7
Anders leaned against a column in the great hall and made a noble effort not to fall asleep. He normally enjoyed parties quite a lot, but this one was not exactly anything to write home about. He tugged irritably at the high collar of the doublet the queen had somehow dug up for him somewhere. These clothes were clearly not meant for comfort and the feast for the queen's — and now, he supposed, arlessa's — vassals was clearly not meant for actually having any fun. The food was good, but other than that it was a collection of very rich, very important people milling around pompously and discussing things in which Anders had no interest.
Though, if he was being honest, it could have been a rip-roaring gala and he might not have cared. He wasn't feeling particularly celebratory.
The day had started off well enough. After the excruciating ordeal of the night before, Anders woke up none the worse for wear. Well, he was ravenous, but that was easily solved. He'd spent the rest of the morning evaluating the talent, so to speak, amongst the keep's denizens. He and an adorable little redhead were having a private moment in a side room when the queen found him. The girl squealed, fixed her skirts, and fled, bowing and scraping and Your Majestying the entire way.
The day was all downhill from there.
Queen Brighid led him off for a Grey Warden Talk and the first — but by no means the last — unpleasant discovery came when he asked after their third.
"Ser Mhairi is dead," the queen said, as though it was nothing.
From thence came an uncomfortable wave of regret and guilt, because he had not cared. He'd woken that morning and thought of Mhairi, assumed she was still knocked out by their shot of darkspawn or just up and about elsewhere, and had intentionally not looked for her. It had not been personal at all. He liked Mhairi quite a lot. It was just that she had just seen most of her compatriots dead. It was bad enough that he had to tend to that handful of stoic survivors, so few of them even whole. But to deal with Mhairi's grief, perhaps be expected, as a Warden himself now, to be party to it? Anders was excellent at mending broken bodies. He'd always had a talent for it. Hearts and spirits were another's purview.
But it had all been for naught. Brave, pretty Mhairi was dead, and he was the only Warden left to serve their queen and commander. How lucky for them both.
Her subsequent revelations about the burdens of being a Grey Warden, the nightmares and the drastically shortened lifespan, were numbing. He'd gone along with the conscription because it seemed a far superior option to being dragged back to the Circle Tower yet again, likely to be hanged this time. Now he wondered whether he had been tragically mistaken. He got a pendant and thirty extra years, perhaps, provided he wasn't killed by darkspawn in the interim, but it felt very little like freedom.
Queen Brighid did not give the impression of one with a sympathetic ear. Or even of someone who would pretend to have a sympathetic ear, despite the many rumors of her wiles he'd heard in the past months. After what she had been through as a Warden he did not expect comfort or reassurance. At least the archdemon was already dead so he did not have to worry about being the Warden chosen to die in its slaying. It was unscrupulous at best, but he could understand why they didn't include information like that in their recruitment pitch. He didn't suppose she had known beforehand either. So, Anders did not voice his concerns, and the queen did not pause before giving her orders. As Amaranthine was the arling of the Grey Wardens, he would have to attend the ceremony, and he would also need to prepare himself for much messier work that they would see to in a few days.
So, Anders sent his robes for laundering and put on the clothes the queen got for him. He'd even gone and begged a staff off of the mage liaison since his most recent templar captives had, of course, dashed his against a rock at their earliest convenience. Cera did not know him personally, but she knew of him — a side effect of seven escapes — and gave him a series of withering looks. But the staff she provided worked very well, its enchantments strong and its suitability as a conduit for his power unquestionable. Cera's dedication to her duty, it seemed, outweighed her distaste for Anders and his crimes against the image of a perfect, obedient little mage.
Of course, perfect and obedient was what he had to be as a seemingly endless string of lords and ladies and banns pledged their fealty to Queen Brighid as the Warden-Commander. Faithful in matters of life, limb, and earthly honor. Never to bear arms against her or her successors. Anders was mouthing it along with them by the end. And now the feast dragged on through the night with no respite in sight.
He was moments away from the absolute depths of despair — or at least ennui — when a woman approached him. She was blonde and fit and attired in a well-made red gown. Anders immediately broke into a charming smile when she came near.
"My lady," he said.
"You are a Grey Warden, are you not, ser?" she asked directly. Anders would have liked to think that this was a sign that his new status was particularly attractive to women, but he had an inkling that she had other reasons for asking than that she found him suddenly irresistible.
"I am," he confirmed shortly.
"I apologize, Warden," she said, realizing her mistake. "That was quite rude of me. I am Ser Tamra and I asked because I would like a word with your commander."
It figured that the first person to look at him without staring down their nose was actually looking for the queen.
"I think that's probably very common," he said with a slight shrug. This knight assumed an influence that he did not possess. He did not suppose that he was the very last person who could convince the queen to do something, but she did not seem disposed to being convinced in general. The queen, like Ser Tamra, needed him for something. Anders did not presume to be much more to her than a walking artillery.
Ser Tamra frowned. "I assure you it is not anything for my own sake," she said and the anxiety in her bearing made Anders believe her. "It is regarding something I think the queen would be very concerned with. I just need a few moments of her time."
Anders weighed his options. He cast about the room and picked out Queen Brighid. She stood near the dais now. Earlier she had sat there with her handsome features set in stony forbearance, accepting the oaths of her vassals—the carving of warring dogs on the back of her chair like some odd halo. He noted again that she looked perfectly lovely, black hair upswept in a complex configuration of braids. Her dress, in navy and pale gold, did not do the glorious things for her hindquarters that her earlier leather pants and plain shirt had done, but the fit of the bodice did bring some of her other assets into sharp relief.
She was engaged in conversation with a swarthy older man and a woman — bann of something or another, Anders remembered from the ceremony — with a nice figure but unfortunately pinched face. Or rather the man and the woman seemed to be arguing with each other as the queen dispassionately observed. Anders made his decision.
"Stay here," he instructed Ser Tamra and set off across the room.
By the time he neared his target, the man was nearly yelling something about soldiers and farms and Anders slipped in just as he paused for a breath.
"My sincerest apologies, my lord and lady, but I need to borrow my commander for a moment. Grey Warden business, you understand," he said, then looped his arm through the queen's and began to move away. Thankfully, after darting a brief look at him, she moved with him.
"What exactly do you think you are doing, ser mage?" Queen Brighid said, stopping cold as soon as they were out of earshot and extricating her arm from his. Her displeasure was evident.
"Well, uh," Anders began, not enjoying the intensity of her stare. "You seemed a little…put-upon by your companions just then."
The stare relented, but only just. "While it is true that Bann Esmerelle and Lord Eddelbreck were not offering sparkling conversation, it is still a ways beyond your place to interrupt."
Anders nodded agreeably. "It will never happen again," he assured her. "It just seemed as though they were asking things of you that you did not wish to grant."
"Everyone asks things of me," she said simply. "Indeed, I believe that you wish to ask something of me, do you not?"
Caught, Anders fell back on his normal method of dealing with most accusations: denial.
"Whatever would give you that impression?" he asked, smiling nervously.
She pursed her lips. "The lady across the way standing where you were earlier. Staring at us."
"Ah. Yes." He cast his eyes downward, leaning closer and the queen crossed her arms. She really did have an excellent bosom. "There was a small — tiny, really — favor that I wished to ask."
"I do not do favors, Anders. Not easily or freely."
He winced. "She just wants to talk to you. Her name is Ser Tamra. She says it concerns you, not her at all."
"I believe her," he added with his best wide-eyed, hopeful stare.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, something changed in the queen's face, then she rolled her eyes.
"Do not ever do anything like that again," she said taking his arm once more and pacing towards Ser Tamra.
"Never," he swore happily.
Ser Tamra, for all that she had swiftly gotten exactly what she asked for, seemed far less joyful.
"Your Majesty," she said and looked at Anders for a moment before evidently deciding that there was no harm in him hearing this as well. "I regret to inform you that I have… heard things. Talk and other communications of a conspiracy against you."
"I see," the queen said, voice even.
Ser Tamra continued: "I thought that you should know, there are very unhappy people amongst your vassals. I believe that these plans, whatever they may be, were initially intended for whomever you named Warden-Commander, but I do not think that they have been discouraged by the fact that Your Majesty is now the target." Considering that Queen Brighid was likely directly responsible for whatever troubles had them in such a tiff, having killed the previous arl, Anders supposed that they were probably happy about the switch. Why settle for a servant of your enemy when you could have the enemy herself? "In either case, you are not solely among friends," Ser Tamra finished.
"I am well aware of that, I assure you," said Queen Brighid. "Some of these people were very likely involved in Howe's betrayal of my family; it is obvious they would have no great love for me. My question is, Ser Tamra, how am I to know that this warning is not a ploy of yours or some master you serve?"
"I suppose you cannot know," Ser Tamra admitted. "But my concern is genuine. I would prove it to you if I could."
"And why can't you?" the queen asked. "Giving me names would go a long way towards that."
"I do not know names, my lady," Ser Tamra said. "Their communications are coded. I could work it out, but intercepting some of their messages, in addition to being dangerous, would take time."
"I am not going anywhere for a while," Queen Brighid said and Anders could have sworn he heard a sigh in it. "So, I suggest you see to it."
Ser Tamra nodded. "I will then, my lady."
"Then good luck with that." Queen Brighid turned and began to walk away. Anders was about to speak to Ser Tamra, who finally directed an appreciative smile in his direction, but the queen barked his name. He was forced to go running after her as she approached the seneschal, clad in a doublet not too unlike Anders' own. Perhaps that was where the queen had gotten it.
"I am very well done with this, Varel," the queen was saying as Anders caught up to her. "Clear the room."
With that, she plucked a goblet of watered wine from a tray that a nearby elven servant was holding aloft and took a draught. Anders thought this particularly unwise given that she'd just been informed of a conspiracy against her by people who were likely present in this very room, but on second glance he realized that the elf holding the tray was the queen's little tagalong, Zevran. He idly twirled the now empty platter on the tip of one finger, no less agile than he was with the rather wicked daggers he had used to such deadly effect when darkspawn were still swarming the keep. Anders had no real idea of the man's connection to the queen, but he knew there was probably a very good story in there somewhere.
Seneschal Varel announced in a booming voice that Her Majesty grew tired and the hour was late and as such they would be adjourning. An army of servants appeared at the doors to show the various nobles back to their rooms. As they trailed out, the captain of the keep's soldiers entered, followed by the dour and humorless young man from the queen's guard who shadowed her every step. The latter sneered at Anders, evidently still taking umbrage to Anders' remarks to his queen before he had realized that she was the queen. Not that it would likely have stopped him. Really he did not see what was so untoward about acknowledging the obvious fact that she was a very attractive woman. Being the Queen of Ferelden didn't change that.
The guardsman and the captain checked the room for stragglers and finding none, went to bar the door. The queen's mabari hound slipped in just before they did. It headed directly to one of the tables, not yet cleaned, and set to making a mess as it dragged the remains of a hunk of pork — and its platter — off of the table. There was a reason that Anders had always been a cat person.
The queen did not comment on her dog's misbehavior and so no one else did. Instead, she climbed the dais and sat down in her chair. She leaned back and rested her chin on her palm as those still present gathered around.
"Varel," she said and this time she definitely sighed. "A young knight that Anders dug up has informed me that my vassals are plotting against me."
"Unfortunately, that is quite likely your majesty," said the seneschal. "Many of them gained much when Howe claimed Highever."
Though it was Varel who spoke and whom she had addressed, the queen looked at Zevran with a question in her eyes.
"It is true," the elf said, as he ascended the dais to lean against the queen's chair. "While none of them were stupid enough to say anything remotely direct, I know the suspicion of assassination when I hear it. The ones talking were not necessarily involved, but there is definitely something afoot. Call it a buzz, if you like."
"Anyone who is aware of a conspiracy but does not report it is every bit as guilty as those carrying it out," said the captain. "If you have heard them, they should be punished accordingly."
"That is adorably naive," said Zevran and the captain scowled at him. Well, more so than his evidently default scowl.
"I can hardly punish every vassal that is aware that I have enemies but does not see fit to list them to me with no provocation. I would have few vassals left," said the queen.
"And what good are disloyal vassals to have?" the captain asked.
The queen replied: "They are not all disloyal. They simply are not loyal yet as I have given them little reason to be. The proper example must be made."
"Though it is… distasteful," piped up the seneschal. "You could invite members of the families of those most disagreeable to remain here at the keep. And should anything untoward happen…"
"Hostages, Varel?" the queen said, her face a picture of studious consideration. "Expedient in the short term, but not everyone is especially attached to their family, certainly not more so than to the promise of wealth and titles. Not to mention that, for those who are, such a threat would eventually be best gotten rid of by… getting rid of it. It is also not a precedent I am eager to set."
"And you can only follow through on the threat of a hostage once," added Zevran. "Which tends to incite grudges when you do and there you are, fresh out of leverage."
Varel did not seem disappointed by the rejection of this plan. Anders could not blame him, though he found it a surprising decision from the queen, despite the rationalization. Perhaps the rumors had exaggerated her ruthlessness right along with her womanly wiles.
"We could have the soldiers try to see what they might pick up while the nobles are here," suggested Varel. "However, I doubt they would be particularly good at it."
"As do I," said the queen.
"It is never wise to leave espionage to those not trained for it," said Zevran and Anders thought of Ser Tamra.
"I think," said the queen after a moment of silent consideration took the room. "That the best method would be to catch them in the act. Let them spring their little trap."
Anders did not bother to hold his tongue any longer.
"As in the trap through which they mean to kill you?" he asked.
Queen Brighid smiled, self-assured. "Better men have tried."
"I agree with your fellow Warden, Your Majesty," Varel said. "I cannot recommend this course of action."
"Duly noted," the queen said dismissively. "If Anders' knight brings me names and evidence, I may change my mind. Until then, leave it."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Varel said hesitantly.
"Also, with packs of darkspawn roaming the countryside, Bann Esmerelle and Lord Eddelbreck were both plaguing me for soldiers that we barely have," the queen said, shedding light on the spirited discussion from which Anders had rescued her. "Eddelbreck was a friend of my father's, but that certainly does not mean he is free of self-interest. The farmland is his livelihood as much as it is a food source."
"Bann Esmerelle is no friend of mine," she continued. "But as she holds the city and a great deal of wealth besides, I cannot afford to casually make her an enemy. Garavel, you know the defense of this area best. What do you suggest?"
The captain did not hesitate. "It is far easier to rebuild farmhouses than it is a sacked city."
"That is exactly what Esmerelle said," the queen replied. "So be it then. Send more troops to the city."
Captain Garavel nodded.
"There will be more tomorrow, Varel?" the queen asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty, but not nearly so many." He smiled at the look of obvious relief on the queen's face.
"Then," the queen said, rising. "I am going to bed. I do not wish to be disturbed for anything less than a darkspawn attack, if you please."
Varel mumbled his assent and, oddly enough, shared a brief look with Zevran.
The queen swept out of the room. Her mabari was hot on her heels, still licking his chops, and her guardsman only a step behind, though, the queen sent the latter in the opposite direction at the door. The others dispersed as well: Varel, and, after a moment, Zevran, into a side room off the great hall and Captain Garavel presumably to scowl about elsewhere.
Assuming he too was dismissed, Anders wondered if he might find a servant girl out of whom he could charm the location of Ser Tamra's room. It seemed likely enough to give it a try.