CHOICE OF THE CHAMPION

Part II: ANTEBELLUM

Chapter 2: Information

"Antebellum" is a Latin word loaned into English, meaning "before the war" (ante-pre, bellum -war).

"Oi, Nate! The Warden-Commander has left." A dwarf called after them as they were squeezing through the castle mess, Aedale forced to stretch her flexibility to the limits not to punch any eating Grey Warden in the face. It was dinner time, and the hall was filled full.

"What- again?!" Nathaniel turned back, bemused. "When?"

"She said not to tell you, or you'd be grumpy." The red-haired dwarf snickered and then burped loudly. The Wardens around him greened slightly and huddled away. "Couple of hours ago. She got a raven from Denerim and off she went, back to the hubby. Must have been one hell of a booty call."

"What did the raven bring?" asked Aedale before Nathaniel could speak. He shot her a dirty look.

The dwarf shrugged. "Hell if I know, lady. None of my business and sure none of yours."

"Thank you, Oghren," said Nathaniel, clearly annoyed, and turned back to Aedale. "Follow me, Champion." He turned back so raptly that the longbow on his back smacked a sitting man across the head. Nathaniel did not stop to listen to the string of curses that followed.

"I seem to have a penchant for finding myself some exceptional brooders," murmured Aedale to Fenris. He scoffed.

The office Nathaniel had led them into was small and high-ceilinged, with a tall stained glass window reddening the light of the sunset even further. There was a pile of papers on the desk, a couple of humble wooden chairs, a small painting of a griffin on the wall, and – left on the top of the pile like a paperweight – a winged golden crown.

Nathaniel murmured something under his breath and picked up the crown, hiding it protectively in one of the drawers.

Aedale grinned. She did hear the stories circulating about the queen, but…

The Warden sat down behind the desk and gestured them to the chairs in front of him. There was something about his curtly, confident movements that belied the status of a Grey Warden and spoke of nobility, knighthood, and wealth. She spotted the nearly-rubbed off insignia of the house Howe on his sleeve – the only part of armour that wasn't meticulously cleaned – and the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"I thought the Howe family were no longer ruling in Amaranthine."

"You are not wrong, my lady." His smile was forced and fake, with a badly hidden shadow of irritation underneath. "This has been a Grey Warden keep since the Blight. I answer to the Warden-Commander directly."

"Is she coming back here? I was meant to talk to the royalty in Denerim and to the Wardens here, but if I can squish both into one conversation, that would be dandy." Aedale sat down and propped her elbows on the desk, staring at Nathaniel intently. "You were… a friend of Anders' once, weren't you?"

The Warden closed his eyes for a second. "I was," he said stiffly. "But I do not know the man that blew up Kirkwall."

"He fought for a cause," said Aedale quietly. "And he himself was the first casualty. In the end, there was nothing of a man I knew in him either." She made a short pause. "But it doesn't make the cause any less just. I wanted to talk to the Warden-Commander about the protection of the Kirkwall mages."

Nathaniel avoided her glance. "You've been travelling for a while, Champion, haven't you?" he asked slowly.

Aedale blanched. "What was that thing that the raven brought?"

He hesitated.

"You are a good leader, Champion. Your father has done great things for the Wardens. I'm sure you didn't want this –"

"Tell me what was in that letter."

Nathaniel pursed his lips, hesitated, and then relented. "It's Jainen," he said shortly. "It's revolting."

Aedale closed her eyes. "Fereldan Circle?" she asked weakly.

"It's been building up to this for days. The Warden-Commander is barely even in the keep anymore. She's been trying to calm the situation, but if she's gone again…"

"We saw a mob murder a mage this morning," said Fenris after a long pause. "Forthing. Amaranthine is full of angry preachers."

Nathaniel turned his face to him, seemingly slightly surprised to hear his voice. "Forthing," he said heavily. "The Circle had a herbalist there. Studying some rare plants, if I recall. Harmless. We thought it was bad, but…"

"Can the Wardens recruit the revolted mages into a special unit? You are above the law, I am told." Aedale straightened on her chair, all playfulness gone from her tone. "Invoke the Right of Conscription and have them brought to you. You can save lives."

"We don't conscript masses," said Nathaniel. "And all we have to offer is a life of servitude and an early death. We can save some, Champion, but not all of them."

"Maker's mercy, they're mages. They can shoot lightning, heal, craft potions and freeze people. Are you sure you can't just hold a non-Warden unit in the Keep until the tension fizzles out?"

"Champion…" said Nathaniel slowly, with heavy finality. "There are more ravens coming to the Keep every day. Ansburg Circle has revolted, the one in Hasmal is halfway through a coup. The tower in Kinloch Hold is only held together by a couple of senior enchanters. This is not going to fizzle out."

Aedale rested her head on her palms.

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" she asked in a weak voice after a long pause. "We boarded the ship three days after the Chantry exploded. Tell me what happened after that."

-/-

Nathaniel's account was brief, concise and terrifyingly exact. With an unnervingly stoic voice he described the political upheaval that followed the events in Kirkwall, prompting a violent reaction of the Chantry clerics and squeezing down on the mage rights. That, combined with the fact that the well-known and popular Champion of Kirkwall lent her support to the mage rebellion, sparked a sudden and uncontrollable raise in the ranks of the Circle Separatists. In retaliation, the templars clamped down on the wayward mages. There were incidents.

"Incidents," said Hawke flatly. Things that Malcolm Hawke would talk about in hushed whisper, his eyes angry and fiery despite his quiet voice. Incidents. "Go on, please."

The Circles in the Free Marches were first to go. After over a half of mage students in Ansburg attempted an organised escape and were all threatened with Tranquility, the senior staff stood in their defence. The revolt happened overnight, quick and violent and bloody, and the surviving templars fled the Circle – only to be murdered by the mage refugees from Kirkwall.

Fenris pursed his lips and looked pointedly away from Aedale.

Separatists in Hasmal attempted a similar feat, but were being fought in a more efficient way than in Ansburg. The Circle siege was still ongoing; the mages had proclaimed independence, the templars the Right of Annulment, and it did not look like it was going anywhere.

Then it was Jainen.

Nathaniel stopped and rubbed his temples. "I'm not the best person to report it to you, Champion. What I know is not the whole picture, and this is because Claire– because the Warden-Commander kept it secret from all of us. You might find it useful to speak to her in Denerim."

Aedale eyed him up. "This is her office, right?"

"Correct." Nathaniel didn't blink. "Also irrelevant."

"If she left the documents anywhere, it would be here. Is that also correct?"

The Warden straightened up in his chair. "I can't let you do this, Champion. This is classified information." But his eyes darted towards the pile of parchments on the desk.

"Where were you when the Blight started?"

"Pardon?" Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "This is no business of yours, Champion."

Aedale laid her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "I was in Lothering, you know. With my sister and brother, and mother. We knew the darkspawn were coming. We should have started running ages ago, and some did. We just didn't know which direction. The horde was closing in, there were Blight wolves on the fields, Chasids screaming that we were all doomed. So we thought we should follow in the footsteps of the only person who seemed like they knew what they were doing: the Grey Warden." She looked him straight in the eye. "But she had already left. I am done following Claire Cousland for salvation."

"This is not-"

"This is worse than a Blight, because we're doing that to ourselves!" Aedale snapped. " And if you're not seeing the signs, then obviously you haven't been paying attention ten years ago. I will not wait for the Warden-Commander to come back and save me. Are you going to help me stop that mess, or will you be on the wrong side of history yet again, Nathaniel Howe?"

Nathaniel flinched. His hand reflexively rose up to cover the worn insignia on his sleeve – but he forced it down with obvious conscious effort. A flash of old shame crossed his features, before smoothening back into a calm mask.

"How low you stoop, Champion."

"The stakes are high enough." Hawke held his gaze without blinking.

Nathaniel turned away first, lowering his eyes to the desk and the pile of parchments on it. "What do you want?"

"Information." Without asking, Aedale spread the papers on the entire desk. Varric would have squealed at this, she thought, looking at meticulously written out spy reports, shipment receipts, and what seemed like a diplomatic exchange gone horribly wrong. There was one letter on the top of the pile, with its messy handwriting different from the others, not bearing the characteristic marks of a raven's claws: this had not been sent.

Wynne,

I know you can't leave Kinloch Hold in this situation, but I really wish you were with me right now – this mage business is way over my head. If Jainen revolts, we're risking the full wrath of Orlais rolling across Thedas in an Exalted March, but we can't stop it! Alistair wanted to ride there immediately – can you imagine what catastrophe that would be, with all his Templar background? I managed to keep him away from Kinloch, thank the Maker, but we really need you here, Wynne. This… revolt is tapping into an entire world of prejudice and persecution I know nothing about, and I feel like I'm walking a booby-trapped field whilst completely blind. I'm trying to keep up, but that just means that I barely have the time to be a Warden-Commander anymore – the way Nathaniel looks at me every time I've ridden off is freezing.

I've been in contact with the Revered Mother of Jainen. She's an idiot. The Knight-Captain at the Circle there is not returning my ravens, so I'm fearing the worst. If the Circle is really infected as we spoke, I'm going to be up against another demon horde soon… Really brings back the memories, huh?

Keep me updated on the situation in Kinloch. And please, please come as soon as you can.

Yours,

Claire

"Are you quite done?" Nathaniel's cold voice tore through her focus. Hawke put the letter down.

"No, I'm not. In fact, I'm just starting. But thanks for asking. Fenris, we're going to Jainen. You don't need to walk us back to the gate…"

The elf wordlessly stood up and followed her to the door. But before they managed to get out, Nathaniel spoke quietly, bitterly:

"Was she the same, I wonder? When the Blight started. A woman with a title, with a hope to save the world, and little regard for everything else. I was at the wrong side of history, I wouldn't know."

"Nor would I, sorry." Aedale turned back. "Haven't ever managed to catch up to her."

"You are following Claire Cousland, Champion."

"No." She smiled mirthlessly. "She's a queen, she picks her battles. I'm only a Champion." A flame flickered on her hand, a tiny bright speck of magic, white-hot energy, the mark of responsibility. "I am given mine."

She walked out of the room, and Fenris silently followed.

-/-

As they were coming back to the ship, a messenger caught up to them. He was carrying a large cage with restlessly cawing ravens.

"From the Warden-Captain, my lady." As Hawke took the cage, bemused, she noticed a curt note at the side of it.

Champion,

Keep up.

Aedale laughed earnestly.

-/-

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Seriously, a political player without at least one raven messenger? Maybe in Kirkwall that's enough, but not at the scale of a continent. Listen to Uncle Nate, Hawke.