The driving rain that had plagued Amaranthine for days gave way the following morning to a dense fog that settled like a wet blanket over Vigil's Keep. The air held a dank chill, the kind that seized one's bones and refused to grant them leave for warming. Anders had spent the better part of the morning huddled by the fire, silent and brooding. Nathaniel was busying himself with the repair of his grandfather's bow, the one he had discovered amongst a cache of family treasures in the basement stores. Oghren had disappeared into the cellars, no doubt in search of some untested spirit with which to break his fast.
The commander had also been absent all morning, in conference with the estate's financial advisor, Ms. Woolsey, who had been excessively eager to brief her on the state of affairs in the arling. Apparently, the nobles would be assembling to pledge fealty to their new Arlessa upon the arrival of the Royal Guard this afternoon, and there was much the Commander of the Grey still needed to understand about the political workings of her arling, or so Ms. Woolsey had kept insisting.
All of this talk of nobility and royal soldiers had left Anders on edge. He had no idea what to expect from the day's events, but he knew that whatever transpired, it was out of his hands. Today would mark the fifth day he had spent in the company of the Grey Warden Commander, and he still had little to no insight into what she might be thinking. She had been amicable enough during the course of their adventures thus far, but she had clearly kept herself guarded. While they had convened by the fire after last evening's meal, she had barely spoken a word to anyone, though he could read in the storminess of her eyes that her thoughts were tempestuous.
She was something of an enigma, the commander. Anders, who could normally get a quick read on just about anyone, couldn't seem to pin this one down. She was a striking woman, this Commander of the Grey, small and fine boned as elves often were, with moonlit skin and hair the color of embers. An intricate tattoo of Dalish design traced perfectly the delicate structure of her face. Her eyes were a shade of deepest amber, a hue that, when reflecting firelight, became nearly as red as her hair. The effect was startling, but also stunning. Still, beneath that ethereal beauty, something tenebrous lurked; something that roiled just below the surface, threatening, at any moment, to disrupt her stoic resolve. Whatever it was, Anders had watched it come to the surface as they were killing Darkspawn together. Some fought battles for glory, others out of a sense of duty. The commander harvested her vigor from someplace more sinister. Then again, he supposed one didn't end up becoming a slayer of archdemons without weathering a few scars along the way, of both the physical and metaphorical varieties.
Still, it made her unpredictable, and that made Anders uneasy. With his arresting Templars conveniently out of the picture, the commander was the only one who knew his true identity. Of course, Nathaniel and Mhairi also knew, but Nathaniel was in a position similar to that of Anders himself, and Mhairi deferred to the warden in all things. So what would the warden commander do with him? Would she keep his secret as an expression of good will or would she hand him over, already tied to the stake? It was impossible to say.
She had been a close traveling companion of the king, Anders knew, during the Grey Wardens' expedition to end the blight. In fact, it had been rumored that it was Gwenna the Grey herself who had, single-handedly, put Alistair Theirin on the throne. King Alistair, who had been raised by Templars before being drafted into the Grey Wardens, was notoriously conservative in his position on all things Magi. Was the venerable commander equally beholden to the Chantry in such matters?
Before that train of thought had an opportunity make another pass through Anders' thoughts, Seneschal Varel burst into the room, with the commander and Ms. Woolsey at his heels.
" The Royal Company is at the gate!" Declared the seneschal, "It would appear that we have an unexpected visitor."
" The king rides with them!" Cried Ms Woolsey, excitedly.
If Anders had thought to be shocked, the inkling was promptly interrupted as Oghren, already well on his way to intoxication, came barreling down the hall, clapping the commander loudly on the back as he approached.
" Ya' hear that, Warden", he bellowed, "It'll be like a proper family reunion at the Keep t'day! Who's bringin' the champagne?"
The warden, who was usually quite tolerant of Oghren's rowdy humor, did not seem amused. In fact, if Anders hadn't known better, he would have even said that she flinched.
'Just startled', he told himself. But there was a strange expression fighting to take control of her face. What was it? Was she… frightened? Angry? Aghast? As usual, it was gone in a flash and Anders just couldn't manage pick it out in time.
The denizens of Vigil's Keep assembled outside to greet the Royal Guard at the gate. To Gwenna, the company looked like something out of a fairy tale, all fine livery and colorful pennants, with Alistair at its helm, resplendent in elaborate royal armor. Even his horse was white. It would have been perfect, she thought, if they didn't already know how the story ended.
'You may be king now', Gwenna thought bitterly, 'but you're still just a royal bastard." Why, for the blood of Andraste, had he felt the need to come here?
Alistair dismounted his horse and pulled off his helmet, revealing rumpled hair that left him looking a touch less regal. "It looks like I came a little late", he said, " Too bad. I rather miss this whole 'killing Darkspawn' thing."
'How droll', thought Gwenna. It was everything she could do not to roll her eyes. Alistair, who had been clearly gauging her reaction, frowned ever so slightly, but he quickly recovered.
"Tell me, what's the situation?"
'Thanks be to the Maker that Varel likes to hear himself talk', thought Gwenna as she listened to seneschal regale Alistair with the events that had transpired at the Keep to date. As it was, she did not trust her voice to form speech at this moment, never mind the words she might say if she did so.
Alistair listened carefully to Varel's report, then turned his attention back on Gwenna. "And what about you my- Er, Commander? You weren't badly hurt, I see?"
Gwenna swallowed hard. Hot tears burned at the back of her eyes, though whether from heartbreak or fury she could no longer tell. She wanted to scream at him to save his half-assed attempt at consideration. Where had this heartfelt concern for her been during the Landsmeet? Where was this compassion when he had used her to get himself on the throne and then tossed her out like yesterday's tavern waste? She wanted to beat at his pristine armor until it was as dented and flawed as she felt. But she could not bring herself to give him the satisfaction of her emotion.
Instead, she replied icily, " I'm fine, Alistair, but this makes things difficult."
Again, Alistair looked wounded, but this time he took the hint. All business once again, he embarked upon a cursory speech about the task at hand, about having faith that she would prevail despite the odds against her, or something to that effect. Gwenna has stopped listening, until Oghren chimed in from behind her.
"Hey! What am I, chopped nug livers?" he demanded.
Then it was Anders. "From the smell, that's not a bad guess!"
Gwenna couldn't resist a smile. Alistair couldn't help but notice.
Unbidden, Gwenna thought, 'I wonder if Anders noticed? I wonder exactly what Anders has noticed.'
Oghren, who had been explaining to Alistair his intention to join the Grey Wardens, addressed her suddenly, bringing Gwenna back into the moment. "Where's the giant cup?" He jabbed her with a finger as he asked. " I'll gargle and spit!"
'Oh, Oghren', Gwenna shook her head affectionately. She had to laugh.
"You're not allowed to spit!" she scolded him.
This time, it was the mage who chuckled. "Joining the Wardens, eh?" He addressed the dwarf, "Well, good luck with that!"
Then, from within the royal ranks, a female voice emerged. "King Alistair!" A Templar knight cried, "Your Majesty, this man is a dangerous criminal!"
Alistair, confusing her meaning, considered Oghren. "The dwarf is a bit of a ass, but I wouldn't go that-", he began.
"She means me!" Anders interrupted him. The note of defeat in his voice was palpable. He cast a glance toward Gwenna then, as if to say, 'Thanks, but the jig is up'. Little did he know, Gwenna still had a trick up her sleeve.
The Templar was talking to the king, reciting a laundry list of indiscretions that were accredited to Anders, not the least of which was murder. Anders made a feeble attempt at defending himself but, certain that his fate was sealed, gave it up before he'd truly begun. Under his breath he muttered, "The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble."
Alistair regarded the mage coolly. " I guess there isn't much to say then, is there?" Then to Gwenna, "Unless you have something to add, Commander?"
Gwenna gave Alistair a sly smile. "As a matter of fact, Your Majesty," she drawled, " I do. I hereby invoke the right of conscription."
The look of appalled shock that passed across Alistair's face was almost as satisfying as the look of unadulterated relief upon Anders'.
The Templar was outraged. "What? Never!" she cried.
Alistair's eyes had gone very wide but, to his credit, he gave no other indication of his reaction. He regarded her momentarily, then spoke, "Are you sure this is wise, Gwenna?"
She drove her fingernails into her fists at the use of her name. Alistair continued.
"This man is believed to have murdered Templars. You don't know what he's capable of. He could even be maleficarum, for all you know."
"Alistair", she spat, forgetting herself, "my wardens are gone. I have talking Darkspawn to contend with, and you are concerned about the moral implications of a little blood magic? Save it. I need these men. My request stands."
Alistair balked visibly, but Gwenna knew she had him.
"I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the right of conscription, no? I suppose I will allow it."
With that, Alistair and his company took their leave. It had been a long journey after all, and they would need rest and a hot meal before the fealty pledging ceremony commenced. Gwenna was relieved to have it over with, for the time being. She didn't notice Alistair looking back in her direction as he walked away. She was practically in a dead run, hurling herself in the opposite direction, trying to make it to her quarters before the inevitable breakdown became a public one. She was nearly inside when a hand caught her arm.
"My Lady, I just wanted to thank you for… well, for saving me, I suppose. I really don't know what I would have done if they'd taken me back to the circle again."
It was Anders, and as much as she wanted to in that moment, it was impossible for Gwenna to flee from this man when he only wished to express his gratitude. She turned toward him reluctantly, her face already wet with tears. When Anders registered this, it stopped him cold. Gwenna watched the recognition come into his expression, as the puzzle pieces slowly fell into place. He sighed heavily, understanding. A very honest sympathy reached out to her from Anders' green-gold eyes and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hug her. Instead he took her hands gently, gazing directly into her puffy, tear stained face.
"You saved my life today, Dear Lady. Know that I know that."
Gwenna didn't trust herself to speak, but the mage didn't seem to expect her to. He dropped her hands as gingerly as he'd grasped them and gestured toward the door. She nodded meekly and made her way, reeling, toward the solace of her bed.
Anders felt a drop of moisture in his palm. Instinctively, he licked at it. Salty. Tears, from where the commander, from where Gwenna, had wiped her eyes on her hands before he'd held them. As he watched her walk toward the manor, body sagging like an upright noodle, Anders felt needles of electricity gnawing at his fingertips.
'Now, why is it', he thought to himself, 'that I suddenly have an unbearably compelling urge to watch a very large lightning bolt cleave the skull of our esteemed King of Ferelden?'