Chapter 9 Accidents Happen
Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine and are owned by EA/Bioware, and other entities, but not by me. I do feel no shame in taking their Cousland noble and his dog as my own. This chapter has been a long time coming, but after the ending debacle of ME3, I haven't had the heart to touch anything related to Bioware.
Nigel sprinted down a stairwell, taking steps two at a time, deftly sidestepping a pair of startled guards. Buddy followed closely behind him, and began barking loudly to alert others of their mabari charge down the stairs. From their vantage point on a hill, the picnickers had spotted the riders while they were still well over a mile from the city gates. It was easier for Nigel, being on foot, to thread his way through the city streets than for the riders to make their way through the assorted travelers, coaches, and wagons approaching the city. Therefore, he arrived far ahead of the riders.
Meanwhile, Owain burst through the doors of the Chantry, his long wavy brown hair having come loose from its binding in his flight, and now flowing in his face, giving him a wild, disheveled look. He was blocked immediately by two templars on guard. After explaining the reason for his haste, one of the templars directed him to the grand chapel, where he was told Sister Verity was waiting for evening prayers.
It took him no time at all to spot the tall, elegant woman, old enough to be his...aunt, yes, but a very youngish, beautiful aunt. To his mind she seemed out of place, but elegant nonetheless, even in the robes of a Sister. Not that there weren't more attractive Sisters, and he had entertained thoughts alone in his room that he would later repent for about more than a few. But this Sister had something special; he thought she wouldn't have been out of place in a regal gown at the past night's ball. She seemed even taller than she was because her long chestnut hair was always worn in a bun piled high on top of her head, adding three extra inches of height. When he had seen her at night, even after having been disturbed from her slumber, wearing only a simple sleep chemise, and with her waist-long hair in a simple braid but worn off to the side, she still managed to look elegant.
Beside her sat a equally slender, bespectacled elf-blooded man named Zinn, her assistant, dressed in the robes of a brother, though the presence of a tempar chaperone and the staff that rested against the pew between them marked him as a mage. Luckily, prayers hadn't begun yet, so Owain quickly finger combed his unruly hair and pushed it off his face into a semblance of order, strode up to the Sister, and bowed formally, then explained his mission.
She smiled up sweetly at him, and replied, "For his Highness? Any time, Owain." She liked him best of all the prince's retainers she had met. She thought he was such a pleasant young man, even though he seemed a bit roguish, not that she had any right to look down her nose at that. Perhaps it was the earring, or perhaps not. Most of the time it was he who dropped off a monthly stipend from the royals for the operation of the infirmary. She thought it was cute the way he mimicked the prince's clothing and hair styles. That suggested to her a certain amount of worshipful respect, but more than that. She suspected that Owain was in love with his prince, but she knew from court gossip that filtered even into the Chantry that the prince didn't sleep with his retainers, poor boy.
Owain couldn't help himself but to grin like a schoolboy, despite the seriousness of the situation, because this lovely creature had spoken his name, in a voice that reminded him of velvet and tinkling bells as the same time. He couldn't have been happier if Andraste herself had addressed him. "Maker bless you, Sister Verity." She seemed the very picture of grace and genteelness, though he knew she wasn't what she appeared.
The prince had once told him he first met Sister Verity when he and his former companion Leliana had traveled to Denerim during the Blight, and while there, had confronted a master bard and enemy of Leliana's named Marjolaine. He said the confrontation had quickly turned deadly, resulting in Marjolaine and her accomplices lying dying or dead, and all of the prince's companions wounded. As the apostate who had come with them to provide their firepower was not a healer, and had also been badly wounded herself, they laid low under cover of darkness in an abandoned warehouse used as a safe house by the Gray Wardens. Leliana had drunk their remaining healing potion and had gone for help, saying she knew someone "with a past" at the Chantry.
It was difficult for Owain to imagine this genteel woman having "a past," however. The prince told him the good Sister had returned with Leliana, bringing her healer's bag and a few precious potions that she could spare. In return, he insisted she take her choice of the things Zevran had looted from Marjolaine and her lackeys as payment. She reluctantly looked over the loot then asked only for one of the daggers, after handling it, he told him, with more skill than one would expect from a Sister. But she had told them what she really needed was as much coin as they could spare for her infirmary, explaining she could hardly be seen fencing armor and weapons without raising suspicions. The prince had given her what he had, and swore that he would reward her kindness when he was in a position to do so.
Being one of his few confidants, Owain was aware that since his coronation, Prince Nigel had been an infrequent patient of hers, and she in turn served as one of his clandestine informants in the Chantry, letting him know about problems or injustices in his kingdom she had overheard discussed or which had turned up in Chantry gossip, that must be rectified, but outside of official channels. He told Owain that the first time after the Blight that he had slipped into her room behind the infirmary silently, but not so silently that he didn't awaken her (he told Owain he was impressed that she had enough time to draw that dagger that she kept under her pillow), he presented with an abject apology and a wound that needed her immediate attention, one that would have been impossible for him to explain to the royal healer.
Another night Owain had been recruited as a lookout and was waiting nervously on a rooftop. When his prince finally appeared on the ground below, he had whistled their signal faintly to get his attention, leaning on a stranger wearing blackened armor and a black mask that obscured his face. The stranger saluted Owain when he joined them and blended into the shadows. Owain had needed to accompany the prince to the good Sister's room, half carrying him, while watching for alert guardsmen along their way. She patched him up without any questions, just as he didn't ask his prince any questions about who the man in black was, or how he got the wounds either.
It wasn't that Owain was unaware of his prince's esoteric talents and nocturnal habits. That's how he came into his service after all, back when the prince was serving as Warden Commander at Vigil's Keep. He had sneaked into the prince's bed chamber one night for a bit of snooping and looting for some traveling money before absconding to somewhere free of darkspawn. He chose him as his target because he was likely to have something worth looting, but also as a personal challenge to see if he could get past the guards. The prince and his fellow Wardens were supposed to have been in Amarantine, or at least the ones who might have noticed his sneaking around, like that equally sneaky dwarven wench.
He hadn't found much worth the risk he had taken, except a bag of coins and a small chest that defied his lockpicks. He had been so deep in concentration over the latter he didn't even hear the prince come into the room, until he heard him say softly, "Well now, what have we here." Owain had felt his heart in his throat, which is where the prince's blade was pointing, but acting on instinct, he grinned at him and shrugged his shoulders. The prince grinned back, and Owain took the opportunity of the distraction to sprint to the window. However, he hadn't expected the prince to chase him out of it and down a wall, or to catch him either. He saw murder in the prince's eyes after a flying tackle that knocked the air out of him.
He had fully expected at the very least for him to summon the guard and have him locked up, or end his life with that dagger, which was again at his throat. Indeed, he had growled, "I could kill you now, or I could conscript you into the Gray Wardens." But he surprised Owain when he instead asked for his story. Owain had answered his questions about how he had gotten past the guards, and how he expected to get away with his pilfering truthfully, with the impeccable honesty of someone who has nothing to lose and fully expects to lose everything—those eyes said it all. The prince heard him out then sat back off him and said simply, " I suspect you have more that you can offer me alive, and I've lost enough talented people to the Joining. Hanging you, or throwing you off this roof, would also be a waste. Don't you make me regret my decision."
Owain knew he would have done it too, and also knew no one would have given the death of one of the porters due to a fall from a roof, where he didn't have any business being anyway, much notice. So he entered his service, grateful for a second chance at life. Putting Amaranthine to the torch and coming back to the Keep to save them all cemented his loyalty to his new lord. The prince in turn had seen that he was educated in every way so he would blend in—he taught him how to dress, how and what to eat and drink, and schooled him in the ways of the Court before they returned to Denerim. Once there he worked to overcome his rustic lower class accent. He was now well paid, and had a room of his own with clean sheets and finer clothes than he had ever owned in his life provided for him. Now no one who hadn't known him before would guess he hadn't been born a gentleman.
Yet he feared there would be another price to be paid. For the first months, whenever the prince awakened him in his room or summoned him at night for some training in skulking, he fully expected him to try to educate him in another way, but it never happened. At first Owain was relieved, but he also was surprised to discover he felt offended too, as if he wasn't handsome enough to draw his attention. His hurt feelings didn't last long once he reminded himself that he hadn't wanted that kind of attention. When he told him his opinion was always a breath of fresh air, it didn't take long to understand that his prince valued him as a voice from outside the court, and not as a potential conquest.
Before long, they got on so well that the prince began confiding in him and sending him on personal errands such as to arrange his visits to The Pearl. Thus Owain also knew that on two occasions his prince had gone to Sister Verity or Zinn after hours when he had picked up a nasty disease that would cause embarrassment to the queen if the news got out. Owain knew because he had also had an occasion to visit them for the same reason. Though he didn't need to be as discreet about it as the prince had been, he sought treatment from Zinn rather than the lovely Sister, because he had discovered on his way there he was too ashamed to face her and lay all his sins bare. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't have scolded or belittled him, but he found that he cared about her opinion of him very much. There hadn't been many people like that in his young life, his prince being another.
That brought his mind back to the present and his reason for his hasty summoning. "Shall we be off?"
Sister Verity turned to Zinn. His stomach replied for him with a loud rumble, and he scowled and flushed in embarrassment and ran a bony hand through his unruly red hair. Sister Verity smirked and patted his other hand. If it had been any other noble's retainer requesting that he not only miss prayers, but also give up his supper, Zinn would have declined, unless his patient was at death's door. Many of the nobles kept doctors as part of their household, even for their servants, so Zinn reserved his services for the laborers and the poor, who couldn't even afford the questionable doctors that set up shop plying plasters, herbal concoctions, and leeches in back alleys in the Docks and the Merchant Quarter.
But Zinn was nearly as devoted to his Queen and her Prince as he was to his faith. He replied with resignation, "Very well. Hopefully this won't entail more than setting a broken leg, and we'll be back at a decent hour."
Though a mage, Zinn had been given leave by his queen and the Grand Cleric to live among the brothers in the Chantry in Denerim. He had been raised there, an elf-blooded baby abandoned on a back pew, and had always felt a deep devotion to the mysteries of Andraste. His faith was so strong as a boy that he hoped to become a Brother, until the curse of magic manifested in his early teens. Instead of resigning himself to his fate, he had taken this as a test of his devotion and studied the articles of the faith and the healing arts in addition to the theories of magic, while locked away in the Circle Tower.
He passed his Harrowing easily, surprising nearly everyone except Irving and Senior Enchanter Wynne, though until he had, he had been afraid he would be made tranquil because of his lack of enthusiasm for magic. His success was to him a sign of his Lady's grace. Not many of his peers had been interested in the gentle healing arts and spells as he was. Then when he heard of Sister Verity's small infirmary behind the Chantry from one of the templars four years ago, he knew it was a sign he belonged there. He had been inspired to write four missives, to petition the Knight Commander, the First Enchanter, the Grand Cleric, and also Queen Anora, to be allowed to work there as a lay brother.
His petition had been granted by the queen and Irving, but Knight Commander Gregoir and the Grand Cleric set a condition that he must be supervised by a templar. Zinn accepted, and wasted no time in pressing him into service as his clerk (Zinn had suggested he might as well make himself useful instead of standing around glowering at him all day). It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, as the templar didn't have much else to do besides stand guard over one mage. Zinn worked contentedly alongside Sister Verity, who was thrilled to have an associate with his dedication and level of skill in making potions and medicines. They were busy enough that they recently took on three teenage acolytes, who were studying medicine and the rites of the faith while they searched their hearts to determine if they were called to take vows.
Zinn thought that gaining the Queen's support had also been the prince's doing, because of his friendship with the First Enchanter and with Zinn's mentor,Wynne, who had told him she had written to the prince on Zinn's behalf. After having gotten to actually know a few mages, and even traveling with an apostate during the Blight, the prince learned that they weren't monsters in lurking just waiting to burst loose upon the citizens of Ferelden, so he had persuaded Queen Anora to lift restrictions on them; Zinn was always ready to reward that trust.
In addition, as a Gray Warden, he and his companions saved him and a handful of the mages still alive from being murdered in the Rite of Annulment, by first defeating the abominations that had seized control of the tower. It had only been a year since his Harrowing. He had been cowering in terror in a cupboard near the chapel, praying for deliverance, when the prince heard his whispered prayers, threw open the cupboard door, and halted his sword inches from him. If it had been the templars who had found him, Zinn was certain they wouldn't have stopped their blades despite his prayers, whether he was an abomination or not.
And then when the queen was in labor with her twins, Zinn had been impressed that instead of merely waiting her ordeal out other than an occasional kiss on the forehead or a pat on the hand, as many expectant fathers do, after the first day wore on into a second, the prince had requested that in addition to prayers, the full Chant of Light be sung until she was safely delivered. He even joined in the service, adding a surprisingly rich baritone. That alone justified treating his questionable wounds and occasional but understandable filthy diseases, and justified missing his supper now. Zinn stood and glanced at the altar, where Revered Mother Glenda was about to begin. "Very well. Let's go before we cause any further disruption to the service."
Sister Verity turned to their two young apprentices seated in the pew behind them and said softly, her voice a gentle whisper, "Dora, you're on dragon duty. Your mission is to have supper set aside for us if we don't make it back in time. You know how stern Sister Grizelda can be, but be brave. And Dahven, I need you to run downstairs and fetch us a healer's kit and meet us outside Wyvern Gate. Go quickly now!" She, Zinn, and his templar guard followed Owain, who sprinted out of the temple.
They reached the gate, where the prince and a half dozen guards were waiting. In a few short minutes, an elven woman on horseback leading another horse came into view. Teagan, who had realized that something was wrong when they rode past him and Bella, had spurred his horse to catch up to see if he could help, and had caught up to the second horse. She reined hard as they neared the gate.
It was indeed Iolanthe, the maidservant of the Orlesian ambassador. She sprung gracefully off her bay filly as Nigel grabbed the reins of the other, two guards trying in vain to intercept him. She looked around at the size of her reception committee. It was bad enough that one of the nobles had followed her and nearly caught up, forcing her to spur her horse to try to outrun him. Why were they all here? Had someone seen and reported back? Her fear threatened to strangle her. But how was that even possible? That was the small rational part of her brain that took over as the rest of it was about to be overcome by the fearful part. She remembered what Madame had taught her, opened her large green eyes that the shem found so beautiful as wide as she could, put her hand over her forehead as if she felt faint, and cried in alarm, "Please help him!"
Teagan also sprang off his horse and put his hand on the elven woman's shoulder, both to restrain her and to comfort her, though to him she had seemed eerily calm when he first spotted her riding by leading another horse with an obviously injured rider, and she had ignored his hailing her as they rode towards the city. Yet she flinched and gasped when he touched her, and the wild look in her eyes revealed to him a growing hysteria. "Come away, let them work." He assumed the woman was in shock as she rooted herself to the ground when he tried to lead her away. "Tell me what happened."
Owain and two of the guards quickly untied the bindings which held the man on the horse's back, made up of strong twine he had in his saddlebag to bind any game he might have caught to the horse. They gently lifted him off the horse with the help of Zinn's templar guard and carried him to the cart, where Zinn and Verity were going through the kit that an out-of-breath Dahven had just brought them, having run the entire way. But they knew the minute they moved him, and it was clear to the healers from his ashen color and the way their patient's head lolled to the side awkwardly, that he was dead.
Nigel pushed his way through his too careful guards, who again tried in vain to hold him back from possible danger. "This is the Orlesian ambassador's guard Anton. What happened?"
Zinn threaded his way through the guards and his prince, then announced after a brief examination, "He's dead, your Highness. I expect you knew that already. Appears to have suffered a skull fracture. From the dirt on his clothing and these abrasions, I'd guess he fell off his horse. There's nothing more to be done except to pray for him." His templar guard grunted in agreement and joined Zinn as extended his right arm towards the deceased and began a prayer, "Blessed are they who go to the Maker's side..." Nigel and two of his guards bowed their heads respectfully and repeated the words.
Sister Verity began examining the body after they concluded the prayer for the dead. She turned towards Iolanthe. "I am sorry, my dear, but there isn't anything we could have done, even if we had been out in the forest with you. Was he a friend of yours?"
All eyes except Zinn's turned towards Iolanthe, who looked as if she was being forcibly restrained by Arl Teagan, by the way she tried to get out of his grip. The more she tried to shrug him off, the tighter he held on. It was maddening and revolting, and it was all she could do not to let her revulsion show, even if this one had kind eyes, so rare in a shem. She had learned to read their eyes when she was very young. She stammered as tears welled up, "No. I mean yes, Anton, he also serves my lady. He must have...I think...fallen off his horse...yes? I found him...the horse, I mean. So I rode back with his horse until he led me to Anton."
Tegan pulled her close, fearing that she might run off in her agitated state and cause harm to herself. He tried to make conversation. "Were you at the hunt? I didn't see you when the hunting parties gathered this morning."
As soon as he said it, he flushed as the accusatory nature of his words hit his ears. He wouldn't have necessarily noticed an elven servant, even one as pretty as this one. Yet he did recall seeing the Orlesian by himself, and behaving quite differently than the night before at the ball, when Teagan had lost count of the times he turned to find the man watching him, or standing right behind him, wearing a broad smile that was almost a grimace, or licking his lips slowly, his eyes meeting Teagan's then darting away and back. He had wondered at the time if the man was either very drunk or touched in the head, or perhaps suffering from fits.
Iolanthe thought, "Is that a challenge? Does this shem suspect something? Yet how could he know?" She hadn't even realized when she passed him and a woman sitting talking on their horses off the road that he had followed her as she rode past, she was so intent on crafting her story. She only became alarmed when he called to her, and she had realized he was following. But the shem's eyes showed only concern. If as his eyes suggested, he was a kind, sympathetic man, she could use that.
"That is true. My lady, she ordered me this morning to join the hunt assist him, but really to keep an eye on him, so as not to cause the embarrassment to Orlais, because he was very drunk last night and also still this morning. But he cursed me and spurred his horse and left me behind. I should have caught up to him sooner, but...I have little experience riding horses, and my lady would have beaten me if he had done anything embarrassing." She uttered a deep sob and buried her face in her hands, stealing a glance back at him between her fingers.
The first part of her tale was true. Anton had been in a foul mood when he returned to their chambers. He had thrown a vile curse at her in passing then slapped her when she dared answer back in kind. He didn't bother to hide his contempt for her race at the best of times, but she could tell his pride had been wounded by his inability to find someone who wanted to spend the night with him, or at least an hour of what remained of it. He still had been in a dark mood this morning when he dragged himself out of bed after she awakened him so that he could make it to the stables, where the nobles who were going on the hunt were meeting. He had grabbed her by the wrist, and shoved her towards the door, demanding she bring him coffee. She did, and had been temped to spit in it, but she didn't, nor did she follow her second impulse, which was to add a concoction that would give him diarrhea.
Madame hadn't done anything to support her either(as usual, as much as she respected her otherwise), other than to shush him as if he was merely a spoiled child. Her madame in turn hadn't bothered going to bed at all, her voice giddy as she had bragged to Iolanthe when she awakened her in the pre-dawn hours (not caring that Iolanthe had only had a few hours' sleep herself) that she had won the fop prince over to their side without having to bribe him or bed him. She allowed Iolanthe to go back to bed after telling her about her evening, while she had stayed up to write and seal coded letters to be sent on the first ship leaving for Orlais. She told Iolanthe when she got up again that she had a mind to ask the fop to deliver her letters to her fellow conspirators for her, to add insult to injury.
Yet she had warned her they still had to be careful. Therefore, she had sent Iolanthe to attend Anton after she noted his state as he struggled, cursing, to fasten his silver spurs. There Anton ordered her to saddle his horse, and not to give him any backtalk. So she had, but not taking care to make sure she had fastened the cinch correctly or that no one had slipped burrs under the saddle. He leaped into the saddle after a final curse, aiming a kick at her but missing, and spurred the horse hard to get ahead of the other hunting parties. Madame had taught her how to ride and care for a horse when she first took her under her wing, so it had taken Iolanthe no time at all to saddle another horse and catch up to him.
His behavior was so odious that it wasn't difficult to learn from the other hunters which way "that Orlesian bastard" had gone. His horse was agitated anyway because he had been digging in his spurs and whipping it when he spotted a deer, taking out his mood on the poor beast. She didn't mean it to happen, but he cursed her when she rode up to him, blaming her for having missed his shot, told her he didn't need a "knife-eared whore for a nursemaid," and swung his bow at her when she refused to leave him alone.
She didn't mean for it to happen. It had been a natural reaction to raise her riding crop and strike back, catching the poor horse by accident and causing it to rear up and throw him off. He had seemed alright at first, though he had been furious, and swore he would give her the beating of her life as he hauled himself to his feet. He was limping and grabbed a branch to use as a makeshift crutch. He caught the horse, appearing unsteady on his feet, and hauled himself into the saddle. He glared at her and raised the branch. And then as she grabbed at it, he slumped forward against the horse's neck. She didn't mean for it to happen...yet she reminded hadn't been very careful with saddling his horse, had she.
The rest was a blur. She recalled laughing like a madwoman for a moment, thinking that all his hopes for glory in battle were now thwarted. She heard herself mutter that he deserved to die in a ditch, but this was the Maker's own justice too. He had groaned another threat; he was still alive, so she took the twine from the saddlebag and tied his hands in front of him and around the saddle's pommel. If they rode fast, they could get back to the city and get him help.
But as she worked, she thought about what would likely happen when they returned. She was certain he would blame her for his foolish accident, or even accuse her of having tried to murder him. There was only one way out she could see. She picked the branch he had dropped and swung it with all her strength against the back of his head. He stopped groaning after that, but she waited a few minutes to be sure.
Her initial spiteful carelessness could easily be interpreted as deliberate intent to murder, even if she hadn't subsequently become a murderer. She had never taken a life, not directly anyway. Once they returned to Orlais, his family connections were close enough to the empress that she would have been arrested on a mere word from his mother, and she knew her Madame could do little to have her freed, if she did anything at all. Even here, could she trust that Madame wouldn't blame her to take blame off herself and leave her to Fereldan justice? And now she saw to her horror that the shem prince was walking over to join the lord holding her. It was all she could do not to jab an elbow into the arl's side and run until she was out of breath, but could she outrun the prince's dog?
Nigel walked to the pretty elf and put his hand on her shoulder to offer comfort, but withdrew it as soon as she flinched from his touch. He could sense barely concealed revulsion, not to mention an unguarded shadow of loathing that flitted across her eyes. He had seen that look too often in the eyes of other elves, and he didn't have to be told how she must have been treated by a man or men in Orlais to cause her to react that way.
His first feeling was one of pity and concern for her that as a servant, and worse, as an elf, she could be blamed for this accident. She wore thick face powder like anyone from Orlais did, but he could just make out a carefully concealed bruise on her cheekbone, and he spotted another bruise that peeped out from the edge of her sleeve, that suggested someone had grasped her by her wrist hard enough to bruise her. Did this brute or the other Orlesian hurt her, or had her mistress? The thought made him angry.
Yet she also was the "maidservant" of a bard...or so they claimed, and something felt off, though he wasn't certain what that was yet. It could be nothing more than his own instincts, or the signs that Leliana had taught him to look for. She had also taught him first and foremost, always to trust his first instinct. Questions sprang to his mind. For one thing, how did this tiny woman get Anton back on his horse, when he had certainly been in no condition to help her. It could have been as simple as an adrenaline rush; otherwise she must have had help. But then where was her helper, or rather, accomplice? What if this was not a misadventure, but murder? There was only one way to try to figure it out.
Nigel put on his best concerned smile, and spoke softly, as he would to calm a skittish horse. "Do not blame yourself, my lady. It's not your fault that Anton was stubborn and went off on his own; 'tis a pity that at the very least he didn't bring the ambassador's manservant with him. Don't blame yourself; she can't blame you for not reaching him in time if she knew you couldn't ride well. And if she does blame you, I promise I'll speak to her for you. And if she discharges you, I'll find a place for you in the royal household." He was sincere, if she was innocent. And if not, she might make a good ally against the conspirators.
He saw that his words were having an effect, so he pressed his advantage and watched for her reaction. He continued, "Accidents on horseback do happen, even if one is perfectly sober."
Her reply contained a whisper of a sigh. Here was another kind shem, so unlike those in Orlais. She had no intention of becoming a servant again, even in the royal palace, at least not until she had gotten enough money to move on. And that would never happen if she were a mere servant, yet she knew she could never stand to become the mistress of one of them. Madame had taught her much, perhaps enough that she could make a living as a bard on her own, if she had something to live on at first.
She took his offered silken handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and smiled up at him. "Indeed, accidents happen, Your Highness." She turned her head and looked back at the cart holding Anton's corpse.
He replied softly, "Indeed they do, though I'm sure Ser Anton would have much preferred to have died gloriously in battle. He was going on about the exploits of the chevaliers in some battle with the Nevarrans last night."
Iolanthe's eyes were fixed on the healers, who were still examining Anton's body. The brother in particular was looking at a tear in one of the fingers of Anton's glove, which he removed. What could he be doing? She swallowed hard and muttered distractedly, "Yes, always he went on and on about the chevaliers, fighting the glorious battles of the past that he missed because he was too young, and bragging about his great prowess in the battles which have not even come." She froze in horror as she realized what she had said and gave the prince a sideways glance, but he too seemed focused the healers.
Or so she thought. Nigel smiled inwardly at getting proof that Anton was more than a mere bodyguard. Though he sent a quick prayer for him for the Maker welcome him to his side, he was thankful that this was one less chevalier to threaten his land. He planned to ride out and find the site of the accident in the morning if he could too, though he had little time if the weather cooperated and the captain wanted to sail tomorrow night.
Over at the cart, being of a practical mind, Zinn was using the unfortunate accident as a teaching opportunity, pointing out the deceased man's injuries, and explaining the evidence of the deceased's regular excessive consumption of alcohol to his young apprentice. He pulled back one of Anton's eyelids. "Now besides what I showed you regarding his fingernails, observe here. Note the yellow tinge...even without the stench of stale liquor, this clearly indicates..." He glanced up to see if his pupil understood, and noted that he was instead staring at the prince. Understandable, he supposed. He had probably never been this close to royalty. Still, he was missing an opportunity. He snapped in annoyance, "Pay attention, my boy."
Dahven flushed as Nigel met his eyes gave him a brief wave, and quirked a smile at him. The boy hastily turned back to his mentor and asked every question he could think of. "I'm sorry, Brother. Are you saying you think his drinking caused him to lose his balance and fall then? Or perhaps the horse was distracted by his body odor? What were you saying about this abrasion on his left cheek? But there's another, here behind his right ear. Could he have gotten those both when he fell?"
Zinn adjusted his spectacles and peered at the prince, whom he caught looking away after stealing one more glance at the boy. Zinn turned to his apprentice, who was pointedly studying the corpse, and observed coolly that the boy could almost pass as a younger version of the prince, except for having higher cheekbones and hair that was lighter than the prince's color of ripe wheat. But he had the same long nose and angular face.
There were rumors the prince had bastards, but he would have to have been about the same age as his apprentice was now when this boy was conceived. Knowing what he knew of the behavior of youth (not that he was much older than a youth himself), even while locked away somewhere like the prison of Circle Tower, he didn't discount that. They were definitely related, he was certain of that. But it was none of his concern, and wouldn't affect how he behaved with Dahven. He actually hadn't noticed that bruise behind the man's ear, hidden by his long black braid, and he told him so and gave him an appreciative smile. "That's a very good catch, my boy."
Nigel offered his arm to Iolanthe. "Come, let us walk you back to the castle. Don't worry, I'll go with you and explain what has happened to your mistress for you."
Iolanthe stole another glance at Anton and looked quickly away. As much as it should have disgusted her having this shem prince touch her, he did seem sincere in caring about what happened to her. Not all of them were as bad as her former master. She took his offered arm. "You are too gracious, your highness. Thank you."
Verity called over to him as she closed her healer's bag, "Should we have the deceased taken to the Chantry, Your Highness? We can prepare his body for cremation in the morning, unless it is to be returned to his family in Orlais."
Nigel nodded at her. "Yes, that's an excellent idea, Sister. I'll find out from the ambassador where to send his ashes, and see that they're delivered myself. Owain, would you go with them and help them with the cart?"
Owain could hardly contain his joy at the opportunity to spend a bit more time with the Sister. He bowed formally. "As you wish, Your Highness."
Nigel was about to ask two of the guards take charge of the horses and return them to the royal stables, but Teagan volunteered. "Let me, Your Highness. Bella and I have to take our horses back to the stables anyway." He smiled sweetly at her as Bella rode up and dismounted. As pleased as he was to see Bella, there was something about the elven woman's story that bothered him, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He thought about dropping by Nigel's chambers tonight to discuss it with him, if the prince wasn't occupied, and if Bella didn't invite him to her chamber after supper with the rest of the delegation from Redcliffe. It was not a suggestion he would ever make to a lady, so he ached for her to make it to him.
Bella, however, was just glad to be off the horse. She wasn't used to riding for so long, and feeling quite saddle sore. Happily, one of the benefits of traveling with the Arl of Redcliffe was the warm bed and hot bath she didn't even need to coax out of the household staff. The afternoon in his company, culminating in finally getting him all to herself, had very pleasant. He made frequent visits to the village, but they were always too busy to be able to spend much time together. For her part, she rarely had a reason to travel up the hill to the castle, and when she did, it was always on official business.
She was pretty sure now that her arl was as interested in her as she was in him, but she thought after getting to know him better that he had been too shy to pursue her. It very was tempting to take the initiative and invite him to her room, but that seemed too forward. She was working so hard to erase her past as a barmaid, now that she was a successful tavern owner and the mayor of Redcliffe village. She kept hoping all afternoon he would suggest they meet alone after supper, hopefully in his chamber, but he hadn't. It was just as well; she was tired, and that bath beckoned.
As if he read her mind, he smiled at her with concern and said, "You look very tired, and you're limping. Did you injure your foot?"
He was such a considerate man, and the people of Redcliffe were blessed to have him as their arl. She stifled a yawn then chuckled. "No, my lord. My...back is a bit stiff is all."
"What you need is a hot bath and a tankard of mulled wine. That will be just the thing." He hesitated for a moment then added, "I have a poultice in my bags I could bring to you after supper. It does wonders on stiff muscles."
She looked up at him through her lashes, but his suggestion seemed perfectly innocent, unfortunately. Still, it was an opportunity that she didn't intend to waste. "I would greatly appreciate that, my lord, if it's not too late after supper and after my bath?"
He tried not to flush, but could feel his cheeks coloring. And there was the matter of the woman's story that still troubled him. They were also having supper at his brother's estate with the rest of the Redcliffe delegation. Suddenly, he found he wasn't in the mood for a formal supper. He heard himself accidentally saying that all aloud and blushed fully. But he was rewarded by her sigh of relief.
She said frankly, "She did seem strange now that you mention it, and I'm not looking forward to another fancy dinner party either. I'm too tired to worry about which fork to use, or whether I've taken too big a drink of my wine." She blushed too, but they both chuckled. She added, "I'd just as soon take a bath now, and you could go see the prince and drop that poultice by on your way back." It occurred to her that would also get him to her chamber, at least for a few minutes.
She was always full of practical suggestions and advice. That was the thing he liked best about her. He made his own. "Better yet, I could send the prince a message to meet me later before he sails, and arrange for supper to be brought to for you to your room. That way you don't need to go without." He was already drafting the note to Nigel in his mind. They had neared the stables, and he motioned one of the waiting stable hands to take the horses.
She wasn't the kind of woman who would refuse such an opportunity. "Can you make an apology to their excellencies for me then?" Missing supper was a relief in more ways than one. The arlessa was nice enough, but so intimidating with her fine Orlesian manners. She took her bag from the horse before it was led away. She watched him for a moment, noting that he was hesitating, so she took the initiative. "I'd hate to see you miss out on your own supper. If you had enough sent for the both of us, we could eat before you go meet the prince."
He smiled broadly as he took her bag from her and threw it over his shoulder with his own, then offered her his right arm. "I think I would like that." It was a start, and perfectly innocent. As much as he ached for her, he found himself wanting to take his time. If he had to wait until they were married, so be it. And there it was. At that moment, he knew he would make her his bride.
