Andate, Andarta

2.

"Nathaniel," Andate thumped him on the shoulder as she moved past to take a seat in front of the food. She had changed out of her jogging clothes into white robes embroidered with silver—this had been a gift from Wynne, and Andate had taken to wearing it for formal occasions, like hosting guests, ever since the Senior Enchanter died many years ago. She and Wynne did not see eye-to-eye on all things; Andate found the elderly mage to be too self-assured and inflexible in her principles, but Wynne was a good woman, carved from the particular experiences that shaped her beliefs into what they were, and she knew that Wynne hurt as she did when she suffered from her mistakes. No one was infallible, after all, and Wynne's intentions had been honest and good, as annoying as it had been. When the old woman died, the two had been close, with Andate seeking her often during the early days of her leadership in Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine.

"Andate," Nathaniel murmured, looking glum. He was not in armor, as wardens rarely were when not in training or on the field, but he was wearing rather formal clothes as well.

"Guess who's here," She grinned even though Nathaniel obviously knew already, refusing to be pulled down by his attitude.

"Skirts?"

Andate spat her water out to the side so she would not choke instead. "Didn't know you picked up nicknames from Oghren."

"They say the Champion of Kirkwall is here," Nathaniel ignored her comment, "And Anders is with her, so I assumed that was whom you were talking about."

"She brought along a whole team. Reminds me of back when I was a junior Warden. Me, Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, Wynne, Zevran, Oghren. Dog too. Poor fellow. He was a dear." Dog died a year ago of old age. She had been with him when he died, and many of the wardens had grieved along with her, including Nathaniel, even if he would never confess to it.

"Hm!"

The pair fell silent, as Andate ate. After a while, Nathaniel finally could not stand it.

"What did the First Warden say?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Andate replied. The First Warden was actually quite irate at the turn of events, believing that Nathaniel had put the Order in a difficult position due to his involvement in the battle at Kirkwall, but Andate had ten years to master the art of twisting the truth to suit her own purposes. In this case, she did not even have to work too hard. "I wrote back, stating that I have had multiple sources confirm that you were merely present when the chaos began and had no choice but to fight your way in order to leave for Ferelden. That's the thing with chaos; no one can keep track of anything."

"You shouldn't have to do this," Nathaniel slammed the table lightly, but his frustration was deep, "I don't want to force you to take the fall for me all the time."

"You can pay me back by doing my paperwork for the next month." Andate said with her mouth full. She elbowed him to show that she was teasing. "It's fine, Nathaniel. I know you came from a quirky family, to say the least." Calling the Howes "quirky" was ridiculously mild. "But believe it or not, this is what family does. Whenever one's in trouble, everyone else comes around to help."

"It's not like you had much of a family," Nathaniel scowled at her.

"The Circle sort of was," Andate waved her fork at him, "We're not related by blood, but we're related by conflict, and we were all on the same side. We looked out for each other when it counted."

"Hm!" He looked displeased, but that was how he was. As uncomfortable as he could be with accepting favors, he did regard the wardens as his family, especially Andate. Shortly after his Joining, he quickly became like a brother to her, one that Andate could actually depend on as a confidante and as a consultant, as opposed to Alistair who primarily left choices up to her and washed his hands clean of responsibility. Ferelden acceptance of mages had not come easily or nationally, and in the early years Andate still faced some skepticism and even downright opposition during her travels to purge the remaining darkspawn from the land. Nathaniel had always been there to support and defend her, and when he adopted a protective attitude towards her, he never relinquished it.

They were close, she and Nathaniel. Once, a few years after the death of the Architect and the Mother, Andate had fallen ill without even realizing it. There were darkspawn terrorizing the people south of the Brecilian Forest, and she had not been able to afford even entertaining the idea of being sick. Nathaniel had recognized the signs and verbally beat her into submission. He handled affairs while she was sent back to Amaranthine, where she proceeded to collapse into bed and was unable to rise under her own power for over a month. Andate knew it took a certain level of affection to realize another person was unwell, even when said person was unaware herself. Had their positions been reversed, Nathaniel would gladly take the fall for anything Andate did.

The other wardens filed in for supper, Sigrun slapping Nathaniel on the forearm as she passed. Oghren followed, belching as he went. The two dwarves went to another table; normally they ate with Nathaniel and Andate, as the four most senior wardens, but today Andate wanted to eat with Nathaniel and the guests. It gave Sigrun and Oghren a chance to chat with the other wardens as well.

"I hope they're coming," Said Andate, "I hope someone knew to call for them. Mycroft? Can you go check on our guests at the residence halls? I don't know if they know about suppertime."

"Yes ser!"

"Wouldn't want them to think I'm starving them," Andate ate another mouthful. "This business with the Chantry—it's going to blow over to the wardens sooner or later. Chantry, and the Qunari. Supposedly the Qunari were driven out of Kirkwall, again by Hawke, but there's no telling if they'd use the ensuing scuffle to try to 'teach' Thedas again. Then there is the fact that if a Blight comes along while people are still fighting each other, speaking from personal experience, the world would be overrun."

"What do you intend to do?" Nathaniel asked perceptively. "You will get involved, wouldn't you?"

"Eventually," Said Andate, "Though I can't see this resolving without bloodshed. Blood has been shed already, and there are always vengeful types. You and I both know how the Chantry is. For an organization, it is rather young and still impulsive in its practices. Once Kirkwall blew over, the rest of the chantries in the Free Marches also tightened the noose, which caused their mages to riot, and then they took that as a lesson and tightened the nooses in Antiva, Anderfels, Nevarra, Orlais—Alistair is keeping the Chantry at bay in Ferelden, but I'm not confident that the templars would not use some underhanded methods to attack the Circle here. When a fight becomes desperate, one stops caring who or what the target is, and everything is a target."

"How do you intend to prevent war, then?"

"I'm not sure I can," Andate looked aside, "And to be honest, Nathaniel, though I loathe to admit it to anyone else, I'm not sure I should. War is a product of peace. It is a way of resolving matters that could not be resolved otherwise. You know how sometimes you have to punch a man in the face in order for him to see sense; nothing less would do. War is simply that, on a grander scale. Sometimes you have to kill a lot of people in order to make the rest see sense. It's not a great solution, but it is sometimes the best that can be chosen. The issue at hand is that no one is seeing sense, and everyone is itching for blood and slaughter, even if they're not admitting it. The best I can do is direct that energy elsewhere, give someone a new target, but I'm not foolish enough to evoke a Blight just to prevent a continental war—I wouldn't even know how to try. What I do intend to do, however, is to ensure that the war is as short as possible." She tilted her head. "It's what I do best, no?"

"Hm!" Nathaniel did not look impressed. "What foolishness are you talking about? I don't understand this at all."

"Think about it," Andate leaned forward on the table, "The Chantry controls the mages through the templars, and the mages don't like the system. The problem is, the Chantry is the only solution we have. If you get rid of the Chantry system, you have to replace it with something. No one is thinking of that. The reason this situation is blowing up is because even though all the mages are crying about oppression, they're not presenting an alternative that would still satisfy the main objective of the templars: to protect people from mages and mages from people. Every time you have a riot, it is because people are demanding things the opposite party cannot provide. Remove the templars, and replace them with what? Nothing? You can't expect people to be accepting of that. Abominations are a real danger, blood mages and maleficar are dangerous, more so than the ordinary criminal. If you don't like the current system, what do you suggest in its place? No one knows. This isn't just our fault, of course. The Chantry keeps such a tight hold on everyone that no one could properly plan. If there was a way to gather all the mages and templars together, and talk, a suitable alternative could be found, ideally. Unfortunately, neither side wants to talk to the other. Mages don't trust templars, Templars don't trust mages. This is actually where the Grey Wardens can come in. We're a neutral party, we have mages and templars in our ranks, all of whom consider each other brothers and sisters. We not only can articulate each side's priorities and obstacles, we are willing to understand both. As for what specific system…that depends on certain things."

Nathaniel thought this over. "Like what?"

"What would work, and what wouldn't work." At Nathaniel's flat stare, she added, "This is different from what everyone would agree to, and what people would fight about."

"Fair enough." Nathaniel gave her a warning look. "Don't do anything without telling me first."

"I resent that," Andate said somewhat truthfully, "Who's the commander here?"

"You are, and you tend to put yourself in danger far too often to my taste. You're a mage, and as hotblooded as everyone is, you could walk into a bloodbath. These aren't darkspawn. These are half-crazed mortals."

Andate laughed. "They're about as bad as darkspawn, if not worse."

"Exactly. With the madness going on, you are especially in danger, as are the rest of the mage wardens."

"That's nothing new."

"It is," Nathaniel insisted.

Andate let out a breath. "I do know how to take care of myself, you know."

"Really?"

She swiped her fork at him. "Insubordinate!"

Hawke and company walked in then, and Andate stood to wave them over. The champion was tall, like herself, which made Andate wonder if all Amells were like that. She was a perceptive woman, the commander could tell, with a pleasant, honest face that belied the cunning within. Her skin was a bit darker than Andate's own, but still considered fair, and she was lean and lithe, graceful and nimble as a cat. Overall, a good, intelligent woman, though troubled by recent incidents. Andate rather liked her.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit of a lousy host," She apologized when the company joined them at the table, "I forget to let the others notify you about mealtimes. There is always food, though we tend to keep regular hours. I should have had my brothers feed you when I was out jogging, as you must all be tired and hungry from your travels. You've met Warden Howe already, he returned from the Free Marches shortly before you arrived."

Nathaniel also stood, nodding his head in greeting and gesturing for them to sit. "Please, help yourself."

"Thank you," Hawke sat to Andate's right, and her companions took their respective seats. "My, there is quite a lot of food here."

"Good ale," Isabela said to the dwarf, who grunted in agreement. "Really good ale. I think I like Grey Wardens."

Across the room, Oghren belched loudly, as if in agreement.

"We wardens are a ravenous lot," Andate explained the piles of food before she went back to her meal, "Comes with the job, one can say. Your rooms are acceptable, I assume?"

"Very," Said Hawke. "On behalf of myself and my friends, I thank you, Warden-Commander."

Andate glowered a little at her. "Are you going to be difficult about this, Ser Hawke? It's Andate." She grinned. "I'm only Warden-Commander when someone's in trouble with me."

"In that case, it's Andarta," Hawke replied almost coyly.

Andate laughed. "So it is."

The Hawke sisters had eased up at this time, Bethany Hawke sitting next to her sister and already starting to eat. Not everyone was comfortable, however. The Tevinter elf looked almost cranky, glaring a little at his food. Andate allowed herself to scrutinize his markings while he was not looking. They were beautiful, and yet looked painful. She would not be surprised if they were so. His countenance was set in a closed, almost stupid expression, though his eyes simmered continuously with something like rage. The commander had the distinct impression that he did not like her. She did not trouble herself with wondering why; it was likely not something personal, considering how long they had to know each other, which meant that he held all mages in contempt. He certainly did not seem too comfortable with Anders, and only somewhat neutral to Bethany Hawke.

There is something familiar about the aura he exudes… It was difficult, even for someone of Andate's great power, to read a person who was not a mage. Merrill's constant dabbling in blood magic showed in her magical aura easily enough, as did Anders' hosting of Justice. Bethany Hawke remained rather clean, though her powers were not especially formidable. The Tevinter elf, however, did give off an impression that is purely physical, and it took a while for Andate to place it.

"Qunari," Andate raised her eyebrows, remembering Sten's similar poise, "Interesting. I never met an elf who practiced the Qun."

The Tevinter elf flinched at this, noticeably discomfited. "I do not practice the Qun."

"No?" Andate's eyebrows shot even higher. "It has touched you, nonetheless."

He blinked at her. "How did you do that?" He demanded, anxiety turning into anger, "What did you do?"

To her left, Nathaniel tensed, ready to leap into her defense. Andate regretted speaking her observations out loud. Sometimes her mouth still ran ahead of her, even though she had mostly curbed the habit.

"Nothing as sadistic as what you're no doubt imagining, my friend," She said soothingly, "I had a Qunari friend, once. Sten was his name, or rather, title. You carry yourself the way he does, and in my experience, no one else has the same posture or bearing as one who lives by the Qun."

He only seemed slightly placated, which Andate was sorry for. Making connections between the present and the past was second-nature to her, and she forgot that sometimes her seemingly uncanny observations frightened people.

The dwarf slapped his Tevinter friend on the upper arm. "Easy, elf. Heard lots of stories, but sure never heard of a mage who could read minds."

"Only demons," The elf continued to glare.

"That only works in the Fade," Andate replied.

"It's alright, Fenris," Hawke said to him, "Your lyrium markings protect you from spells, remember? She can't read you even if she wanted to."

Is that what those do? The commander filed away the information for later. She wondered if the elf got them on purpose. Considering he hailed from Tevinter…it was likely a good precaution.

"Besides, who would want to read your mind?" The dwarf snorted, "Probably filled with all sorts of 'I hate mages' mantras. I can just imagine it. Don't mind him, commander. He hates mages in general, even Hawke's sister. You should see what happens when we put Anders and Fenris in a room together and lock them there. Oddest couple the Ancestors ever placed on this earth. In fact, let me tell you, one time we went out to search for someone, we came upon this cave and it was pitch dark and ominous. Hawke and I went ahead because we're good at stealth and neither of them are any good at sneaking, and since it's a cave and we all know how easy caves are to navigate, we wanted to scout ahead and map out the area, get rid of any lackeys along the way so that these two bumbling idiots can bang their way through in the dark—Skirts here with his skirts and elf here with his clunky armor—" Nathaniel snorted at the nickname, "—And these two stayed behind to make sure we didn't get sandwiched by anyone coming in after us." He adopted the air of a minstrel about to launch into a tale, "That was something too, crazy blood mages and summoning shades—luckily they tripped over their skirts as much as Anders did—"

"Hey!"

"But there were lots of demons to fight along the way, firey rage demons that look like heartburn, desire demons that always stop to strike some seductive pose when they really should focus on avoiding arrows and bolts," Andate smiled at this, "Really, I assume you know what they are like, but those desire demons aren't a smart lot. After we cleared a way we were doubling back, and Hawke and I were both saying that, at least I-hate-mages and I-hate-templars were not with us, because then there would be this whole bickering about how 'mages aren't all evil' and 'all mages seek power' that would completely ruin our cover; these two love to debate at the least convenient times—We get back, and they're all over each other like an old married couple. We should do that again to see if it happens every time."

Both Anders and the Tevinter elf glared at the dwarf for this.

"By 'all over each other', Varric actually means we were standing as far apart as we could without actually abandoning Andarta and not talking. Or even looking at one another," Anders growled.

Andate was hard-pressed to hold in her laughter, especially at the possible implications of the dwarf's comment. "Opposites attract," She murmured to Hawke, who had to smother her own mirth, "You are quite a storyteller, Ser Tethras." He was not really like Leliana, who was sweet and poignant about her stories, but there was a certain wit that he shared with the bard, the ability to make any sentence he said sound interesting. "I would like to hear the stories of your adventures. I think it would be fascinating."

She somehow unnerved them again, though this time Andate was not sure how. Varric Tethras looked as startled as the elf did, though his surprise did not give in to anger. Ah, so he is a storyteller, then. This time, Andate had not meant for her comment to hit the mark so completely. Granted, this time her remark was not as pointed as the one to the Tevinter elf, but they were spooked enough that she did not need to.

It was too late to undo the damage, but she felt obligated to unveil some of her own stories so that at least they would be on even ground. "You remind me of my friend, Leliana, who was an Orlesian bard. During the Blight, whenever we made camp, right after dinner she would play her lute and sing a song, or tell a story, the tale of Andraste, the Witch of the Wilds, the elves of the Dales. More inclined towards the poetic and beautiful, was Leliana, not as much into the rude or comedic. She joined the Chantry to escape the political intrigues of Orlais, before joining my fellowship against the darkspawn." She glanced at Nathaniel. "Remember Leliana? She's visited us here at the keep. Challenged you to some archery matches." She bumped her shoulder with his.

"She was good with the bow," Nathaniel conceded.

"She's responsible for my interest in fine shoes."

"Oh Maker, shoes," Anders groaned.

"I think it is perfectly fine to appreciate finely-made things," Andate laughed, "Even if such things are impractical in our line of work. At the very least, it made for easy decisions as to what to get for Leliana's birthday. A pot of Andraste's grace, shoes, trinkets of piety." She hesitated, and decided not to talk about the Urn of Sacred Ashes. "We've had some brothers who had an affinity for story-telling, but none quite like Leliana. She makes everything seem beautiful."

"It sounds like you had close companions during the Blight," Hawke murmured, "After so many years, and you still remember them."

"Well, we're not all like Anders," Andate glared at him again, "I try to keep in touch with my friends. All except Sten, actually." And Morrigan, for obvious reasons. "The Qunari don't seem to have much need for long-distance friendships, not to mention it would doubtless give him much trouble to keep in contact with me when his people are constantly preparing to wage war. I suffer no illusions that Sten could change the mindset of his kin, and it is better for him, I think, that I do not persuade him to try, even on principle. The Qunari seem to have a harsh view of those who abandon any facet of the Qun, and I think it would place Sten in an unlivable position if I do manage to convince him of my views."

The Tevinter elf was staring hard at her, as if he thought he could stare some secret out of her. Still spooked, then. At least he no longer felt threatened, directly, anyway.

"The Qunari do not look upon free mages favorably," Said the elf. "I am surprised this Qunari associated with you during the Blight."

"It was not by his own choice," She replied, and briefly considered whether or not to reveal the incident with the sword. Sten would probably want her to be discrete, so she chose to skip it. "Let's just say, there were circumstances beyond his control. Sten was certainly not trusting of mages in general—" He had a distinct distaste for Morrigan, who had a similar disdain for him, though in both cases it was mild and relatively harmless, "—But I think it is safe to say that he became convinced that it is more beneficial for me, personally, to be the way I was, if only for the Blight, and as I respected Sten had a different culture and philosophies, he respected that I had mine, and that it was not his position to change them."

The conversation veered off to tales of later adventures. Other wardens came by to greet the Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke received them all graciously, as someone use to the attention, much to Andate's amusement. She carried herself with a quiet grace often associated with nobles, but did seem a little baffled by all the wardens—no doubt their order was as alien to her as it was to everyone else.

Nathaniel leaned to her. "What do you think she can do? She's already done enough, I think. She has lost the power to do more."

"No," Andate disagreed, "Hawke can do much, yet. Unlike me, she is an independent force, free to act according to her beliefs, without the chain of politics. A child of both Ferelden and the Free Marches, born from humble beginnings of anonymity, and so a subject of no particular power. There may be those stronger than her, and in better positions, but I doubt any would be as motivated."

After supper, the group rose almost as one, and Andate clasped her cousins warmly by the hand.

"I am really so glad to finally meet you two," She said sincerely, "I have always wondered about my family." They looked a bit chagrined at this, and she could imagine why, but she did not care about it so much. "At some point, you must tell me about yourselves—we should do something fun, go shoe shopping, or something." She giggled at the thought, and the Hawke sisters chuckled as well. "But you must be tired, and it's always tiring to socialize with strangers, even family. Tomorrow is a new day, and hopefully it brings good news!"

Hawke's grip on her arm was firm. "It has been an honor to meet you in person. You have been too kind to us. We will have time to get to know each other. Better late than never, yes?"

"Of course," Andate grinned.

As they departed for their quarters, Anders remained behind as Andate helped the other wardens clean up.

"So," Said the mage, "You're…really not angry with me?"

Nathaniel had remained next to her, clearly reluctant to leave her alone.

"You did what you felt you had to," Andate replied, "I'm just one person. Who am I to decide what's right and what's wrong, in the end?" She allowed some of her disappointment to show. "I did wish you had the decency to at least write to me, though. You weren't obligated to, and I certainly can't demand it, but I thought you trusted me more. I guess I got spoiled—everyone I knew before you still kept in touch with me, except Sten, since he literally couldn't." And Morrigan, but even she had the decency to say goodbye in the end. "It's not fair of me, I know. I don't blame you. I had unrealistic expectations."

"You know," Anders scowled, "When you do that, it just makes me feel worse."

"Well, I wasn't exactly trying to make you feel better." Andate grinned. "I'm not bloody Andraste, all perfect and pure." She reached out and hugged him, now that everyone else was out of the way. Nathaniel released a breath at this, but both of them ignored it. Anders hugged her back, his embrace tight and heartfelt. "I'm glad you're alright. I was afraid you were dead. There was no word of you."

"I'm sorry." He hugged her a little more before letting her go. "For what it's worth, Andy, I missed you."

"You better have," She swatted at him. "Go get some rest. You're beat." She could tell from the exhaustion in his aura.

"Will you really help?" He asked. "I mean, how good of a reason do you need, exactly?"

She glared. "I am hoping you and Hawke manage to procure a reason for me to get involved. Get lost, Anders. I'll see you in the morning."

He grinned cheekily, pointing at Nathaniel. "One last thing. You need to work harder on him. He's still as dry and boring as ever."

It was on the tip of her tongue to exclaim that at least Nathaniel did not go about blowing up chantries, but that would hurt Anders more than amuse him. "Out!" She commanded instead, "I'll have none of this sauciness. Go to bed!"

Laughing, the mage left.

"At least I don't blow up chantries," Nathaniel muttered when he was gone.