed Noble Tavern, ate a meal together and spent the evenings enjoying a bath before bed. The constant bathing was something of a scandal at the Gnawed Noble; the maids and servant men gossiped about it as they heated the water in the kitchen.

For two days, Angharad and Nathaniel had the luxury of feeling like an old married couple. It was fine. There was little that Nathaniel could share with Angharad about his duties as a Warden, and little that Angharad could share about her time at Court. But they could share the small decisions of what to buy and where to go for this short time.

In their two days together, Nathaniel realized that the changes had already begun in Angharad. She was less shy among strangers. She was surer of her opinions and desires, and it was clear from their conversations together than Rywik was giving her an education in the classics as well. She was reading great philosophers, histories, and mathematical treatises. As they ate meals together, Nathaniel found himself hard pressed to argue a point he was attempting to make, because Angharad had read the counter argument and was presenting it well. The peasant girl was no longer ignorant. Angharad was growing into her full capabilities in more ways than one. She was already proficient in at least three languages, Common Tongue, Orlesian from her mother, and her father's Avaaran dialect. Rywik was adding Tevinter as well. Nathaniel in no way found this threatening. He grew up with an intelligent, educated mother and sister. It was enjoyable to be able to present an idea and argue it capably with a beautiful woman. Nathaniel was only sad that he had not been around to see it all in progress.

Angharad found Nathaniel to be warm, loving, lusty and eager to be with her. But she also felt an undertone of sadness as well. Angharad was tempted to probe Nathaniel's thoughts and feelings as she used to do, but Rywik had taught her how to keep from invading another person's privacy in such a fashion. He'd also explained that entering someone's mind and emotions without permission was akin to physical violence and just as dangerous. Angharad did not want to hurt Nathaniel in any way.

Rywik had taken the time to have some of Angharad's things sent along to the tavern. It was a gesture that Angharad appreciated. Angharad dressed in the prettiest gowns he'd sent, eager to have Nathaniel see her at her best. When he gazed on her with frank and open appreciation of her appearance, she was more than happy. But always his look of admiration would fade, replaced by an expression of grief, held firmly in check by long training in the disciplines of politics and martial arts that demanded a tight rein on feelings. Finally, Angharad could stand it no longer. As they ate supper together on the second night, Angharad finally gathered the courage to ask Nathaniel what was wrong.

"I will miss you, Angharad. I am sad to leave you." He replied as he sipped from his wine.

"Why do we have to be parted, then?" Angharad responded. "Rywik has taught me everything he knows about the Sight, and everything he knows about herb lore. What is left for me to learn from him? I want to go with you to the Free Marches. I can do some good there. Surely your commander would welcome another healer."

"No." Nathaniel said.

"Which is it Nathaniel? No, the Commander would not welcome a healer, or no, I cannot come with you? Which?" Angharad asked him, troubled by the closed expression on his face.

"You may not come with me, Angharad. You must remain in Denerim until the First Warden gives you leave to depart for wherever he may wish for you to go. Tomorrow we return to the palace, and Rywik will no doubt have the supplies that I need to take with me ready. Denerim has a number of ships ready to sail for Kirkwall. I will have no difficulty in booking passage immediately."

"But what about us?" Angharad asked softly, her heart in her eyes.

Nathaniel looked from her face to his cup. His jaw tightened a little and his expression grew grim. "Our relationship must come second to our duty, Angharad. Or at least my feelings must come second to my duty to the Wardens." Nathaniel's eyes met hers once more. His expression was closed. "You know this, Angharad. I told you this a long time ago. I am a Warden first. My first duty is to the Order. Always."

Angharad put her hand over his two on the wine cup. She was careful not to intrude, careful to leave him his own thoughts. "Yes, my love. I remember. I will trouble you no more."

Nathaniel did not look up. He did not want Angharad to see the pain in his eyes. "Let us go to our room." He said rising from the table.

Without speaking, Angharad followed him.

Nathaniel made love to Angharad with a fierceness he had not expressed since they had been reunited three days ago. As he lay in her arms, Angharad pleaded, "Nathaniel, what is it? Why are you so sad?"

He whispered in her ear, "I thought you could tell everything about me, anam cara."

She pushed his damp hair away from his face. "I've learned how not to do that, Nathaniel. It would be wrong of me to intrude on your private self, now I have the skill to prevent intruding." Angharad kissed his cheekbone, his forehead, his jaw, his mouth and then leaned away from him. "I don't need the Sight to know how sad you are this night. Any woman who loves a man learns to read his moods."

Nathaniel turned on his side so that he could look into her eyes. "Is leaving you not reason enough to be sad?" He asked her quietly.

Angharad smiled and touched the whiskers he wore on his chin. "You've left me before, Nathaniel. This is different somehow. We both know that."

Nathaniel nodded his head once. "Yes. But I am not at liberty to discuss it with you. So ask me no more and save me the sin of lying to you."

Angharad snuggled closer to him and kissed his chest. "Very well. No more questions. Just hold me, Nate."

Nathaniel pulled her close and they lay together, the sound of their breathing the only sound passing between them. In the morning they dressed quietly and packed their things. After a quick meal of bread, cheese and ale, they walked together to the palace district and across the drawbridge to the palace gates. Nathaniel presented his papers to the guards. Angharad had no need to do so, for she was well known by the castle staff. There were no instructions waiting for Nathaniel at the gate as to where he was to attend the King, so Angharad took him up to the private quarters to the space that she and Nona shared.

Nona greeted Nathaniel with a squeal of delight, a very enthusiastic hug and a kiss on each cheek. In rapid Orlesian she proclaimed her delight in seeing him, how well he looked, how handsome he was. Then she began to bombard him with questions about the length of his stay. Nathaniel's main response was a plea for her to slow down.

Finally, Nona was calm enough to revert to Common Tongue. "Nathaniel. You are leaving so soon?" She said after having ascertained that he was here to say farewell. "Why do they send you so far away?"

"C'est ainsi, Nona." Nathaniel replied. He shrugged in a very good imitation of Etienne Caron. "C'est la vie."

"Assez vrai, Nathaniel," Nona replied.

"So, Nona, what is going on with you?" Nathaniel asked.

Nona gave Nathaniel a very wicked smile. "More than you may guess, Nathaniel. "And more than I am willing to tell."

"Being naughty are we?" Nathaniel teased. "I understand that the King is rather fond of naughty."

"Nathaniel, I am shocked! You are making a joke, yes?" Nona retorted, laughing.

Nathaniel smiled. "My mistake. It was beautiful and charming brunettes that the King is fond of."

"You are the naughty one, Nathaniel." Nona responded sternly, but the smile on her face gave her away. She was about to say more when there was a knock on the door.

Nona opened it to a Page who presented a note for Nathaniel.

Nathaniel broke the royal seal and unfolded the paper. He read the note, gave the Page a coin and said, "Please tell his Majesty that we shall be there immediately."

The Page left and Nathaniel turned to Angharad. "It seems you and I are to go forthwith to the west parloir. Do you know where that is, Angharad?"

"Yes. Leave your things, here Nathaniel. We'll return for them."

"Farewell, Nona," Nathaniel said.

"Take care, my friend," Nona replied.

Nathaniel tucked Angharad's arm through his and they walked together down the long halls, the two staircases and across the length of the palace to the west parloir. Angharad found it odd that Nathaniel was being summoned to appear there as the west rooms were seldom used. As they crossed from east to west, the crowds thinned out until there were only guards and a few servants.

Nathaniel noticed the lack of people as well and suddenly wished he had more than just his boot knife. There was a guard on that did indeed open the huge doors as they approached, but there was no major domo to announce them and no people inside except for Rywik and the King.

Angharad felt the muscles tense in Nathaniel's arm though his face betrayed nothing.

Alistair was on the dais, dressed in Templar Armor, his sword and shield strapped to his back. Rywik stood to the King's left. He wore a robe of power and a mage's hood, something he seldom did, for the only thing he hated more than robes were the stupid hoods that went with them. He too, was armed with a staff that glowed. Nathaniel instinctively stepped slightly ahead of Angharad and pushed her to his left, out of the way of his main hand and Rywik's line of attack. He felt something cold on his back and realized that Angharad had just slipped a knife into the slit made in his clothing for just such a hidden weapon.

Nathaniel bowed returning to an upright stance as quickly as possible. Angharad curtsied. "Your Majesty." They said, almost in unison.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "So you are Rendon Howe's oldest child."

Before Nathaniel could say anything, Rywik drew a glyph of paralysis, freezing Nathaniel to the spot where he stood. Then, with his staff, he let loose three powerful bursts of energy that slammed into Nathaniel's body. Angharad could hear a bone crack. She screamed and ran for Rywik, but with an almost negligent wave of his hand, he cast Angharad to one side while walking up to Nathaniel. Nathaniel was still paralyzed and in agony from the broken left arm, but he was aware and could see everything. Rywik drew his own knife and quickly opened the vein in Nathaniel's left arm. The blood began to pour from the cut he'd made.

The glyph wore off, and despite the injuries, Nathaniel quickly drew the knife that Angharad had passed him. Rywik used his staff to hit Nathaniel's jaw, knocking him out. Nathaniel crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Angharad had struggled to her feet and was now beating on Rywik's back. "You bastard! I'll kill you, you bastard!" Rywik pulled her around rather roughly, turned her around so that she could see Nathaniel, see the blood pouring out of his arm. "He's dying, Angharad. He'll bleed out in a matter of minutes. What are you going to do about it?"

Angharad dropped to the ground beside Nathaniel. She tried pressure on the wound but it was too long. Rywik had slit the vein vertically. Even with her needle right here, it would take her too long to close the wound. "There's not enough time! I don't have my things!" She cried, tears running down her face.

"Then how will you save him?" Rywik asked again.

"I can't!" Angharad rose to her feet and stared at him. "You heal him Rywik. You heal him, or I swear on the Maker's name that I will kill you."

"No, I won't heal him, Angharad. You'll either save him, or he will die."

"And how in hell-all am I supposed to do that! How am I supposed to save him?" She screamed.

Rywik cocked his head to one side. "You know, Angharad. You heard me speak the words when I healed your face. Speak the words and heal him. Cast the Spell!"

"I AM NOT A MAGE!" Angharad screamed. "You heal him." She demanded pointing to Nathaniel. "You heal him!"

"Either you do it or he dies, I won't heal him. I let Isolde, Arlessa of Redcliffe sacrifice herself to blood magic to save her son. It will not trouble me in the least to let Rendon Howe's son die. HEAL HIM, Angharad, or he dies." He pointed to Nathaniel, who had regained consciousness but was too weak from blood loss to stand. "You don't have much time, he's almost gone."

Angharad , defeated, sank to her knees beside Nathaniel, heedless of the blood that stained her gown and her hands as she lifted his broken and bleeding arm gently onto her lap. Nathaniel was almost gone; she could feel his life force retreating. No time to be frightened. No time to panic. Think! Think!

"Love you," Nathaniel managed to whisper.

Angharad closed her eyes and began to speak the words, softly at first and then with more emphasis. The air around her grew cool and then cold as she drew more and more energy from the atmosphere. It was like stepping into someone's life, but instead, Angharad was stepping into Nathaniel's body. Slowly, she could visualize the vein in his arm. She could see it, down to the cells that formed it. She saw the severed cells knitting back together, closing. Her hands began to glow white and then blue as the energy poured in a stream from her hands into his arm. Angharad could hear Nathaniel's beating heart, beating too rapidly as it desperately tried to pump the vastly diminished blood supply through his body. There wasn't enough blood left in his body. Angharad imagined the blood that surrounded them on the floor. In her mind's eye she saw the water being drained from the blood and being restored to him through her hands. She saw his body making new cells, new blood cells. She kept repeating the words. Now his heart was beating at a slower, safer pace; now she could turn her attention to his broken arm. As she touched the area of the break she had a vision of the fracture, clean, no loose shards of bone. She welded the bone back together, cell by cell by—Angharad started to sway, she felt dizzy. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped into a heap on the floor.

Rywik walked over to where Angharad had crumpled, and checked her pulse; when he found it regular, he went to Nathaniel who was still lying on the floor. The blood, which had been a red pool, was now a dried brown substance. He took Nathaniel's arm in hand. Angharad hadn't just started the knitting process of the bone; she'd almost completely healed the fracture. No wonder she fainted. He thought. He turned to Alistair.

"Alistair, find the guards and let's get these two back upstairs." Rywik said. "I think Angharad's managed not to become an abomination today."

Alistair came down off the dais. "Maker's Breath, Rywik. You didn't tell me you were going to hurt him so badly. Were you really going to let him die?"

"I had to believe I would let him die, so yes. I would have let him die. Angharad would have known otherwise and she would never have cast the spell."

Alistair leaned down and touched the dried residue on the ground. "What in the Maker's name is this?" He asked, holding his fingers out with the brownish residue on them.

"Dried blood." Rywik answered matter-of-factly. "She drew the moisture out of the blood and returned it to him. Clever trick that. Wish I'd thought of it."

Alistair grinned. "And here I thought you knew everything about magic!"

"Obviously, I do not." Rywik said.

Angharad began to come to. She sat up and when she realized where she was, she crawled over to Nathaniel and took his pulse. Satisfied that he was all right now, she struggled to her feet. She stumbled over to where Rywik stood. She looked him directly in the eyes. Angharad swiftly slapped Rywik as hard as she could; she slapped him so hard that his head rocked to one side. Alistair made ready to rescue her, for Rywik was not one to take insult from anyone, but he merely turned back to face Angharad again.

"I hate you." Angharad told him softly.

"I know." Rywik said, expressionless. He was merely stating a fact. "But it doesn't matter, Angharad. You know what you are now, and what you are capable of doing. You will learn from me, not just to cast spells, but also to keep free from demons."

"You really are a monster, Rywik." She told him. Still looking at Rywik, she pointed at Alistair. "I suppose he was here to put me down if I became an abomination."

"Alistair has never taken the vows, but he's as good as any Templar at administering a sword of mercy to a possessed mage."

Without another word, Angharad returned to Nathaniel's side. Alistair went to get the guards. While he was gone Angharad looked up at Rywik. "Why did you take my innocence away from me?"

Rywik shook his head. "Not innocence Angharad, ignorance. Ignorance that would have killed you in time. Untrained mages rarely survive; they are lured and seduced by a demon sooner or later and become possessed."

"So, how have I managed to survive all these years?" Angharad sneered. "Could it be that never having used my gift, I presented no lure to demons? Of course, now that has ended, given that you've forced me to display my power to every spirit in the Fade!"

"Believe what you will for now, Angharad. You were safe or you were not. It is a moot point. You are now no longer safe from the spirits who would use you. Accept the training I offer or take your chances on your own." Rywik told her coolly.

Alistair and his men returned to carry Nathaniel to Angharad's room. Angharad started out of the room with them. At the door she turned to Rywik and said, "Leave me be, Mage. I have to consider what you've told me. I have to decide if you can be trusted, or if everything you've told me is a lie." She walked out the door.

Alistair came to stand by his friend and comrade. "Oh Maker, that didn't go so well!"

Rywik smiled. "Could've been worse. She might have killed you. She might have killed me. She might have let Nathaniel die. I'd say it went well enough. Now, we'd better send someone to clean up this mess before Anora has a fit!"

The two men walked out together.

-2-

Nathaniel regained consciousness. He was lying in a very comfortable bed, surrounded by womanish things. Not the Gnawed Noble Tavern, he decided, but where? He moved his arm and felt a twinge of pain there, looked at it and then remembered all. He sat up and looked around the room. Ah yes, Angharad's room. He realized. He got to his feet, flexed his arm. Not bad. A little stiff, but not bad at all. He went through some motions to loosen the muscles and realized that he felt pretty good, all things considered.

"How much did you know about what Rywik planned?"

Startled, Nathaniel turned to find Angharad curled up in a comfortable chair in the corner. She stared at him as though a stranger.

"Angharad—"Nathaniel began, but she cut him off.

"How much did you know? Did you tell him it was all right to risk your life in that fashion? Anything for the cause? Anything to get the witch to use her power?" She demanded her jaw tight with anger.

"Angharad, I knew that Rywik planned to make you recognize your gift. I did not know that I was to be used to force you into acknowledging it."

"So you knew I was a mage, but you did not warn me." Angharad replied as she uncurled from the chair. "The Order, no doubt, demanded that you remain silent on the issue. And so you let me walk into that room unarmed and unprepared for what I was to face."

Nathaniel stood silent. He had never seen Angharad so angry. It wasn't the hot, blazing sort of anger that flashed bright and then ended. This was the cold, lingering sort, the place where long-held grudges are kept so they don't spoil. Angharad bit her lips at the same time that tears began to fall from her eyes. He started to walk toward her, but she put up her hand.

"Don't touch me."

Nathaniel stopped in place.

Angharad looked away from him. "You seem well enough, now that you've slept. Get dressed and gather your things and leave. Rywik's apartments are across the hall if you need to see him. There's no need to return here."

"Angharad. What are you saying?" Nathaniel asked her, quietly.

Angharad turned back to face Nathaniel. Her expression was calm, still and without emotion. In a flat, dead voice she said. "You need to leave, Nathaniel. Go back to the Marches. Return to your Grey Wardens and fulfill your destiny there. But leave me in peace. I don't want to know how you do. I don't want to know where you are. I don't want to know if you live or die. You are a luxury I can no longer afford, and I will have no more of you."

He started toward her once more, but she put up her hand.

"Leave, Nathaniel. I can break your arm as easily as I mended it now." Angharad told him quietly.

"As you wish, my lady." Nathaniel told her with exaggerated courtesy. He even sketched a formal bow. Unhurriedly, he dressed, gathered his things and left without another word and without looking back.

He stepped across the hall to Rywik's apartments to find the elf waiting for him.

"She's done with you, then?" Rywik asked.

"Did you use your powers to eavesdrop, elf?"

"I didn't need to. Angharad is an intelligent woman, but in her eyes, you betrayed her. Her abilities were deeply hidden by her parents, no doubt by using shame as one of the goads to make her inhibit her powers. She is, among other things, deeply ashamed of being a mage. It is this that I must work to help her overcome. I cannot have her attention divided. She must being entirely focused on the task ahead, or she will fail."

Nathaniel thought about it for a moment. In that light, Angharad's cold fury made sense. And what Rywik said made sense as well. She was in danger and she had to be focused to learn what she needed to know quickly enough to save her life.

"She hates you, even more than she hates me." Nathaniel said with some satisfaction.

"No matter, for by the time I am finished with her, she will BE me," Rywik said. "You must face it, Nathaniel, the Angharad you knew died in that room today instead of you."

"I know that you have the skill to teach her and that is the only reason…" Nathaniel forced himself to stop, but not before he added, "If she dies in your care, Elf, I will gut you," Nathaniel hissed, cold hate in his eyes. "Now, Hero, you have something for me to take back to the Marches?"

Rywik gave Nathaniel five vials of archdemon blood, bound in a protective case that was cold to the touch. "Those are spellbound with a cold spell. Don't break the wards or the blood will spoil."

Nathaniel tucked the case away in the center of his duffle. He turned to go.

"Squad Captain, for what it's worth, I do regret having to do this to you and Angharad." Rywik said.

Nathaniel turned back around. "Do not lie to me, Hero. You want her. I see it in your eyes. Hell, I can smell it on you. Use your fine words to convince someone else. It won't work with me. You're damned glad to get me out of the way, and we both know it. I'd stay out of the Marches if I were you, Hero. No place for an elf mage there." Nathaniel left the palace without another word to anyone.

§-§

The cold numbness of perfect denial sustained Angharad through the rest of her day. The apartments were quiet, for Nona was obviously somewhere with the King, and no one came to call. Angharad went to her workroom and distilled ingredients for potions until it was time to go down to supper. She debated which would be more bothersome, to deal with Rywik in the servants' hall or all the fawning nobles in the great hall. Angharad decided that ignoring Rywik would be the easier task, so she went down to eat in the clothes she'd worn in the workroom.

Fortunately, Rywik must have been called to attendance on the King, for he did not appear at supper. The servants chose other tables at which to sit, and Angharad consumed her meal in isolation and silence. She went back up stairs and undressed for bed. Nona still had not returned, and it occurred to Angharad that one day soon, Nona would probably have rooms of her own. Angharad resolved to speak personally to the King about Nona. Someone had to make sure that the King provided for her friend's future.

Angharad lay down on the bed dressed in her chemise. She rolled onto her side to get comfortable and caught a scent. She reached for the pillow and held it to her face. Nathaniel had lain here; his smell was still here, lingering on the pillow. Angharad inhaled deeply once more. She began to sob. It was real, then. She had told him never to come back, never to write. The pain went deep, and she wanted more than anything for it to stop, but Angharad knew that it would not stop, ever.

Chapter Seventeen

Denerim - Consequences

Angharad removed the chemise she wore and stood clad only in her small clothes as she studied the robe of power before her. It was a fine robe, fairly humming with enchantments and augmentations.

"Wear a decent robe of power. Knowing that you have one on helps you in the Fade. Remember: It is your will and your beliefs that help or hurt your success in the Fade. If you will yourself to be strong, you will be. Just remember, the demon will use your weaknesses against you to lure you into submission. It will play into your strongest desires or your deepest fears. Be ready Angharad." Rywik had cautioned just yesterday.

Angharad felt ready. She and Rywik had worked diligently for twenty months to make her ready. It was strange that the person who had taken so much from her was the one to show her how to use this power that had been chained up inside her. Angharad had to admit, though, that Rywik was a gifted teacher who brought her from knowing nothing of how to cast a spell to being ready for the final test in a short, short time.

It had taken all of the Crown's political power of persuasion with the Chantry, along with the fact that technically Angharad was a Grey Warden conscript and the apprentice to the Hero of Ferelden to allow her harrowing to be held away from the Tower Circle. Nothing made the Chantry more nervous than to have a mage running about in the Fade outside their direct jurisdiction; and they had loudly protested the idea that Angharad could be adequately tested anywhere but the Tower.

Rywik had good reason to for his insistence in keeping Angharad out of the Circle altogether. He trusted Templars only slightly more than he trusted demons. If they truly understood Angharad's gifts, they would never allow her outside a Templar controlled Circle, let alone allow her to run free with the Wardens. The Chantry reluctantly agreed that King Alistair could be the main one to administer the sword of mercy should it be necessary; but they insisted on having another Templar there as backup. Rywik yielded to this without too much argument. After all, if the Templar saw too much, realized too much, he could always slay him and claim a demon did it.

Angharad brushed her hair. It was much shorter now than it used to be. After setting her hair on fire a couple of times with blow back from poorly aimed fireballs, she understood why most mages dispensed with long locks. It was cut your own hair, or let a fire spell do it for you. She chose to cut. It was slightly shorter than Rywik's, and he often said that, given her slight figure, all she needed was points on her ears to be an elf.

The apartment was very quiet as she prepared. Nona had gotten her own suite of rooms a long time ago. The night before she moved into her luxurious new abode, she and Angharad sat in front of the fire as they used to do, curled up in comfortable chairs, sipping wine and cider.

A few days after her confrontation with Rywik—while the King was still consumed with guilt for the outcome—Angharad forced a conversation with Alistair about Nona's future. Angharad insisted that Alistair draw up an agreement that gave Nona lands that were hers in perpetuity from his own living so that she need never fear to be poor again.

"I would have done this myself," Alistair insisted, somewhat miffed that Angharad would think that he would not care for Nona's future.

"You would be like most men, your Majesty, believing in your own immortality when in truth, you could be killed by falling bricks this very next instant. Now, it will be done, and you need not think on it any longer. And my best friend will be safe from the financial misfortunes of life and free to make her own way should you part from one another." Angharad said.

Alistair did not protest further. He knew that Angharad was right. The lands were transferred to Nona that very day.

As she and Nona faced each other in the privacy of Angharad's rooms, Angharad said, "Did you ever think that a day such as this would happen, Nona? And in such a fashion! That you would become the King of Ferelden's favorite?"

Nona shook her head. "No, I did not believe that such a thing would happen all those months ago. Angharad, tell me, what happened between you and Nathaniel? You loved each other so much. How can you turn away from him now?"

"Love isn't always enough, Nona. You know that. It is better this way," Angharad said firmly.

"Better for whom? How is it better for the two people it most concerns?" Nona asked.

"Nathaniel is safe—"Angharad began.

"Safe?" Nona laughed. "How can Nathaniel be safe Angharad? He is warrior; he is a Warden. He will never be safe. He is a creature of risk! He lives for the thrill of betting his life against misfortune! How could you come to this conclusion that you could make him safe? Mon créateur! You cannot protect him. He is man who will not live a life of safety. You know this!"

When Angharad began to cry, Nona took Angharad's hands in hers and pulled her to the chairs. "Now. You will sit down and tell me everything, Angharad, everything! What happened?"

Angharad told Nona about that terrible morning and how Nathaniel almost died.

"Merde! Quel salaud!" Nona cursed jumping up to pace the room. "Rywik? He did this to you? And Alistair was there to kill you?"

"Not me, Nona. An abomination. It would have been for mercy's sake. The King would never just kill me."

Nona paced some more and then sat back down. She took Angharad's hands in hers. "Listen to me, Angharad. We only have this life, this one time to live it. You must seize every moment of it and squeeze it dry! You must not squander a single moment in fear, or worry for what may happen. That is a waste! Do not let this stand between the two of you. Find a way back to Nathaniel, ma chérie. For your own sake. "

Angharad said nothing. She did not think she could ever make it right. Instead of answering, she said, "Tell me about Alistair, Nona. How does it go with you two."

Nona smiled. "Ah, Alistair is a very funny man, good sense of humor, no? He makes me laugh. I make him laugh. We enjoy each other." Her smile grew wicked as she added. "And he is quite….adept, shall we say? He is surprisingly adventurous for a chantry boy. The queen does not know what she is missing, and I shall not inform her."

Angharad giggled. Then she grew serious. "Does the queen mind?"

Nona shook her head. "The queen cares only for the appearance, not for the reality. I think she is happy not to have to try for an heir. If it were not for me, it would be a very sad situation. Alistair wants to be loved and to love someone. He is a good man who deserves this, no?"

"Do you love him, Nona?" Angharad asked.

"Of course I love him. He is easy to love. Why would I not love him?" Nona replied happily. "Oh. You mean une grande passion ? Ma chérie, I am well past the moment for such things in my life, and Alistair is too busy being the King to go in search of it."

Nona saw the look of sadness in Angharad's eyes and laughed. "We'll be all right, amie. I am happy. Alistair is happy. It is good. Oh, and thank you for insisting that the king provide me with a living of my own. You are a true friend."

"He told you?" Angharad said, amazed that Alistair would admit to the conversation.

"Alistair tells me many things. Many things. It is good. Now he will know that I am with him for himself and not for the dresses he gives me." Nona pulled Angharad to her feet and they had gone down to the great hall to have supper. More than a year had passed since that conversation, and Nona and the King still seemed very happy with their arrangement. Angharad was satisfied. She was glad that they could take happiness where they found it.

Now as Angharad prepared for the harrowing, the apartment seemed very empty. She stepped into her shoes, smoothed the robe, put on the hood that went with it, and walked across the length of the palace to the parloir in which she'd stood so long ago. It was fitting to come full circle, she thought as she halted at the large double doors. At least this time, I know what I am about to face. Angharad thought. She took a deep breath and stepped through the doors.

In the middle of the empty room stood a small brazier filled with a blue glowing substance. Angharad recognized it from her studies as distilled lyrium. It was a large quantity of lyrium. Rywik stood by the brazier, and Alistair stood behind him dressed in Templar armor once more. Angharad now knew that the armor was enchanted to withstand a great deal of magic, reducing the power of any spell she cast. Next to Alistair was another man that she did not recognize, but one who also wore the armor of Andraste and bore the shield of the sword of mercy.

Angharad bowed to the King and nodded her head toward the stranger, before turning her attention to Rywik. He wore a very ancient robe of power, one of Elven design, not Tevinter. She did not recognize the runes traced on the skirt of the robe but they gleamed and hummed with enchantment. Instead of a hood, he wore a circlet of some material she could not identify. It was wood, but very dark wood. Perhaps ironbark. It bore intricate carvings and it looked to be as old as the robe.

"Angharad, every mage who is trained in the way prescribed by Andraste must face this final test. It is known as the Harrowing and you must pass the test or die trying." He pointed to the brazier. "You need only place your hands in the bowl. The lyrium will do the rest."

Without a word to any of them, Angharad stepped forward and plunged her hands into the lyrium. She was instantly filled with great power. Every cell in her body began to sing as the lyrium infused her. She felt a great rush like wind, but not, like sound, but not, and suddenly she was no longer in a room in Denerim. She was standing on the battlements of what seemed to be the Vigil. It looked very real but she could see the barest of shimmers, the smallest of variations that told her this was her imagining. Any doubt that she may have had that she was in the Fade left her as she walked down the narrow steps of the battlement and into the courtyard. Etienne Caron waved to her from one of the market stalls, and Helen smiled as she took water from the well and poured it into her buckets. The Warden Commander walked over to her and smiled. "You have done well, Angharad. Better than anyone could have imagined! Your skill and your visions made the Vigil strong and restored the glory of Amaranthine. Only you could have done this!"

"Leave me, demon!" Angharad said to the Warden Commander's doppelganger. "I have done nothing like what you have said. You are a demon of pride and you seek to seduce me with deeds I have never performed."

"Not that simple!" Etienne said, changing from the man she knew into a hideous demon much taller than she. "If you will not carry me out of the Fade, then I will consume your spirit instead."

Angharad began incanting under her breath. As the power gathered within her she made a hand sign and cast a demon that enfolded him in bands of energy, crushing him slowly as they drew together. Held immobile by the spell and leaking spirit damage, the demon roared with anger and pain. Angharad used the time the spell gave her to draw heat energy out of the demon's body causing cold damage, immobilizing him with frost. She focused her thoughts and drew on her inner reserves, charging the air around the demon, forming a cloud over him filled with moisture. As she ripped her hands apart and slammed them back together, the cloud unleashed a blizzard of subfreezing cold and ice and snow, howling around the demon, knocking him to the ground. Angharad saw the demon shudder and then lie still. The blizzard dissipated slowly leaving a frozen corpse lying in front of her.

Too easy. She thought to herself. She looked around the courtyard and saw that the other spirits were backing away, giving her space. Angharad walked to the weapon smith's stall. Hanging there on a rack were weapons and staves. Angharad took down a staff and in her mind imbued it with the runes she desired. As she opened her eyes, the staff was no longer plain wood but one that held a wicked metal circle imbedded in one end and a crushing knob at the other. Sing, she told the staff in her mind and the staff began to glow, the runes she had imagined lit up with blue fire.

Angharad knew where her real test would lie. She climbed the stairs to the old solar where she and Nathaniel used to lay together. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door.

Nathaniel turned around, smiling and holding out his arms. "I knew you'd come anwylaf," He said. "You've cut your hair!"

He looked so real! Nathaniel to the teeth, every expression perfect, every nuance in his voice. Angharad's insides twisted and she bit her lip hard. "Leave me, demon." She whispered. "Leave me be."

Nathaniel stepped closer, his voice lowering, growing more intimate. "You do not want me to leave you, Angharad, you know you don't . We can be together always in this room, or we can step out into the world and be together always." The demon touched her neck. His touch was so much Nathaniel's that she trembled. For a moment she wished to give in and just stay. She could have Nathaniel back. She could have him forever she could….I could die or be taken, Angharad told herself. Aloud she said, "You are not Nathaniel. Nathaniel is a Grey Warden sworn to the Order and he must go where they will."

"I would leave the Wardens for you, Angharad. I would. Just say the word." Nathaniel importuned.

"Demon, Nathaniel would never leave the Order." Angharad replied, blasting with her staff, knocking the demon backward. Angharad cast a spell that encased the demon with stone temporarily. Nathaniel's form began to waver with that of a desire demon. As stone wore away, Angharad again used cold and frost to hold the demon in place while she pummeled the demon with her staff. Finally, the demon died and suddenly, the Vigil disappeared, and there was nothing around her but empty formless space. Angharad drew a door in her mind and stepped through it.

She was in the Palace once more, Rywik, Alistair and the Templar staring at her. "That was fast!"

"Not bad for a shemlen. I've seen better though. My own harrowing was much cleaner." He added. "How did you find your desire demon?"

Angharad shrugged and said, "Shut up."

"I knew that it would be difficult for you to leave him," Rywik replied, "but you are so cold hearted that you could leave your own child behind."

Angharad began to laugh and shook her head. "You are not my teacher. Rywik would never be so crude. He uses words like a sharpened blade, never to bludgeon. You are not he. You are a demon of rage."

The demon changed form and came close. "I can give you the power to kill Rywik, you know. With my strength added to yours, you could stand over his dead body and gloat this very day!"

"I do not deal with demons." She raised her staff, and the demon charged her. Again, Angharad used cold spells to immobilize the demon. The false Alistair and Templar attacked her as well. She used her mind to focus a blast of mana, to knock them both back so that she could be effective with the blunt end of her staff to focus and release bolts of spirit. She felt the rage demon thawing and whirled, quickly inscribing a glyph of paralysis on the ground. In one fluid movement she cast a hex of torment on the Alistair simulacrum followed by a drained the false Templar, taking that creature's mana. She felt the increase to her own mana as the Templar fell, and she whirled about using the sharp end of her staff to cut the demon in two. Coming back to Alistair, she cast cone of cold, freezing him solid. Then she blasted him with stonefist and shattered him into tiny pieces.

When she awoke, she was in her room. Angharad sat up and looked around. She truly was back in her own reality this time. And she was alive. She swung out of bed and stumbled a little.

"Drink a lot of fluids today, but no alcohol. Using that much mana, even with the gigantic lyrium boost can dehydrate you." Rywik said. He was sitting in the chair next to her bed.

"Watching over me, are you? Why?" Sarcasm laced her voice, made it harsh.

"Wanted to be certain that you came back completely from the Fade. Some do not return, even if they don't become abominations."

Angharad looked at him. "And if I stayed there, dreaming, what would you have done?"

"Come after you, of course. We have too much invested in you to lose you to a demon of sloth."

Angharad sat down on the edge of the bed. "So, my master, now what?"

"I am no longer your master, Angharad, for you are no longer an apprentice. Not that you know everything, mind. In fact, you know very little. But you know enough not to get eaten alive by Fade spirits and that is all that you need to get started. Now the real work begins for you."

Angharad frowned. "Real work? Tell me of this real work."

"Now you go to the Free Marches." Rywik said.

-2-

Nathaniel shook Carver's shoulder. "Wake up, warden."

Carver sat up and stretched. He stared at the four walls that surrounded him and then inhaled deeply. The smell was unmistakable. "Andraste's ass! This is the Hanged Man!" Carver said, then he grimaced as the pain set in. "Oh Maker, what a hangover."

Nathaniel looked down at his subordinate. "Hangover or no, we have work to do. Get your own arse out of that bed and get dressed. We need to scout the coast for that opening to the Deep Roads. Stroud will be here with the rest of the unit in two days. We'll need to have answers for him."

"Right away, Squad Captain." Carver replied, swinging out of the bed.

"Carver, we're on detached duty. Call me Nathaniel or Howe. And no warden armor." Nathaniel stepped into the hall and went in search of a bucket to soak his head in. He had a bit of a hangover himself. He and Carver had taken an earlier ship ahead of the main unit. They were to try and find the entrance to the Deep Roads that Carver and his sister had used on their expedition. Carver had the general area nailed down, but the entrance itself was well camouflaged. Carver had explained that their expedition had some difficulty locating the entrance even with the maps and experienced dwarves searching the last time.

When he returned to the room, Carver said. "Nathaniel, perhaps you'd better have a look outside and see if there is a dwarf dressed in an outlandish coat and showing a lot of chest hair."

"Why?" Nathaniel asked him.

"Ah, his name is Varrick, and he was one of the brothers who initiated the expedition. And, he lives here." Carver added for good measure.

"Andraste's ASS! Did you not think it was rather dangerous to sleep at an inn where one of the people we most wish to avoid lives?"

Carver grimaced. "I was rather drunk by the time we decided to stay in town rather than camp. It was the only place I could think of. Sorry."

Nathaniel started packing up his things. Clearly, they weren't going to be able to stay at this inn. "Pack up, man. We'll need to find another place to stay. Or perhaps we'll just camp up the coast a bit after all."

The two men packed up in silence and left the inn.

Nathaniel and Carver spent two rather unproductive days trying to find the hidden entrance to the Deep Roads. Neither one of them even felt the presence of Darkspawn so they could not use their sense to help them locate the entrance. Aside from slaying a few bandits who tried to rob them, it was a most unproductive trip.

The second morning they dressed in their uniforms as they were to rendezvous with Stroud. As they neared Kirkwall, the saw smoke rising from the City. As they drew even closer, they heard faint shouts and screams.

"What in the Maker's name is going on down there?" Nathaniel asked.

Carver pointed to the Docks and the Qunari compound. "It looks like the Qunari compound has been fired. My guess is there's been some sort of trouble between them and the zealots who want them out of Kirkwall."

Nathaniel shook his head. "Look! See the pattern? You can see where the fighting has happened. That's not an unplanned riot, that's a strategy! My guess is that it is the Qunari who have had enough and have decided to strike."

"My sister still lives in Kirkwall. In Hightown, over there!" Carver pointed. "Oh Maker, look, Hightown is on fire as well." Carver tensed, but before he could break into a run, Nathaniel put a hand out to stop him.

"It won't help your sister to rush in and get yourself killed. We need to rendezvous with Stroud first and enter in numbers."

Carver nodded. "Understood, Messer."

The two men double-timed it down the coast road to the City. Fortunately, the rendezvous point was not yet under attack. Stroud spotted his two men as they hurried toward him. "Good. I was beginning to be concerned. We need to move through the city to the docks. Hopefully, our ship is still there. We can retreat and move up the coast to warn the rest of the Marches and return to our outpost. The Deep Roads entrance will have to wait. Merde!" Stroud finished, clearly frustrated at the turn of events.

The unit set out moving through the streets. Their first encounters were with running civilians, but they soon spotted a squad of Qunari. As spears began to whiz by their heads, Nathaniel felt the air change, and looked at the Qunari unit. "Saarebas!" Nathaniel yelled. He was looking about to try and see where the electrical field was being formed by the Qunari mage, when kinetic force blew past him moving so fast that the Saarebas was swept off his feet and onto the ground before the sound of the telekenetic blow could be heard. Nathaniel started to move toward the Saarebas while he was still on the ground and unable to cast a spell but someone yelled, "Halt!"

Nathaniel stopped and saw why he'd been ordered to stay where he was. The Qunari mage was hit with a blast of ice that would have frozen him as well. "Now!" He heard. Nathaniel rushed the Saarebas, heedless of the other Qunari, knowing that the mage had to be put out of business or they would all be dead. Nathaniel pulled an explosive arrow from his quiver and shot it dead center of the brittled opponent. The Saarebas splintered.

He heard, rather than saw, a lance pass by him. Nathaniel rotated toward the direction of the throw and unloaded a quick volley of arrows. He managed to take down a couple of grunts, but the Qunari were getting too close to be effective with the bow. Nathaniel unsheathed his knives. He had a chance to visualize the battlefield. A quick glance told him that there were about ten Qunari left in the unit they were fighting. He saw that their leader was still on his feet, buffing his men. Carver had just finished mangling an opponent. Nathaniel whistled and pointed. It was something they often used to signal one another in their unit. Carver responded instantly running for the Qunari leader with loud battle yell. The leader turned toward the sound of Carver's yell and the instant he did so, Nathaniel charged from the flank.

At the same time, one of the Qunari soldiers threw his lance. Luckily, it was a glancing blow that sliced, rather than pierced Nathaniel's thigh, but the pain was intense. He was immediately bathed in healing energy and the pain ceased. He felt rather than saw the wound close for he was already moving to target, because Carver was being attacked from all sides. Everyone in his unit was engaged, so Nathaniel rushed the enemy leader and began slicing him up. He felt another healing wave pass over him as they battled. Once he had the leader down and dead he looked around once more. The remaining members of the Qunari band were rushing a single figure, but before they could completely converge, they were thrown back by a huge burst of energy. So that was the helpful mage! Nathaniel rushed forward as did many of the other Wardens and in moments they had dispatched the rest of the unit. Only then did Nathaniel realize that the mage was female. There was no time for more than a cursory glance at the hooded figure, for the sound of the enemy approaching drew his attention.

The Wardens fought their way across the City from Hightown down to the Lowtown market. In addition to Qunari units, they were also attacked by groups of elves who appeared to either be Qunari sympathizers or raiders taking advantage of the chaos.

They'd reached a poor residential area in Lowtown very near to the steps that led to the docks. They happened upon a heavily armed unit of Qunari augmented by Elven archers. Stroud and the regulars engaged the Qunari infantry, while Nathaniel found a perch up on one of the steps and began returning fire to the Elven archers. Suddenly , they were joined by a party of four: A mage dressed in light armor, a tattooed elf wielding a two-handed sword who moved like lightning, a strong woman using an axe and a shield, and a dwarf with a crossbow.

The armored mage took up a position near Stroud's new mage, while the dwarf fired fire bolts from his cross-bow. The woman with the shield taunted the enemy, drawing them to her while the elf turned into a ghost who moved faster than Nathaniel had ever seen anyone move. But though he had more speed, his actions were familiar Nathaniel had seen Carver shift his weight that way. There wasn't more time to watch, Nathaniel had to get busy with his bow, taking out the archers who were so deadly with their arrows. Nathaniel was pretty certain that he'd been struck by a couple of arrows, but with two mages casting heal spells, he barely noticed. Nathaniel saw movement to his left. There were infantry coming up behind the mages. He started shooting at the infantry behind them at the same time that he whistled for Carver.

Carver was still engaged with two Qunari infantry, so Nathaniel jumped from the stairs into the corridor where the mages were and ran full out through the two mages to take out the Qunari nearest them. Nathaniel used his bow as an impromptu staff, cracking the nearest Qunari soldier in the face and rocking him backward. The mage dressed in light armor turned and quickly fired a bolt of pure electricity into the Qunari that jumped to his fellows. They were all momentarily paralyzed, allowing Nathaniel time to seat his bow and unsheathe his knives. He stabbed the Qunari twice, planting his main hand weapon in the Qunari's solar plexus and when the giant curled inward from the blow, Nathaniel used his off-hand weapon to rip out the giant's throat. He started for the second Qunari, but Stroud's mage had already taken down one of the Qunari with knives of her own. Nathaniel took out the last one quickly and turned around, running back to the sound of battle. Bolts of energy flew past him from two staves, striking the remaining opponents. By the time Nathaniel ran the corridor between the two buildings to the common area, the battle was over.

From behind him, he heard the mage in armor cry out, "Carver!"

Carver looked disgusted and happy all at the same time. "Hello, sister. Fancy meeting you here."

Nathaniel's attention was caught by the white haired elf in the strange armor. Nathaniel walked over to him. "Do you know that you've saved my life a time or two? I am Nathaniel Howe of the Grey Wardens." Nathaniel pointed toward Carver. "He watched you, you know! Carver watched you, learned your style and incorporated it into his. He is the best two-hander in our unit. Thank you."

The elf's eyebrow climbed a little, but he nodded his head in Nathaniel's direction and said, "I am Fenris. You are welcome. I am glad to know that Carver can do more than complain. A pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel Howe."

"…..I fear pressing matters take us elsewhere...Take this. It is all we can spare…" Stroud was saying to Carver's sister. Stroud gave a hand signal. He turned to Carver's sister once more and said, "Maker watch over you, my friend."

Nathaniel and Carver fell into line, but the new mage held back a moment with Carver's sister, before catching up with them. There was only one more minor encounter before they reached the docks. The ship was there; and the captain, eager to be far away from Kirkwall. Coin exchanged hands, and they were casting off; and soon, they were out in the harbor, with the sounds of combat receding.

Nathaniel had lost his bedroll during the scuffle. That meant the loss of a good set of leathers. But at least he hadn't lost his bow. The mage, still hooded, was moving among the men, using healing magic to mend that which was still broken, lacerated. But there was something in the way she moved, something about the shape of her hands.

Nathaniel walked swiftly over to where she was kneeling. He couldn't help himself. He pulled back her hood. "Angharad." He managed to say. "You've cut your hair."