Amaranthine
The journey to Amaranthine was uneventful, restful even, as they were not racing to or from battle for a change. Zevran was the ideal traveling companion, attuned to Aedan's moods and requirements – sensing when he wanted to talk or when he needed to just be.
They were accompanied by a contingent of the Denerim city guard, ten men who had all specifically volunteered for what they considered the honour of escorting the King's chancellor, the Warden Commander and the hero of Ferelden to his destination. It was enough to make a man's head spin and Aedan had finally convinced most of them to simply call him 'Warden', or 'Commander' if they must.
The two Orlesian wardens had proved interesting company also. One of the men, Philippe, was cut from the same cloth as the Orlesian commander. He spent the one and only night at camp watching everything Aedan and Zevran did with a calculating expression, prompting many barbs and jests from the elf. The other warden, Jean, was a surprisingly easy going man and after attempting to ignore him that first morning, Aedan eventually warmed to him. He was the younger of the two, perhaps around the same age as Aedan himself, and he was obviously excited by the travel, the experience of a new country and the mission ahead. Aedan had found himself reminiscing on his own journey just over a year ago, the tragedy that had set him on this path, and prayed to the Maker that the young warden may never experience what he had.
As the warmth of the sun began to fade their second day of travel, the travelers crested the final hill and Aedan caught his first glimpse of the former arling of Amaranthine. He caught his breath. He'd been here many times as a child, his family and Howe's having been so close, and was unprepared for the emotional impact of seeing the estate once again. He felt a seething rage building inside him and his head pounded with it. He barked orders at the guard that he wanted to make the estate by sunset and led them down that last slope with his jaw set, his teeth ground together. He could sense Zevran at his side and silently thanked the elf for knowing that now was not the right time to talk.
As the sky began to colour, they made the gates and Aedan was relieved to see that preparations had been made for them. Staff were gathered to meet the travelers, see to their needs and direct everyone to their various accommodations. As soon as he'd finished overseeing arrangements, Aedan turned at a light touch on his arm. Zevran was there, his expression neutral but for one raised brow.
"Perhaps you'd like to work out some of your tension, Warden." He said. Aedan nodded shortly and they excused themselves to the area designated as the practice yard and worked together with and without weapons till they both dripped sweat. Aedan sat heavily on a wooden bench, Zevran flopping only slightly less heavily beside him. He turned and studied the elf before saying quietly, "Thank you, Zev."
Aedan enjoyed his training with Zevran, the assassin had taught him to fight without a sword and dagger and those skills had saved his life more than once. But this evening hadn't been about enjoyment or perfection of form. He'd needed an outlet for his rage and pain, and Zevran had understood that.
Night had deepened as they trained and the companions paused only to wash their hands and faces before joining the rest of the men for dinner.
That first night at Amaranthine Aedan dreamed.
He was in a familiar room, reclined by a warm fire. He could hear the wild wind of a storm pounding the walls, but felt a sense of security in this small place. He knew where he was, he was with Morrigan, though he could barely 'feel' her. All he could feel was an overwhelming sense of tiredness, and so he slept.
Aedan remembered the dream upon waking and took a moment to think about it. He'd not really remembered dreaming of Morrigan in recent weeks, but felt a vague sense of unease. There'd been a dream the night before Alistair's coronation, of that he was sure, but the details were sketchy. He remembered only the hut, the small hearth, the warmth of the fire.
He met Zevran and Jean while scouting out breakfast and the three men spent a convivial half hour in one another's company. They were all eager to start the day, though each for their own reasons. Aedan could sense Zevran's desire to scout the estate, get to know his environment, and Jean's eagerness to get on with Grey Warden business. This was a desire Aedan shared. Philippe was nowhere to be seen, though Jean mentioned the older warden had been awake with the dawn. His whereabouts soon became apparent however, as the sound of a single raised voice wielded with the authority of one used to leading rang out from the courtyard below.
Aedan stepped to the low windows and looked out. The dining room looked out over the central courtyard which was filled with people. Philippe was standing at the centre of the courtyard, his hands held up as he called for order.
Aedan muttered a string of curses and fled the room, followed closely by Zevran and Jean.
Entering the courtyard, he gently elbowed his way through the crowd until he reached the centre. He nodded to Philippe, who scarcely seemed to acknowledge his presence before returning his attention to the crowd and calling again for quiet. He then gestured to Aedan and announced, "The Warden Commander has seen fit to join us." Philippe turned to Aedan and said, loudly enough that most in the courtyard would hear, "Tell us Commander, what are you plans for all these aspiring Grey Wardens?"
Aiming a tense smile at Philippe, Aedan quickly stepped forward, unconsciously mimicking the man's gesture as he held his hands up for silence. Though his mind reeled with the news that all these men and women had come to be Grey Wardens – he'd expected to find the estate nearly deserted and that his time would be spend devising recruitment strategies and training regimens – he'd had just enough time leading the combined armies of Ferelden that instinct kicked in. He called again for order and addressed the assembled crowd.
"Gentleman," he began, adding, "and ladies" as he noticed a group of three young women dressed in matching leather armor, a short handled axe and dagger affixed to each back, near the front of the crowd. The centre one, a willowy blonde with pale grey eyes was smiling directly at him and Aedan froze as he recognised the face, Delilah Howe. Time stood still as Aedan's mind immediately returned to the night he and Delilah had…he could not think about that now. Tearing his eyes from her face Aedan cleared his throat and continued.
"I thank you all for your willingness to defend Ferelden from the darkspawn. It is a noble calling. But know this, despite your eagerness for battle, only the best of you will become Grey Wardens. I encourage you all to train with us and demonstrate your skill. I invite you all to seek out myself, or the wardens Philippe and Jean, that we may come to know your minds." He paused here, looking out over a more somber crowd, "It takes more than skill with a blade to defeat the darkspawn and I would recruit no one who was not prepared to do whatever it takes to end a Blight."
The crowded courtyard erupted into cheers and Aedan noticed perhaps the smallest glint of respect in Philippe's eyes. He nodded to the warden and quickly stepped back through the crowd, having to pause and grasp the hand or arm of this man or that, accepting thanks and congratulations as he made his way back across the courtyard. His guard of ten men were assembled near the open gates and Aedan immediately caught the captain's attention. "Keep order here, Jacob, while I figure out what I'm going to do with all these people."
Aedan spent the day with Philippe drafting training schedules and talking strategy. Although he seemed unable to keep a tinge of disdain from his voice, Philippe was decidedly helpful, pointing out the occasional error in Aedan's thinking and helping him refine his strategies for dealing with so many recruits. It was obvious he was as surprised by the jostling crowd as Aedan had been, and both men barely had time to consider their mutual dislike of one another as they worked.
The guard was set to dividing the recruits into teams and the estate staff was set to overseeing accommodations. Jean didn't seem to mind being used as a messenger boy and was run from one end of the grounds to the other coordinating their efforts. Zevran did what Zevran does. He watched, he listened, and he melted into shadows, combing every inch of the property.
As Aedan finally sat down for a meal at the end of the day, he sighed with weariness. He was in his own room, having felt the need for solitude and quiet. He had so much to think about he did not know where to begin. There was a quiet knock at the door and Zevran slipped into the room, nodding to Aedan before sitting opposite him, letting his head drop against the back of the chair in uncharacteristic lassitude. Aedan grinned at the elf and commented drily, "A day like this, it is only fitting you actually look as tired as I feel for a change."
Zevran returned the smile, "I think I prefer killing darkspawn."
Aedan sighed and rubbed his eyes, then simply rested his head in his hands a moment. When he looked up, Zevran was regarding him curiously. Aedan frowned and said, "This is going to take longer than three weeks, isn't it?"
Zevran simply nodded, as if this was a fact he'd always understood and replied, "They have come for you, Warden, to bask in your glory in the hope it might rub off on them."
Aedan did not respond right away. He'd known this, deep down, though it warred with his natural humility. His thoughts turned to Alistair and he replied quietly to the elf, "If Alistair can be King, I can rebuild the Wardens."
He leaned back in his chair and changed the subject, "So tell me about your day, anything interesting or unusual to report?"
Zevran shrugged lightly, "The estate is a security nightmare, of course, but I have mapped the weakest points and will attempt to rectify this, with your permission of course."
Aedan waved a hand, "Do whatever you think is necessary, Zevran, I trust your judgment."
Zevran nodded thoughtfully, then his expression then turned sly, "So Aedan, who is…or was…this woman, the tall blonde who nearly derailed your fine speech this morning. Remarkable recovery by the way, I am fairly certain only a few people noticed your mouth gaping open like a dying fish!" He was grinning now, his tone banter like.
Aedan felt the familiar flush come to his face and thanked the Maker his rooms were dimly lit. It would not do to show too much embarrassment in front of the elf, though he seriously doubted Zevran had missed it. He cleared his throat and replied, "Delilah Howe."
It was Zevran's turn to look surprised, an expression that did not often cross that face. He recovered his composure more swiftly than Aedan however, and remarked somewhat wistfully, "Ah…a man never truly forgets his first love."
Aedan could only nod absently as his mind stretched back. Delilah Howe, the former Arl of Amaranthine's daughter. Only three years his junior, the two had grown up together, the friendship a natural occurrence – their families had been very close. She had been an awkward girl, always tall, nearly matching him in height in fact, and she'd chafed at her mother's coddling. Eschewing fine dresses and shoes she had favoured the leather armor her father had indulgently had made throughout her adolescence. She and Aedan had become inseparable as children, and though his close friendship with a girl had prompted much teasing from Fergus, he'd defended her honour by saying she was just as good as a boy. Delilah had been, and probably still was, a talented rogue, deft with her two weapons and cunning in strategy.
Then suddenly she'd not been a boy anymore, her long limbs became graceful and her agile figure had acquired curves and Aedan would find himself distracted at odd times by the smell of her wheat coloured hair. He'd begun to flinch when their arms brushed together as they walked and every time they sparred Aedan would find himself pulling blows for fear of hurting her. Delilah had been hurt by his attitude, he could see it in those light grey eyes of hers, and their changing friendship had confused him. They had begun to avoid one another, until that night.
The Couslands were celebrating Oren's fifth birthday and the castle had been full of guests and merriment. The Howes had attended, of course, and the arl's son, Thomas, had escorted Delilah through the gates. Aedan had been greeting guests with his mother when he first caught sight of her. She'd been in a gown of the softest pink, the colour of seashells rather than flowers, embroidered and embellished with hints of pale blue and a creamy white. Her hair was up, away from her face, and her face…she had looked like a young woman, she had looked…beautiful. Aedan's breath had been taken away and he'd instantly fallen in love.
Aedan had followed her attentively all that evening and she had teased him mercilessly, even cruelly at times, over the awkwardness of the previous year. But she had not left his company and this alone had let him know that she was at least willing to forgive him, even perhaps renew their friendship. They'd shared their first kiss that night, as sweet and shy as a first kiss was supposed to be, and in the months that followed they'd shared much more.
Aedan felt tears prick the corner of his eyes as his mind came forward another year, to the night Howe had betrayed his family, then forward once more to the night he'd killed Howe. He had no idea what, if any, part Delilah had played in her father's plans, though he could not bring himself to believe she would willingly betray him. He'd not had the time to fully consider her fate, even as he'd killed her father. His thoughts paused here…he had killed Delilah's father. Aedan groaned and turned his face away from Zevran, flicking a hand in the elf's direction.
"I need to be alone," he whispered.