Chapter IV: A Knight at the Tavern

The teyrnir of Highever occupied most of the northern coast of the kingdom of Ferelden and extended into the Fereldan Valley, claiming much of the northern Bannorn. It was a land of teeming forests and fertile farmland to the south and rich mines to the north and west. Highever itself was a walled city in the north, built upon five hills overlooking the Waking Sea. With the gold pouring in from prosperous freehold landowners and vassal lords, the city was the capital of the most prosperous region of Ferelden, and it looked the part. Its stone walls were well-maintained and thick enough for eight men to walk across comfortably, standing side by side, and they were built of white stone which gleamed in the moonlight. At the center was Castle Cousland, the citadel around which the city had grown.

To Highever's immediate west was the bannorn of Winterport, ruled from the eponymous port town. Contrary to the name, the countryside around the town was, in fact, quite green, and suffered only a light frost during the winter months. On the contrary, during the coldest months of winter, it was one of the busiest in Ferelden, after Gwaren was choked with ice, and the seas around Amaranthine and Denerim became too tempestuous for all, but the hardiest of sailors. Winterport was ruled by the Reyne family. During the Orlesian invasion, Bann Cormac Reyne was the lord, but he was killed during the Battle of Ashcrown, when ten thousand Orlesian men-at-arms were defeated and forever denied entry into the teyrnir. His only surviving daughter, Eleanor, Lady of Winterport, married Bryce Cousland, who became teyrn after his father Callum died of illness.

Even further west of Winterport was the town of Silverclaw. As its name suggested, Silverclaw was home to mines, mainly of silver and gold, but also of copper and iron. Consequently, the bannorn was known for its incredible wealth. The town was built around a rock spire overlooking the Waking Sea. The castle, the Argent Keep, stood at the top of the rock, overlooking the sea and providing a lookout point onto the countryside. It was considered one of the most defensible towns in the kingdom, as the approach by land was heavily fortified. No army had ever taken the fortress. The only time its banners were dipped was when the ruling bann recognized Calenhad as his king. Silverclaw's ruling house was House Maron, Alexander's family, considered the second family of Highever. The wife of Bann Edwin Maron had been Cecilia Cousland, Teyrn Bryce Cousland's aunt, which made the Marons and Couslands cousins, and Bann William fourth in line for the title of teyrn.

South from Silverclaw were the smaller bannorns of Harlow and Danebridge, both of which were known primarily for their farming, and were ruled by two branches of House Harron, an old, but poor family that had seen better days. Harlow, in particular, was a downtrodden old village with houses of thatched straw and wood. The center of town was not the lord's castle, but the local inn, the Black Boar. That night, the innkeeper did a roaring trade. A group of knights from Redcliffe had journeyed north for the tourney at Highever, and had decided to stop in Harlow for the night. Three men from Honnleath, a village southwest of the Guerrins' castle, had also made the trip, and they were gathered at the bar when Alexander, Antonia, and Ser Frederick Carroll entered the tavern.

"Ah, good old Harlow," said Alexander. "You should try the beer here, Freddie, the brewers in Danebridge, across the marsh, are the best in the Coastlands."

"I probably shouldn't drink anything," said Carroll.

"Nonsense, I'm buying you a goddamned drink, old boy," said Alexander. "You've spent far too much time guzzling lyrium. We need to find you a woman as well."

"I trust you won't be searching for another of your own?" Antonia asked him, her brow arched.

"I have the best woman in all of Highever, love," said Alexander, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I've no need and no desire for another. But poor Carroll here hasn't seen a woman who wasn't in a Chanter's habit. Even the Maker found himself a comely lass, old boy. You need to find yourself one as well!"

"Uh, um, very well, then, I shall try some of the ale," said Carroll.

"We'll have three ales!" Alexander exclaimed, setting aside forty silver on the bar table while the barmaid, a curvy blonde, poured the drinks out of the casks behind her. Next to her was a small, mousy looking man, another bartender.

Meanwhile, the knights of Redcliffe were raising their glasses. "To Ser Osric Halveyle, Knight of Redcliffe!" they exclaimed. Ser Osric Halveyle was a bear of a man, standing over seven feet tall in the Fereldan reckoning. Even Antonia and Alexander, who were six feet and six feet and two inches tall, respectively, would have had to crane their necks to look up at him. He was dressed in a shirt of mail with vambraces, spaulders, and pauldrons of steel. Over the mail was a surcoat with the emblem of Redcliffe on it, a gray tower atop a red hill, set against an argent escutcheon and a black field. A large beard covered the lower half of his face, and his blond hair had grown long.

"I'd wager he'd do well at the tournament," said Antonia, nodding towards him as she sipped her ale. Alexander looked up the gigantic knight.

"He was one of the knights who besieged Denerim," said Alexander. "My dad told me about him. When the towers were at the walls, he was the first one out, wielding a flaming sword."

"Was it enchanted?" Antonia asked.

"I doubt it," said Alexander. "A lot of knights used to coat their swords with oil and set them on fire before going into battle. It scared the Orlesian lords senseless. Especially when it was Ser Osric running onto the wall, all of seven feet and more, with a battle axe larger than many people."

"One wonders how the Orlesians ever thought they stood a chance," said Antonia. "So, where are we headed after this?"

"Ashcrown," said Alexander. "Templars hate that place. It's filled with Tevinter refugees from the Third Purge."

"The Third Purge?" Antonia asked.

"My mother's father was named Senator Lucius Marius Deverus. He had a son, named Titus, and three daughters, Maria Prima, Maria Secunda, and Maria Tertia. Prima and Tertia died during the Purge. Secunda, called Helena for her beauty, escaped with her brother. My uncle led a navy of forty ships from Antiva to Ferelden, and broke a blockade of Highever's harbor. In gratitude, the teyrn granted them the land of Ashcrown, a bannorn east of here, to settle."

"The locals have no trouble being ruled by a magister?" Antonia asked.

"My uncle's not a magister," said Alexander. "None of my grandfather's children were. Magic only pops up rarely in the Deverus bloodline. The Archon used to mock him for it, calling him 'Weak-Blood.' Saving Highever made my mother's family properly ennobled here in Fereden and to secure the chests of Tevinter gold that her family brought with them, Bann Edwin Maron, my other grandfather, had my father and mother married."

"Is that how your father and mother met?" Antonia asked.

"She led a group of outriders in the army of Highever. With the reinforcements of Tevinter refugees, many of whom had been Imperial legionaries, the army of the coast pushed the chevaliers all the way back to the Feravel Plains, near Amaranthine, and made Highever a stronghold in the service of the King. By the time they were married, my father and mother had been lovers for a year. They met when she dragged him off the battlefield at White River, after the loyalist defeat. My father was leading a group of knights in covering Lord Bryce's retreat. His company was smashed and he would have been killed if she had not been there. After that, they never were apart."

"That sounds oddly romantic for your father, the breaker of Templars," said Antonia.

"He has it in him," said Alexander. "And he's more bark than bite."

The knights were becoming rowdier and Ser Osric grabbed one of the wenches as she passed by him. She fell into his lap, but looked quite nervous in his presence, which was understandable with any strange man, let alone one who was a burly knight encased in armor.

"Come here, bitch, the evening's still young and I haven't fucked anything yet!" roared Ser Osric.

"S-Ser, I don't think that would be p-proper," said the wench. "T-There's m-more people to serve. H-how about I g-get you 'nother ale after I'm done with me rounds?"

"You'll bend over, you filthy slut, and you'll do it willingly!" roared Ser Osric. He balled his fist and punched her in the face. "Hold her down and strip her. After I'm done with her, you'll all get your fair share of the spoils.

One of the Redcliffe knights grabbed a fistful of the wench's straw colored hair and tugged it upward so that she could hardly resist as another man tore off her dress, revealing a threadbare cotton slip. It was overturned, covering her face, as her naked body was revealed.

"Speaking of bark and bite, I think we have in our hands a rabid dog that needs to be put down," said Alexander. Antonia grabbed her staff and made to help the wench, but Alexander grabbed her fist. "Wait! Remember who we are and where we're sitting. Those men are knights, and they are armored. Leave this to me."

Alexander stood up, but as he strode over to the knights from Redcliffe, another man, closer to the young mage's age, rushed over with his sword drawn. He was wearing a leather jerkin with the Amaranthine bear embroidered on it. His hair was long, thick, and dark brown, which he wore long.

"Keep your hands off her, you rogue," he said.

The bar went completely silent. Carroll looked tipsy, as he had drunk his third frothing mug of ale, and he had hardly been able to hold his liquor before. Antonia saw this and wisely led him as far away from the brewing fight as she could.

"Are you going to stop me, young bear?" said Ser Osric. "Stand aside, you aren't in Amaranthine anymore."

"And you are not in Redcliffe," the young lord from Amaranthine refused to lower his blade. "If you continue to abuse that woman, you will pay for it."

Alexander stepped forward, the spell-casting end of his staff pointed at Ser Osric. "Eight on one is hardly sporting. You'll have to fight me as well, and unlike the young Amaranthiner lord, I am from Highever."

"You have the look of Silverclaw scum about you, boy," said Osric. "Good, I will enjoy sending Lord William your head after I'm done killing the both of you, and after I've had my fill of this fine young whore."

"Miss, I would advise that you run," said Alexander to the wench. "Take the entire rest of the day off, take a long bath, and find some decent clothes. Go on. They won't be following you."

The wench didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed the tattered heap of torn cloth that used to be her dress, and ran out of the tavern, but not before whispering a timid thank you to the two young men before she left.

"Kill them!" shouted Ser Osric.

A knight lunged at Alexander. He dodged the knight's sword as he stabbed, and then stepped back, avoiding a horizontal slash. He used his staff as a spear, blocking the knight's sword and using the length of his weapon to keep him at a distance. The knight lunged again, and this time lost his footing. Alexander stepped toward him and knocked his sword away. He twirled his staff around and pointed the spell-casting point directly at his face. He fired a bolt of magic directly at the man's face, and the room was filled with pinkish mist as the bolt blew a hole in his face. He turned and stabbed another man-at-arms with his spear, through the neck.

The young man from Amaranthine sidestepped out of the way as a Redcliffe man-at-arms smashed through a table with a maul. He slashed under the man's arm, at the weak point in his armor, and then slashed through the crippled soldier's throat. He twirled around and speared another man through the neck with the point of his blade. He moved quickly around the room, dodging the slashes and stabs of the other Redcliffe men. He pushed one of them into a table and stabbed downward into another chink in his armor, but he was slowed dislodging his blade. Another one of them loomed over him, with his axe raised – and then his head exploded.

The young lord looked over and Alexander had his staff pointed at the Recliffer, having fired another spell. The mage gave him a quick nod before jumping out of the way. Ser Osric was brandishing a mace and sent it crashing into a table, which it smashed into splinters. Once again Alexander survived simply by keeping the hulking knight at a distance. While Ser Osric was quite tall, the spear point on Alexander's staff meant that he could not make a serious approach without risking impalement, and the mage proved too quick to be bludgeoned by his mace.

Alexander looked over at the young man from Amaranthine. He was surrounded by four of the remaining knights. With a flourish of his hands, he conjured a gravitic ring, a vortex of Force Magic where the affected objects gravitated towards a single epicenter. Put into practice, it knocked all of the men off them their feet and sent them tumbling around in a circle. The Amaranthine lord crawled away, leaving only his assailants in the area of effect.

Ser Osric made to attack Alexander again, but a large stone flew into his side. He was knocked into the air and sent clean through the back wall into an adjoining room. He had been knocked unconscious. Antonia was standing in the doorway, holding her staff aloft. Around her, bits of the wooden floor and the dirt underneath had been scraped away when she conjured the Stonefist spell.

"Your time, as usual, is impeccable, sweetheart," said Alexander.

"My pleasure, love," said Antonia. "But perhaps we should depart. The local authorities will not be pleased to see Redcliffe soldiers killed here."

Carroll appeared, walking out of the corner where Antonia had left. He was clearly drunk, but he had been whacked atop the head by the flat edge of a sword. There was a clearly visible, bleeding wound on his face. He immediately shouted, "These men tried to rape an innocent woman and assault a Templar! They attempted to murder a man of the faith!"

The regulars at the tavern, emerging from their hiding places, looked perplexed, as few saw the entire fight unfold, but the mention of an attempted assault on a Templar made their opinion of Ser Osric Halveyle sour noticeably. "Damned fool, I think the blow to the head's addled him more than the lyrium!" said Antonia.

"No, wait," said the young lord from Amaranthine. "That story will exonerate you. The two of you are mages. The Harrons will not appreciate soldiers and knights being assaulted in their land. I will vouch for you as best I can, but Ser Templar's testimony will give added weight."

"It is of no matter," said Alexander. "I am highborn and my father is of high station in Highever. Our words will be good enough. You handled yourself well in that fight. What is your name? You wear the sigil of the Howes of Amaranthine. Are you a knight of that land?"

"No," he said. "More than that, I'm afraid. I am Thomas Howe. Arl Rendon is my father. You handled yourself well, also, Messere…?"

"Maron, Alexander Maron," the mage replied. "I am the son of Bann William, of House Maron of Silverclaw. Some call me the Exiled Wolf. Others call me the Lord in Robes."

"My father has spoken often of your family, and not often with kind words, but I'd say you're all right, Lord Maron," said Thomas. "Thank you for helping me with these brigands."

He pointed to Antonia. "This is Antonia, also a mage, but born of House Maitland of Highever, daughter of Ser Angus and sister of Ser Roger."

"My compliments, Milady," said Thomas. He bent down and kissed her hand. "I have heard stories of the beauty of the ladies of Highever. You prove all of them true, Lady Antonia."

Antonia blushed. "You're too kind, Lord Thomas."

Alexander interrupted. "What brings you to Harlow, Lord Howe?"

"Please, Alexander, let's dispense with titles," he said. "Everyone at court uses them and surely two warriors of noble birth, mage or not, can speak to each other without such pretensions after having fought in battle together?"

"Very well, Thomas."

"I am here in Harlow because I regularly travel the Coastlands," he said.

"I do not see a retinue with you," said Alexander. "Or even a bodyguard."

"It is quite unusual for young lords to travel in the country without armed men guarding them," said Antonia.

"I can handle myself well enough," said Thomas.

"No arguments there," said Alexander. "Where are you headed?"

"Highever, actually," said Thomas. "My family is attending the tourney in honor of the teyrn. They've travelled ahead of me, but I prefer the scenic trail It is likely that my father has hurried ahead to arrange marriages for my sister Delilah and me, but there is much beauty in these lands that are missed by those on swift horses."

"We were headed to Highever, also," said Antonia. "Perhaps we could travel together."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," said Alexander. "What do you say? If you're not in a hurry, the extra company is always welcome."

Thomas looked back at where Ser Osric had been launched by Antonia's spell. The door had been thrown ajar, and the knight was just waking. "Thank you for the invitation. Where are you headed next?"

"Ashcrown, and then to Silverclaw and Highever," said Antonia. "We are actually on assignment for the Circle, but seeing as our Templar escort is currently drunk, we have been largely making our own way there as we see fit."

Thomas laughed. "Well, perhaps I will join you," he said. "Floyd," he said to the barman. "Do you think you can take care of the bodies?"

"I'll have them taken care of, Lord Howe, don't you worry," he replied.

"A friend of yours?" Alexander asked as they walked toward the fallen knight.

"Yeah, actually," said Thomas. "He was pressed into the service of my father's navy, many years ago. You're William Maron's son, so perhaps you've heard of the Alamarri rebellions?"

"Of course," said Alexander. "My father commanded the vanguard of the Higheverian army tasked with storming Alamar. What did that Floyd fellow do to be impressed into a galley crew?"

"He stole from our military reserve," said Thomas. "And it wasn't the kind of theft where a man has to steal simply to eat. He rode off with a wagon filled with twelve bags of grain. My father wanted to have his hands cut off, but as we needed sailors to fight the Alamarri, he was impressed into a crew instead."

"What convinced the Arl to, uh, show mercy?" Alexander asked.

"My older brother, Nathaniel, took a liking to him," said Thomas. "He served a year for every sack of grain he stole. After he left our fleet, he started working at this tavern. Anyway, there's the matter of this scum to decide. I say we kill him and be done with it."

Alexander looked down at Ser Osric. "That's probably a bad idea, as he is an anointed knight, but we can't simply let him go, at least not yet."

He walked up to Ser Osric and shook him awake. Osric looked up at Alexander and scowled. "What do you want, mage?"

"I desire nothing from you, Ser Osric," said Alexander. "I'm only here to educate you on the finer matters of politics in the Coastlands, though that is likely a losing proposition. You see, by attempting to kill the three of us, you made grave errors in judgment."

"Do all mages state the obvious?" Osric asked.

"Only for those who need it spelled out for them," said Alexander. "Now, the young lady with the red hair, the one who knocked you through a wall with her magic, she is the daughter of Ser Angus Maitland, one of Bryce Cousland's highest ranking knights. The young lord with the bear blazon is Thomas Howe. I'm sure you know Rendon Howe – he must have a terrible reputation in Redcliffe, where his rivalry with Arl Eamon Guerrin is the stuff of legend. You can only imagine his reaction when he hears that eight Redcliffe men tried to kill his son in a tavern. Why, Lord Rendon might even be so merciful as to take your life after he's down with you. And I'm sure our teyrn would be pleased that the son of one of his closest friends was nearly murdered in his realm."

"Teyrn Bryce has the soft heart of a woman," said Ser Osric, but the mention of Rendon Howe made his pupils contract, and his voice became less confident. "A ransom will be offered, my family will pay it, and I will go free."

"The punishment for rape in Highever is castration, Ser Osric," said Thomas. "Attempted rape will likely get you scourged, and your voice holds little weight in the north. Keep that in mind before you scoff at the idea of imprisonment. You will likely hope they take the tower with the stones after being walled up for a month in the dungeons."

"I haven't gotten to the best part," said Alexander.

"Oh dear," said Antonia.

"What?" Thomas asked her.

"This is the part where he starts threatening to sic his father on anyone who harms him," Antonia whispered. "It's surprisingly effective."

Alexander gave a short laugh and continued. "Now, we haven't been properly introduced. Hi, there. My name is Alexander. Now, when you saw me, you likely thought that I was just a mage, briefly unshackled by the Templars. My father might have been a blacksmith, my mother a seamstress, and I likely have three – yes, let's say three – younger siblings I've never seen. In short, I'm nobody to you."

"More or less, mage," said Ser Osric.

"Well, you'd be wrong," said Alexander. "You see, I am Alexander of House Maron. My father is Lord William of Silverclaw. So, it's interesting that you threatened to send him my head as a gift, because if you did, you would be running from his men for the rest of your life."

"Big words for the son of a bann," said Ser Osric. "I'm sworn to an arl. Your father won't be able to polish Arl Eamon's boots, let alone challenge him."

Alexander laughed. "It's interesting you say that. He won't need to. He's the teyrn's cousin and the field commander of the Higheverian army. Had you killed me, nay, had you attacked me, you would have been captured, disarmed, and taken back to Silverclaw, where you would have suffered a grueling death at my father's hands. You still might, in fact, should I inform him of your preferred hobby. The Templars once tried crossing him, too, confident that he wouldn't dare oppose the Chantry. He faced an army of Templars one thousand strong with two hundred men and crushed it. There were twenty survivors. He had the eyes of nineteen of them put out, and had the twentieth lead them back to Kinloch Hold. When the Grand Cleric learned what had happened and saw her men, she had a heart attack and died later that day. If you think you can do better than that, take a swing. By the time he's done with you, there won't be much left that can properly identify you as a man, let alone as a human."

"What are you going to do with him?" Thomas asked warily.

"Me?" Alexander asked. "I've already done all I can. Antonia, be a dear and confiscate the man's helmet, gauntlets, and sword."

"Of course," said Antonia. She took the weapon and pieces of armor and handed them to the bartender. "Perhaps this gear can be sold to a blacksmith or an armorer, to help pay for the damage we caused," she suggested to him.

"They will likely fetch a handsome price, but the sword I will keep," said Floyd. "One day, when I have children, they will know the story of how it was obtained.

Alexander's description of his father and the punishment Ser Osric would face at his father's hands had finally deflated him and destroyed any resistance he had to imprisonment. While Alexander was speaking, Osric's face began to sweat and his eyes narrowed. The door to the tavern opened and a sergeant dressed in a leather tabard bearing the teal-and-orange rose of House Harron of Harlow. Alexander had always thought that their sigil looked comically garish, and preferred the red-and-white rose of the branch of the family that ruled Danebridge.

"What's happened?" he called out. "In the name of Lord Peter Harron of Harlow, I am here to sort out this mess and if necessary bring the culprits to justice."

"That would be him," said Antonia, pointing to Ser Osric. "He attempted to rape one of the wenches here, and when she resisted and we attempted to stop him, he attacked us. We killed his companions when they joined in the attack, in self-defense."

"Lies, all of them!" said Ser Osric. "I am a knight of Redcliffe and these, these impudent brigands assaulted me to steal my coin and my belongings."

"We confiscated some of his gear to prevent him from attacking us again," said Alexander. "And you can check him; he remains in possession of his coin. Not that I would need his coin, being the son of the marshal."

"You're Bann William Maron's son?" the Harlow sergeant asked.

"He is," said Thomas. "And I am the son of Arl Rendon Howe ."

"Shit," the sergeant muttered. "A Maron and a Howe attacked in Harlow. My lord won't like this, nor would the teyrn."

"Can we convince you to let us go?" Antonia asked.

"The mention of Howe and Maron is enough," said the sergeant. "The wolf and the bear, Bryce Cousland's personal attack dogs they are. No, you can go, but go quietly."

"Am I not going to be given a fair chance?" Ser Osric asked. "I am a knight, and I demand to see your lord. These beasts will be strung up by their heels before dawn!"

"Did he do what he has been accused of?" the sergeant asked Floyd the barman.

"Yes ser, he did, Sergeant ser," said Floyd. "You can stay here and question everyone, if you'd like."

"Ask yourself whether you'd be given an acquittal if you committed the same crime," said Alexander.

"My lord would have my balls taken or send me off to fight darkspawn in the Deep Roads with those Grey Wardens," said the sergeant. "Go on, then. Take him. And Maker be merciful, we never see him in these lands again."

"We will need a pen to hold him," said Alexander.

"That can be arranged," said the sergeant. "In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your stay in Harlow, and give us no reason to regret our hospitality to you, as well."

OOOOO

The caravan kept moving. Thomas was riding a horse of his own, and the sergeant had provided Alexander and Antonia with two mares as payment for their help in arresting Ser Osric, though in truth they had done every last bit of the work. The sergeant, who they had learned was named "Erik," explained that they were bred for Peter Harron, but rejected as the lord wanted stallions only. Antonia had named her horse White Lady, while Alexander's mare, owing to its black coat, was named Knight Hunter.

"Did you have to make the horse's name a pun?" Thomas asked.

"Of course," said Alexander.

"He loves puns," said Antonia exasperatedly. "Still, it's a fitting name, considered what earned you the horse."

She pointed to the wagon, which had another cart attached to it bearing a pen with Ser Osric, who was currently curled asleep in a pile of hay. Carroll was given the thankless task of steering the wagon train while listening to Ser Osric's insults and profanities. Alexander would often specifically request Carroll as his Templar escort whenever he and his teacher, Wynne, left the tower precisely because he was harmless. Never a bright sort to begin with, he was already suffering the early onset of lyrium addiction-related illness. His mind grew increasingly blank by the day, and his behavior was more eccentric than most Templars, thus he was more pliable.

Ashcrown was the next town on the route to Highever, and like Alexander had described, its people were culturally Tevinter. The main building in the town was the lord's hall, a holdfast in the north of the town, a small keep surrounded by a single wall. The hall was built of stone and some marble, and the entryway was lined with stone columns.

The guard who escorted them into the city (and immediately became friendlier when he sighted the silver wolf sigil that Alexander was wearing) possessed the unwieldy and decidedly foreign name of Gallus Collatinus.

"You know, this is the only town in Ferelden where I've met fourteen different women named 'Julia Severa'," said Thomas. "These Tevinters weren't very imaginative, were they?"

"Not with names, no," said Alexander. "My mother and her two sisters were all named 'Maria' – they had to adopt nicknames to tell each other apart.

"Your name doesn't sound Fereldan," the young Howe commented. "Wouldn't a native-born Fereldan prefer the name Alistair, or perhaps Alec?"

"You're an observant one, Howe," said Alexander, impressed. "You're quite right. My mother is Tevinter. She led the people who settled this town, and her brother is the local lord. They were granted this fief by the teyrn for fighting for us during the rebellion. Anyway, not to worry, these people are for the most part good company."

"There's no slavery here?" Antonia asked. "They didn't even resist the idea of the practice being banned?"

"It's because they disliked slavery that they left the Imperium," said Alexander. "Some were slaves; others were members of the Imperial navy that mutinied with my grandfather. They started raiding slaving fleets on the high seas once they were no longer flying the Archon's banner. Orlais used to sell slaves in those days, too, and the Tevinters and the Fereldans became strange bedfellows."

"So, this bannorn is ruled by your mother's family?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, the Deverus family rules here," said Alexander. "The current lord is Marcus Deverus, my mother's cousin. Before him, his father, Faustus, ruled in Ashcrown."

"What is this bannorn known for?" Thomas said.

"Farming, for the most part," said Alexander. "Southern Highever is like the Bannorn, it's all very fertile. Ashcrown lies on the Imperial Highway, so it picks up a lot of the trade coming down from Highever, Silverclaw, and Winterport, and a bit from Snowborne. My mother came to Ferelden with a lot of Tevinter gold. The influx of coin into the bannorn made it much wealthier in the past thirty years. Before the rebellion, it was just a rain-soaked farming village."

And Ashcrown was anything but a simple village. The roads were paved with cobblestones, and shops lined the streets leading up to the lord's hall, Ash Manor. Much of what was being sold in these shops was limited to food – grains, greens, and fresh meats from the farms dotting the countryside – but there were also crafted goods and metal works such as armor and blades being sold as well.

"I always find it interesting blades are sold openly here in Highever," said Thomas.

"They are not in Amaranthine?" Antonia asked.

"Not often," said Thomas. "My father orders sword hunts, to quell the potential for uprisings. He believes it will make the populace easier to control and end the possibility for rebellion. I can understand why he thinks so. His early reign was one marked with turmoil. But the issue is one of many on which the two of us disagree. Not that it would matter, of course. I am not his heir."

"You're not?" Alexander asked.

"My brother Nathaniel is his elder son and heir," said Thomas. "I am merely a placeholder until the day he returns from being fostered in Kirkwall. The lack of such status has given my father reason to disregard my opinions."

Alexander had never considered what it would have been like to not be his father's firstborn. If he and his brothers Richard or James had switched places, would his father have cared so much if the young boy he was grooming to be his successor had not been a mage, but rather one of his younger sons, or one of his daughters?

His gut told him he would. His father loved his children, and likely would have done anything to make sure that they grew up well, even if he could not raise them himself. But, perhaps more negatively, he hated being outdone. He hated the Chantry, and he hated the Maker – he believed in the Maker, but he hated Him, for daring to make his beloved firstborn a mage, for giving him a power he could not order away or change through sheer persistence. It rankled with him and he would not stop until he could have the last laugh. Until his mage firstborn son sat on the seat of his father and his father's father, as if to say to the Maker that for all his divine power, it was nothing in the face of a father's love for his son or a lord's demand that his will become reality. And if he went to the Void after death because of his slight against the Maker, he had once said to him, he would go there laughing because he knew that he died victorious against a god Himself.

"Your father is wrong to ignore your opinions," said Antonia, and her words shook Alexander out of his reverie.

"If telling the Arl of Amaranthine that he is wrong were such an easy task!" said Thomas, laughing. "I'm not too worried about it."

They had reached the lord's hall. Alexander, Antonia, and Thomas dismounted from their horses and Collatinus grabbed their reins.

"Gallus, we'll likely be staying here only a night before departing north," said Alexander. "Lord Marcus is expecting us."

"I'll deliver these horses to the stable and post a few guards to watch your prisoner," said Gallus.

The three of them walked up the stone steps and past the rows of columns. There was a single statue of a man in armor holding a blade-tipped staff aloft in a posture of defiance. His face was bearded, and though the entire creation was made of starkly white stone, Alexander was able to point out, "My grandfather, Lucius Marius Deverus."

"Who approaches?" asked the guard. "Court is currently in session."

"We are not here to interrupt, but rather to escape the early morning chill," said Alexander. "The Bann has been expecting me, I am Lord Marcus's nephew, Alexander."

"Really?" asked the guard. "Why the black hair, then, lad? Lord Marcus is a redhead, he is."

"Because, fool, I am William Maron's son, do you not see the wolf sigil? His reply was more irritable than he intended. He thought the comment, however, was quite inane. "Look, we're travelling a prisoner and on our way to Highever, and we're attending the tournament there in a week's time."

"Who's the prisoner?" the guard asked.

"A brigand we apprehended in Harlow," said Thomas. "Just be a good man and let us in."

The guard shook his head and wrenched the door open, bidding them forward. The interior of Ash Manor was dark and lit by candles. The few windows were high above floor, and let in a small amount of light, but generally were not enough to illuminate the entire room. Instead, the throne room was lit by the warm orange glow of candlelight, while black shadows kept everything in sharp contrast.

"Milord," said a freeholder. "The last winter was crushing to our village. Our blacksmith died of plague, as did our mason, and we have little left of the last harvest. Most of us take shelter in the chantry, but it's a crumbling mess. When it rains, it falls through the cracks in the roof, and when the rats come, they slip through holes in the walls…"

Lord Marcus was a man aged nearly forty. His hair was a darker shade of red than Antonia's, and he sported a thick, bristly beard. He wore a tunic made of fine cotton, colored brown and black, and it was emblazoned with the symbol of House Deverus, a white falcon. When he spoke, his accent was smooth, though somewhat of a higher pitch, and as he spoke, his steely blue eyes gazed at the freeholder. It had been ten years since Alexander had seen him.

"Normally, under the circumstances, freeholders are responsible for the upkeep of their own holdfasts and villages. But, owing to the circumstances, we can spare two stone masons and a carpenter to attend to your needs."

The freeholder bowed and left. Marcus looked at Alexander, and his face broke into a huge grin. "Alexander Maron," he said. "It's been far too long, old boy."

"It has," said Alexander, who returned his cousin's grin. "You're a bann, now. You've certainly moved up in the world."

"I suppose I have," Marcus rose from his seat and hugged him. "Your mother will be overjoyed. She was worried you might have failed your Harrowing."

"She thought I would fail?" Alexander asked, in a tone of exasperation and mock surprise. "Has she no confidence in me?"

"She was never a mage, and she only heard about it from your grandfather," said Marcus. He turned to his steward. "Adrius! Prepare the guest quarters at once! Family has arrived and will need lodgings! Will you be staying long?" he said, turning back to Alexander.

"A day, perhaps," said Alexander. "I'm actually on business for the Circle of Magi, and I will be attending the tourney in Highever."

"I've been preparing for it as well," said Lord Marcus. "My wife and son will be attending. Knights from all over Ferelden will be attending – Ser Braden Stone, Ser Harrow Hill, Ser Parris the Black, Wulfric of South Reach, that lady-knight from Gwaren – whatever her name was…uh, Carith?"

"Cauthrien," Antonia supplied.

"Yes, that was it, thank you," said Marcus. He glanced at Antonia. "Who are your friends, Alexander?"

"This is Antonia Maitland, daughter of Ser Angus Maitland," he said, introducing his girlfriend. "We, uh, studied together at Kinloch Hold."

"More than studied, I take it?" said Marcus, with a smile and a wink to his cousin that made him sigh and her blush.

"I was trying to be discrete," said Alexander. "And this," he said, gesturing to Thomas, "is Thomas Howe, son of –"

"—It's not often that Ash Manor hosts the kin of Lord Rendon Howe," said Lord Marcus, and his voice was more curt, the smile vanishing from his face. "I hope you find your stay here to your liking."

"I already am, my lord," said Thomas. "And thank you for your welcome."

Marcus turned to Alexander. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I must impose myself regarding a different matter," said Alexander. "We captured a knight attempting to rape a local tavern wench in Harlow. I'm bringing him back to Father, to face justice."

"My guardsmen will watch him," said Marcus. The smile returned. "But we can worry about that later. You probably want to freshen up after your journey. I'll have warm water sent up for a bath, and I'll see to it that some food is prepared. And it's good to have you back, even if it's only for a short while."

Alexander shook his cousin's hand and they parted ways. Marcus had to attend to other business while an elf maid led them to their rooms.

Alexander and Antonia were given a portion of the guest quarters to themselves. Then it was just the two of them, and Lord Marcus's elf servants had finished bringing their things. Alexander had chosen to wear a black tunic over a maroon shirt. Instead of slinging his staff about his shoulders, he unpacked a short sword and fastened it to his belt. He donned a silver necklace with a wolf's head pendant and entered the next room to find Antonia by a mirror, wearing a dress of Orlesian silk and brushing her long, thick red hair. The sun was shining behind her.

"You look beautiful," he said, walking behind her and kissing her softly on the neck.

She turned to face him and smiled. "And you look quite handsome," she said. Her eyes looked over him. "If I had looked upon you for the first time, I would never have thought you a mage," she admitted, and she was right. The luxurious leather tunic and maroon shirt, the polished boots and the trousers, and silver sigil pendant, practically washed away the image of the mage, as did the presence of a sword at his belt, instead of a staff in his hands.

Alexander gave her a roguish grin. "But this is far from the first time you've gazed upon me, isn't it?"

Antonia smiled back at him. "Far from it, my love."

"And having looked upon me, I look the part of a lord, right?" he asked.

"Of course, every bit a lord, and the heir of Silverclaw," said Antonia.

Alexander smiled again, and leaned in for a kiss, to which Antonia responded favorably.