Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 10: The Muster of Lothering

Yes, there was a wolf pack. No, it was no trouble at all. It was too early to tell how Sister Le—no, Leliana—would fit into their little company. Mediating the personality clash between Morrigan and Alistair was already stressful. But Leliana was an excellent archer, and capable with a blade. That would have to do, for now. Bronwyn thrust down into the heart of a snapping grey wolf, and the beast went limp.

Scout trotted up, licking his chops, ready to be praised and petted.

Some of the gawkers were already coming closer to shout their praise and thanks. Bronwyn kept a polite smile on her face for them, trying not to despise them too much. Much of their passive uselessness might be Bann Ceorlic's fault. He had obviously meant to suppress independence and initiative in his little realm, and had succeeded all too well.

There was a gibbet cage hanging outside the low stone wall that she had not noticed before, and it was occupied. She looked again, and then walked toward it, full of curiosity. That surely could not be—but it was!

"A Qunari!" she breathed. She had never seen one of the huge, fierce warriors from the tropical lands to the north. This man could be nothing else. Over seven feet tall, he could barely stand upright in the big iron cage. He was dark-skinned, with crystal-white hair in cornrow braids. Coming closer, she could hear him calmly praying in his outlandish tongue. The Qunari were named for their strange heathen religion—the "Qun" or something such- which they spread with their conquests, and inspired them to feats of great courage in battle.

Morrigan had recognized him for what he was, and pointed at him, full of indignation.

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for cowards and vermin. If you cannot find a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone!"

"Mercy?" Alistair scoffed. "That doesn't sound much like you, Morrigan."

The witch continued, without missing a beat, "—and I would also suggest that Alistair be put in his place."

"Right," he drawled. "Now that sounds more like you."

The Qunari opened his eyes, and Bronwyn blinked. Pale lavender, almost glowing like jewels. Quite fascinating, really. Bronwyn had always longed to travel and see the world like Father. Her one visit to the court of their cousin the Prince of Ostwick in the Free Marches was too sheltered and too much like home to be called traveling.

Today, however, the outside world had paid a visit and was staring back at her.

"You are not one of my captors," the Qunari rumbled. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the others. Leave me in peace."

"You're a captive?" Bronwyn wondered. Then she almost blushed. Of course he was.

With sarcastic patience, the Qunari answered. "I'm in a cage, am I not?" With dignity, he introduced himself. "I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard—of the qunari people."

With reflexive courtesy, Bronwyn replied, "I am Bronwyn of the Grey Wardens. Pleased to meet you."

"You mock me," the Qunari said, frowning slightly. "Or—you show manners I have not come to expect in your land. Though it matters little. I will die soon enough."

Leliana came forward to explain. "The Revered Mother ordered this punishment. He murdered the people of a farmhold."

"It is as she says," the Qunari confessed. "Eight humans, in addition to the children."

A pause. Bronwyn ventured, "It must have been difficult capturing you."

"There is no difficulty in capturing prey that surrenders. I waited for several days until the knights arrived. Death will be my atonement."

Morrigan nudged her, and dipped her head at the huge warrior. "A penitent man left to die a slow death. A fine example of the Chantry's mercy, is it not?"

Bronwyn bit her lip. It did seem like a gift of the Maker, but…

She made her decision, and hoped it was the right one. "There are other ways to redeem yourself."

The Qunari studied her impassively with his disconcerting lavender eyes. "Perhaps. What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"You could help me defend the land against the Blight."

"The Blight..." Sten considered. "You are a Grey Warden, truly? Strange… My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill, though I suppose not every legend is true."

Bronwyn refused to take offense. The Qunari was no doubt baiting her.

Alistair muffled a snort. "You really want to do this?"

"Yes." Bronwyn cocked her head and nodded. "I think I do." She asked the Qunari, "Can you ride a horse?"

He grunted. "I can. But not the dogs you people call horses. Only a Fereldan," he said scornfully, "would ride a dog to war."

Scout growled his indignation. Bronwyn rubbed his ears, pleased at her new plans.

"Well, Sten of the Beresaad," she said, "I think I have a horse for you." More briskly, she told him. "The Revered Mother will doubtless release you into my custody. I shall be back in an hour or two, or perhaps sooner."

"I have little choice but to await your return."

The people of Lothering were out in force, already eavesdropping breathlessly on her conversations. Bronwyn smiled tightly as they divided to let her pass.

"Lunch," Alistair muttered.

"Right," she agreed.

Dane's Refuge was only steps away. The heroes (now including Leliana) were loudly welcomed, shown to "their" table, and foaming mugs of ale were placed before each of them in a trice. Except for Morrigan, who was given yet another goblet of pear wine.

"Your usual, my lady," simpered the waitress.

Bronwyn caught Morrigan's eye. The witch sneered, but drank the wine readily enough. Bronwyn was glad of her own tankard. Killing bandits-bears-spiders-wolves was thirsty work.

Without even having to ask for it, a hearty meal was brought to their table, bowls of a meaty lamb stew and plenty of bread. Scout had a bowl of his own, for this was Ferelden, after all.

The stew had mushrooms in it. That was reason enough to celebrate. The Wardens ate heartily, making no bones about asking for more. Their two companions were daintier, but in the end both Leliana and Morrigan surrendered to the custard-and-honey tarts the cook brought to the table.

Bronwyn insisted on leaving a gold sovereign to buy good will and drinks for the house. Then it was noon, and time to face anyone in the village of Lothering who was not already crowding into the tavern to stare at her.

Outside were a pair of Templars, who bowed respectfully.

"Grey Wardens, the Revered Mother wishes to bless the muster of Lothering."

"Splendid idea," agreed Bronwyn, feeling better for the food and drink. She followed the Templars all the way to the Chantry, where the Revered Mother and her priests awaited them on the porch.

Obviously, the Revered Mother understood the value of a good show, too. Bronwyn led her party to the steps and she dropped to one knee with conscious grace, while the villagers watched in awe. The blessing itself was the usual formula, but Bronwyn kept her head bowed respectfully. They rose to listen to the Revered Mother's next remarks.

"—And I wish to add my personal thanks to these brave people. Sister Leliana, I see you among our defenders. Do you wish to leave us then, and serve the Grey Wardens?"

"I do, Your Reverence. I will never forget how happy I have been here, but I must do what I can to defend this country."

There was a murmur of satisfaction at Leliana's kind words, and much appreciation of her sentiments, though no one else seemed inclined to risk his or her own life unnecessarily.

The Revered Mother smiled benignly on Bronwyn. "And what can the Lothering Chantry do to help you in your struggle against the common enemies of mankind?"

What an opportunity! Bronwyn smiled back. "I wish to take with me the Qunari you imprisoned."

Her Reverence was somewhat taken aback at actually being asked for something. "If I release him, then his next victims might count you and me among their murderers."

"I understand your concerns." Bronwyn raised her voice to be perfectly understood. "Therefore, I invoke the Right of Conscription. Sten of the Beresaad will serve as a Grey Warden. By slaying darkspawn, he will atone for his crimes."

A rumble of excitement at the drama unfolding. The villagers watched the dialogue like children at a puppet show, forgetting that they themselves had the power to shape events.

Another blessing, more gracious words. Leliana was sent off to collect her belongings and to dress more appropriately. Bronwyn was given the key to Sten's cage. The crowd moved into the field, and the muster of Lothering began in earnest.

A decent number of decent bowmen. Some big farmers with big axes. A smith with a maul. An old man who knew how to use a pike, and could teach others. And Elder Miriam's sensible son, Tobery, who, had he been born in a different place to a different set of parents, would have had the makings of quite the swordsman.

Bronwyn wondered why he hadn't gone for a soldier, but then saw the pretty wife and the mob of children. Tobery had never felt the lure of adventure. He had everything he ever wanted, right here in Lothering. Bronwyn hoped those things would give him the incentive to do what he must to protect them. The consensus of the villagers supported him as leader. She would make it official.

"Hear me, people of Lothering," she declared. "I appoint this man Captain of the Lothering Militia for the duration of the Blight. Obey him as you would me."

There were others present: people willing to take a turn at watch, people who lurked on the fringes, unsure of themselves, but almost ready to become a part of something important.

Leliana returned, clad in boots and studded leathers, carrying her bow and armed with a pair of daggers. She took some of the more lightly armed people aside and showed them some basic knife moves. When working like this, she did not drift into religious musings, and looked pleasantly serious and not at all crazy. She was good with those daggers, too, and everyone seemed to appreciate her efforts.

Tobery was listening to Bronwyn, trying to remember all she had to say. His friend Sam, shorter and broader, was standing behind him, his lips moving as he followed Bronwyn's words.

"You need to make the archers practice nearly every day. Find every bow you can. The older boys and girls should be learning."

"Bann Ceorlic doesn't care for archery, my lady," Tobery told her. "If he sees a man with a bow on his back, he's like to have him brought before him as a poacher. Bann Ceorlic hates poachers, he does."

"Well, of course he does," Bronwyn said soothingly, consciously keeping her speech from being too flowery. "But these are strange times. The darkspawn are down south, only two days journey away. People are worried, and there are more bandits on the roads than usual. And Bann Ceorlic is up in Denerim and not likely to come back until the darkspawn are gone for good. That might not be for some time. You'll want your families here in Lothering to be safe. It's up to you, it seems. If you keep someone on watch, you should be able to call out the militia before any danger reaches the gates of the town. If you have a good lot of archers, you can deal with the danger before it's close enough to do you harm."

She pointed out the access points to him. "You really need to keep an eye on the ramps to the Imperial Highway: there—and there. Also—make sure that nothing swims across the river or sneaks across the Highway. You might consider extending the palisade and building a barred gate at the mill end of the village. Use some of the stone blocks fallen from the highway to patch weak spots in your walls, and pile them into fighting steps so your archers can see to shoot over them. You could cut some trees and build a palisade there—and across there. You'd be a lot safer, certainly."

"The bann's manor is outside the village gates, my lady," Sam blurted out.

"Yes," Bronwyn agreed. "Yes, it is. I presume that was the bann's own decision. Well, the manor has its own defenses and its own guards. If the bann wants more, he can see to it. I think you'll have plenty to do protecting the village proper."

"My sister Kara is a maid at the manor," Sam told her, looking unhappy.

"Yes—Kara. I've met her, and a very good girl she is. If things get bad she can always come back to the village, can't she? All the more reason to do the best job you can."

Alistair smiled over at her from the mustering field. He was showing four men and a woman how to use a shield. A good shield was a weapon in itself, and Alistair was very skilled. The one woman in the group obviously found the handsome young Warden worth watching. Bronwyn smiled and waved back, hiding her annoyance.

Much remained to be done. A young girl was sent to the manor to apprise the seneschal that there would be two more guests: "Grey Warden recruits," Bronwyn specified, to get her people the best and most respectful treatment possible. Any possible Joining was too far in the indefinite future to plan for, but calling her people 'recruits' seemed reasonable to her. It would at least give them the protection of the Grey Warden name.

More questioning revealed that the local smith was in possession of Sten's armor and other equipment. No one else could possibly wear the huge man's armor, but the smith had planned to refashion it into new pieces. After some haggling, he agreed to fetch it forth and sell it back for a reasonable profit.

Morrigan, bored with watching the villagers and being watched in her turn, sauntered over to hear the end of the bargaining. As soon as the smith departed, she turned an amused look on Bronwyn.

"'Tis well you are supplied with gold, or our tall acquaintance would be wearing what scraps the Chantry girl scavenged from the dead."

"Or I'd have to have something made for him, and that would take forever," Bronwyn agreed. "It's a fair deal. The smith would have had to spend a great deal of time turning the armor into something anyone else could use."

"I find myself weary of all this incompetent sword-waving and bad archery. Have I not shown the flag, as it were, sufficiently? As there is nothing I can teach that these yokels could learn, I should like to return to the manor's library."

"Before you go, come with me to release Sten. We'll escort him up to the manor, and the seneschal will be easier if one of us is there to keep an eye on him. I'll have to return to finish here, of course."

"As you wish."

The smith returned soon, his arms and his sons' arms full of armor and accessories. Bronwyn called Scout away from his terrorizing of the village dogs, and together they found Sten, still standing with stoic patience in his cage. Some villagers came along to witness the event, and they shoved and murmured as Bronwyn turned the lock and freed the prisoner.

"So it begins," the Qunari declared. "I shall follow you, and in so doing shall find my redemption."

He was somewhat surprised to have his armor returned to him, though his eyes wandered over the belongings, seeming to search for something that was not there.

"No weapons?" Bronwyn asked the smith.

"All I had was the armor," the smith answered. "That's what was there when he was taken." The men were paid, and returned to the muster, where the smith had promised to show some other men some tricks to using a maul.

Bronwyn gave the Qunari a slight smile. He was handling his armor with reverence and relief, donning first the padded gambeson, and then the plate over it, like one who had lost and reclaimed his very skin.

"Well, Sten, you need something to fight with other than your mailed fists. What is your preferred weapon?"

He was very glum about it, obviously having lost a weapon dear to him, and Bronwyn sympathized. Finally he said, "A two-handed sword would be best, if one of suitable size can be had."

"One of the bandits we killed had a steel greatsword. If the villagers haven't already spirited it away, it might do. Let's go."

They walked back to the site of their recent victory, the Qunari moving carefully. Bronwyn could see that he needed food and rest and reasonable exercise. A good thing they had horses.

As they approached the bodies, two figures suddenly rose up out of the grass: the two bandits who had run a few hours before. One held a sack of loot, and looked back and forth between the approaching threat and the safety of the Highway, undecided. The other dropped his burdens and took to his heels.

"Scout! Get him!" Bronwyn ordered, drawing her sword and dagger, and darting in at the irresolute man before her.

"You really shouldn't have come back," Bronwyn told him, just as her sword slashed his chest open.

Morrigan and Scout had between them brought down the other bandit. Sten stood over the bodies, looking thoughtful. Scout sat up and panted smugly at the Qunari.

"You are a true warrior," Sten admitted, "and worthy of respect."

Scout barked an agreement. Bronwyn laughed to herself. Better that the Qunari understood that from the first.

The Qunari found the sword in question and pronounced it "adequate." Morrigan was picking through the bandit's sack, apparently finding the contents of interest. Bronwyn fought to control her disapproval. Father had explained to her that common soldiers always fought in part for loot. One must not despise them for it. Not everyone was a teyrn's daughter.

"Something nice?" she asked Morrigan.

"Oh!" The witch was uneasy. Then composing herself, she said, "Perhaps." She opened the bag and let Bronwyn have a look.

The bandits had done well for themselves. This sack must represent the best of their loot: six sovereigns, a bracelet of heavy gold, a pair of gold earrings, chains of gold and silver, a few rings. Some of the rings were gold and set with gems. It was easy now to understand why the bandits had come back for this treasure.

"That's a nice ruby," Bronwyn said, touching the bright stone with a curious forefinger. "Pretty."

Morrigan clutched at the bag, clearly wanting it for herself. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"It's not mine," Bronwyn answered easily. "It's yours. You found it. I suppose we'll all have to sit down tonight and decide on a fair policy in regard to loot, but that bag is yours. You get the jewelry and Sten gets the sword."

"And what do you get?" Morrigan asked warily.

"Powerful allies, I hope."

"Just how long were you in that cage?" Alistair asked Sten over dinner. His jaw dropped at the answer.

It was astonishing that Sten had survived all those days without food and water. It was even more astonishing that after a hasty lunch, a bath, a nap, and a good dinner he seemed fairly fit and ready to travel. No wonder the Qunari were such a menace.

More talk with local merchants had pried loose the equipment Bronwyn's new companions would need: packs and bedrolls and tents, canteens and mess kits, cloaks and socks—some socks even big enough for Sten's gigantic feet.

Leliana had few personal possessions, other than the armor and weapons she had brought with her to Ferelden. A mysterious case was revealed to contain an Orlesian triple-necked lute. It was a difficult instrument to play well—or even to play at all, as Bronwyn well remembered from years of painful music lessons.

"Are you any good?" she asked Leliana.

A sad and secret smile. "I can play a bit."

Bronwyn hoped she could. It would be very entertaining and good for morale. More specifically, it would be good for Bronwyn's morale. She liked music, though she was useless with any instrument other than a simple straight flute. If Leliana could play at all, then Bronwyn would think she had done well bringing her along with them.

She wondered what had happened to her flute. She wondered what had happened to all of her things in her room. Was some lackey of Howe's living there, sleeping in her bed, fingering her possessions, throwing away her keepsakes? Had Howe destroyed the castle? Were the people of Highever in revolt, even now, struggling against his tyranny?

She scowled. It was useless to agonize over things she could not yet control. She would not lie awake tonight worrying about that, or about her journey to the Circle, and what she might say to insult the mages, and everything that might go wrong on the way. At least she hoped she would not.

"So I am to be a Grey Warden?" The Qunari thought that over, frowning. "Or am I considered a Grey Warden already?"

"You are a Grey Warden recruit," Bronwyn clarified. "I won your freedom by invoking the Grey Warden Right of Conscription, which is absolute in Thedas. To actually become a Grey Warden requires additional steps, which will take place at a future date in our headquarters. For now, you will be a recruit and follow our ways."

"And those are?" asked the Qunari.

"To kill darkspawn," Alistair informed him, munching. "We kill darkspawn whenever and wherever we find them. We do whatever it takes to kill them. That's our purpose."

"Our current mission," Bronwyn added, "is to enforce the treaties that support the Grey Wardens. We are going first to enlist the aid of the Circle of Mages at Kinloch Hold." The Qunari frowned, not knowing the name. Bronwyn explained, "It is on an island just off the eastern shore of Lake Calenhad."

Sten's brow cleared. "I remember Lake Calenhad," he muttered.

"Well, that is where we are going first. Then we must try to cross the Lake or travel north around it to the dwarven city of Orzammar. Teyrn Loghain believes they will be strong allies during the Blight. They certainly have experience fighting darkspawn."

He nodded. "And then?"

"At that point we'll have to see if the darkspawn horde has regrouped or not. We may go to Denerim if the king is there or south to Ostagar if we need to. Ultimately, we want to search the Brecilian Forest for the Dalish clans. The Grey Wardens have a treaty with the Dalish too, but they are scattered and shy of strangers."

Sten asked, "The Brecilian Forest is closer than Lake Calenhad, is it not?"

"It is, but we might waste considerable time finding even one clan. We know exactly where the Circle is, and where Orzammar is. It will be easy to find those places, though we might face some resistance along the way."

"A Grey Warden..." Sten considered. "I have never heard of one of my people being a Grey Warden. It is a new thing for us."

"Then you will be the first," Bronwyn told him. "We are a very ancient order of warriors. Ancient and honorable. We have protected Thedas for twelve hundred years: before the time of Andraste and the Chantry, before there was a Ferelden or even an Orlais." She gave the Qunari a slight smile. "Whether any other Qunari becomes a Grey Warden might very well lie with you."

"Am I a Grey Warden recruit, too?" Leliana wondered, blue eyes wide.

"Only if you want to be, at this point," said Bronwyn. "I did not have to conscript you, so there is no obligation involved. When the day comes, though, you will have to make a decision to join or not."

"You can call me a recruit, if you like," Leliana decided. "It is such an honor, after all..." She rose gracefully, and said. "I think I shall have a nice hot bath, with rose petals sprinkled on the water..." She drifted out of the hall and up the stairs. Morrigan rolled her eyes. Bronwyn smiled in spite of herself.

"Come on, Sten," she said, getting up from the table. "I want to show you your horse."

"I'll be with you in a minute," Alistair promised.

The stables were very well kept, and their own animals had been looked after properly. Scout nosed around, enjoying the smells. Bronwyn presumed that what animals Bann Ceorlic had not taken with him to Denerim had been sent to the army.

There was her own chestnut Posy: a nice animal. In the stall next to it was Trampler.

"That is indeed a horse," Sten agreed, his hand running over the big animal's withers approvingly. "It should serve well."

Bronwyn was not surprised he had approved. She would add this to her letter to Fergus, and let him feel clever for giving her such a useful animal. Sten, however, was not quite the Orlesian silk-merchant Fergus had predicted.

Alistair called out, in the stable doorway. "Bronwyn? You in here?"

"Alistair," Bronwyn called back. "Come join us. Sten is making Trampler's acquaintance."

The stall next to Trampler was also occupied. Bronwyn looked, and looked again. This was not one of her horses. This was a lovely mare: a well-bred Antivan barb. Quickly she stalked through the rows of stalls, Scout at her heels. Four more horses were here: all high-quality mounts. One was a fairly big warhorse that might be a mixed Orlesian Destrier/Frostback Traveler.

We need these, she decided.

They needed more horses. They needed them for pack animals, and they needed them as spares in case of trouble. No one in Lothering seemed to have any for sale. No one else in Lothering seemed to have any at all.

In the back of the stable were three mules and a very charming little grey pony.

"We'll also take one of the mules," she said aloud.

"We'll also—?" Alistair prompted. He laughed. "Are you proposing that we steal Bann Ceorlic's horses? I didn't know you had it in you. You do know that stealing horses is a hanging offense in Ferelden? Well...it's a hanging offense anywhere I've ever heard of..."

"We're not stealing them," she answered, frowning in thought. "We're requisitioning them for use in a vital mission for the war. I shall leave a promissory note for Bann Ceorlic, and he will be paid for the animals out of Grey Warden funds in due course."

"He won't like it."

"He's not here," Bronwyn rapped out, "and I don't care if he likes it or not. We need those horses."

Sten nodded, apparently in approval. Alistair was still uncertain about the whole idea.

"We're supposed to try to get along with the local rulers, you know. Between organizing a militia and taking his horses, you could really stir things up."

"Alistair," she said patiently. "Bann Ceorlic is not here. If he needed those horses, he would have taken them with him. If the darkspawn reform and attack, the poor beasts will just be eaten. We are taking the horses and we will pay a fair price for them. Not out of the funds we are carrying, of course. That would deplete our gold, and we'll need it. Bann Ceorlic is not even thinking about those horses. If I don't take them, I know we'll regret it."

Seneschal Rurik was also rather taken aback when she told him she was taking the horses. She sat him down in the library, and with him and Alistair to witness she wrote out a formal promissory note, signed Bronwyn Cousland, Grey Warden. The price was a good one, and was to be paid no later than next spring's Landsmeet. Bronwyn thought it a very business-like transaction.

"I'm not taking everything," Bronwyn consoled the man. "You'll have the mules for any farm work about the manor, and I can't bear to take that nice little pony into danger."

"Thank you," the man practically blubbered. "That's Lady Ethelswyth's pony. She's only eight, and losing it would break her heart."

"Of course the little girl can keep her pony," Bronwyn assured him, trying not to lose patience with the man. "However, we must take the five horses and their tack with us. The biggest mule will carry our cooking gear and some of the tents. Please see to the arrangements, and have the farrier make certain that the horses won't be throwing shoes anytime soon. We need to leave early tomorrow."

Before the village of Lothering can find more work for me, she refrained from saying.

They left just after dawn: a rather impressive party, heavily armed and well mounted. Bronwyn distributed silver to all the servants who had looked after them, the maids and the cooks and the men who stoked the boiler. Morrigan insisted on walking down from the manor and through the village, rather than riding the lovely mare offered her.

"You can't walk the entire way," Bronwyn protested.

"I can walk through the village," Morrigan insisted. "And then I shall change into something more comfortable, so to speak. That is why I wear these robes that everyone so dislikes."

"I don't dislike your robes," Bronwyn told her. "They're just unlike any mage's robes I ever seen."

"That is because they are created and enchanted for my peculiar talents. I would have to remove those robes your tame mages wear lest I be tangled in yards of wool if I changed form in them. This garment, however," she stroked the feathers at her shoulder, "changes with me. I alter it as I learn a new shape. It mirrors my talents, and molds itself to whichever body I take."

"It's a mighty power," Bronwyn said, rather wistfully. "And very useful."

Pleased, Morrigan preened a little. "I am glad that you, at least, see the value of this ancient magic. The Chantry calls it evil, and claims it is only practiced by maleficarum, but I hold that some things are worth preserving. The only 'evil' in shape-changing is that it makes it harder for the Chantry to control me!"

"Just be careful, that's all I ask."

Bronwyn looked about the village, pleased at the changes she had wrought. Lookouts manned the watchtowers. Two more waved at the Wardens' party from the uppermost floor of the mill. Lumber was piled up where the carpenters were building a strong gate to protect that side of the village. If the place could be just a little more secure than it was when she arrived, Bronwyn would consider her two days well spent.

Early as it was, people were there to see them off. A group of children sat on the stone walls, kicking their heels against the mossy stones. The two oldest Gale children darted out to greet them.

"See!" Drisa shouted at some village girls. "We do so know them! Please, Warden! Wave at those girls and tell them you know me!"

"Me! Me, too, Wardens!" Conn called.

"Good day to you, Drisa and Conn!" Bronwyn called back obligingly. "Give my respects to your mother and to all the Gale family!"

There were "Oooohs" of awe, and a number of children jumped down and began tagging along.

Conn ran up alongside Alistair's horse. "When I'm a man, I'm going to be a Grey Warden!"

"Good for you!" Alistair grinned at the boy.

"Me too!" Drisa seconded.

"That's silly," Conn objected. "You're never going to be a man!"

"Then I'll be a Girl Warden like Bronwyn," his sister told him airily. "I'll be the Girl Warden Drisa, and all will fear me!"

"I'd rather be a mage," one daring young towhead declared. "I like her black leather."

Bronwyn smirked at a fuming Morrigan, who was on the point of chasing away some bold young admirers. She raised her hand to halt her party, and told the children. "That's far enough! Thank you for your courtesy. I hope you older children will practice your archery under your Captain's supervision. Until then, mind your elders, and keep safe!"

"I have some flowers for you," Drisa said, offering Bronwyn a handful of limp daisies.

"I thank you, Girl Warden Drisa. Until we meet again!" She whispered to Morrigan, "We really must get out of here before the whole village arrives. Please get on the horse!"

Morrigan hesitated, tempted to show these peasants something extraordinary.

Bronwyn hissed, "Please just get on the bloody horse!" She untied the mares' lead, knotted it around the pommel, and then held the reins out commandingly.

"I hate this!" Morrigan snarled. She made a face at the Antivan mare, who gazed back with mild brown eyes. The young witch was lithe enough to mount easily, and took up the reins just as she had seen Bronwyn do.

Bronwyn leaned over and smirked at her. "Hold tight with your legs and move with the horse," she said in a low voice. Then, straightening in the saddle, she called out, "Let's go!" and kicked her horse into a canter. Scout barked his excitement. The Wardens clattered up the stone ramp of the Imperial Highway, and galloped off together, heading west. Behind them, the children cheered shrilly.

Morrigan was surprised at the smoothness of the horse's motion: an easy rocking, and not the jerking and shaking she had expected. She saw that Bronwyn's arms were stretched out in front of her, allowing the horse's neck and head full freedom of movement. Imitating this caused the horse's gait to smooth out even more. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

Bronwyn grinned at her, shouting, "You can't say this isn't fun!"

Morrigan shouted back, "'Tis a poor substitute for flying!"

"Just a little farther. You can change once we're out of sight of the watchtowers!"

They traveled a mile, and then another, moving at an easy pace. Morrigan began to feel that there was nothing at all to riding a horse, until Bronwyn raised a hand, and the party slowed. Instantly the rocking motion became choppy, and Morrigan bounced very uncomfortably in the saddle.

"There's a trick to sitting a trot, which I'll teach you at a later date," Bronwyn said. "That's enough riding for one day. Now you can change, as you say, 'into something more comfortable.'" She told the rest of the company, "We'll reach a fork in the road in a few miles. We'll bear to our right: that road will take us along the north shore of Lake Belenas. If we keep up a good pace we should be able to camp by Lake Calenhad tonight."

Morrigan wondered if she should dismount, and then decided against it. Her legs might be-...untrustworthy after this experience, and she did not want to reveal any weaknesses that might be used against her later.

She lifted her hand and suddenly distorted in a shocking, unworldly way, like one image superimposed on an entirely different one. She shrank, feathers sprouted, legs shortened, and with a high "Creee!" of triumph, a hawk soared up and settled on a the branch of an overhanging birch tree.

"Show off," Alistair muttered.

Sten scowled in profound surprise and disapproval. Leliana was astonished, too, but also very impressed.

"Such a beautiful bird," she declared. "So proud and independent! The feathers are so pretty! The last winter I was in Orlais, feathers were very much in fashion!"

Thanks to my brilliant reviewers: Sarah1281, Piceron, mille libri, khaos974, Sati James, Zyanic, Annara Ren, bioncafemme, Eva Galana, Kempe, Angry Girl, almostinsane, Roonya, and rascality.

Oh—and some have expressed dismay that Zevran might not make an appearance. Do remember that it was Howe who contacted the Crows, not Loghain!

I am including quite a bit of canon dialogue here for the benefit of my readers who have never played the game.

Please review! It really inspires me.