So bad weather gave me some unexpected time with absolutely nothing to do except some leisure writing, Yay! So another chapter, much quicker than I thought.
Miles away, in a less supernatural part of Ferelden, another Grey Warden was also having a remarkable evening. The king sat in his throne room at Denerim Palace, holding an impromptu audience with a mysterious elven woman. Also present were a handful of soldiers, Templars, as well as members of the Royal Guard. Among them was Rylock, the outspoken Templar whom Alistair had come to know fairly well in his time as king. Many who knew her felt that her political leanings were often too radical for comfort, but Alistair respected her commitment to the Chantry and considered her to be one of his most trusted military advisors. It was she whom had brought the elf to see him on such urgent notice. Rylock claimed the woman had information that would be of great interest to him.
The woman who sat before him had a defiant look in her eyes. She was slight and blond, but it was difficult to determine her age. Partially this was due to her being an elf, as the elves aged differently than humans, but mostly it looked as though fast living had taken its toll on her.
'A shame,' thought Alistair, 'she might have been pretty once.'
Rylock addressed her. "Explain to His Majesty what you've got here." She motioned toward a pile of journals and miscellaneous paperwork piled on a table in front of her.
The elf bowed. "Greetings, Your Highness, I am called Namaya. I have some information on one of your own Grey Wardens that I believe you will consider quite relevant."
"Greetings to you, Ser Namaya. I welcome you to the Royal Palace," Alistair attempted to receive her formally, though his mind was racing. There weren't many Grey Wardens left to speak of in Ferelden, and he doubted this would be pleasant news. He thought immediately of Gwenna and his stomach flipped. "You have news regarding one of the Grey Wardens, you said? What news, exactly?"
"Perhaps it is not news, Your Majesty, so much as it is proof." She told him, "I speak of Ser Anders, Your Highness. He is a Grey Warden who, I believe, rides at the side of your very own Warden Commander. He is also a dangerous blood mage, as you will soon see for yourself."
The king's eyes grew large. Anders. That was Gwenna's pet mage, the one they had argued about. He had known that man was bad news from the start, but Gwenna, stubborn elf that she was, would hear nothing of it. Likely, she would hear no part of it now, particularly not if it came at his suggestion. He knew he needed to get rid of this miscreant, for her sake and for the Wardens', but he would have to proceed carefully if there were to be any hopes of success. The Commander of the Grey was her own force of nature, and not one to be told what was best for her. She was certainly no longer one from whose wrath Alistair could expect to be spared. Not these days, anyway.
"A blood mage among the Wardens is certainly an alarming prospect," he said. "How solid is your proof, Ser Namaya?"
"I think you'll find it's more than sufficient, Your Majesty," she replied. She first handed him one of Anders' grimoires. It was an old, dusty text that described, in detail, the proper techniques involved in performing blood rituals and casting spells of blood magic. There were numerous diagrams, as well as several pages boasting bloody fingerprints from where the mage had, no doubt, been practicing the craft.
Next she provided him with two more journals and myriad loose schematics, all illustrating the ideas Anders had come up with over the years for obtaining his freedom from the Circle of Magi. Some described plans for escaping the circle, others for staging a coup on the tower in hopes of finding, and confiscating, his phylactery. Some were so old they contained childish scribbling in the page margins. It was all there, every gory detail of the mage's long struggle to be free of the Chantry's dominion.
Alistair was speechless. In some small way, he almost sympathized with the mage. After all, the king himself had been thrilled to become a Grey Warden, seeing his conscription as blessed rescue from the strong arm of the Templars. At the same time, this was no longer a case of a simple apostate. This man was clearly maleficarum, and blood magic could not be tolerated. The dangers were too many and the costs too great, not the least of them being some threat to Gwenna's personal safety. Though part of Alistair pitied the mage he could not, in good conscience, show him mercy for his crimes.
"What do you make of all this?" He asked Rylock.
Rylock looked pleased. "Your Highness, this is proof without a shadow of doubt that this mage has had dealings in the executable crime of blood magic. Allow me to show you what I mean." With that she pulled a small vial of some red, viscous liquid from a chain around her neck. "I retrieved Anders' phylactery. If the blood that marks the pages of this grimoire is, in fact, Anders' blood, then the blood in the phylactery will respond, much as it responds to the mage himself. Watch." She held the vial up to the grimoire. The blood in vial glowed hot, neon red. Anders' phylactery. Anders' blood.
"I see," was all the king could offer. He thought for a long time. How was he to go about this? The mage was a Grey Warden now, and it was beyond the right of the crown to overturn his conscription, especially after the joining had been completed. Gwenna would fight him tooth and nail if he even so much as suggested it. He turned, once again, to Rylock.
"The Warden Commander is unlikely to concede to his arrest. She is a woman of strong convictions, as I'm sure you've heard. Have you any suggestions as to how I might convince her?"
Rylock frowned. "Ah yes, the Commander," she said. Her tone was unfriendly. "If she will not surrender to the whim of the crown, perhaps she will be less inclined to defy the Chantry."
Alistair furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Your Majesty, you have the power to decide the law. If you so choose, you could see to it that the Chantry holds sole authority over rogue mages. If that were the case, no one, not any ruler, nor any noble, nor even the Grey Wardens could deny my right to arrest a maleficar. "
The king was uncertain. "With all respect to the Chantry, Ser Rylock, I'm not convinced it's wise to allow that sort of autonomy."
"But, My Lord, the maleficar are a pox on society. No good has ever come from any one of them. They must be eradicated, at any cost!" Rylock insisted. Then she said, "Anders is especially dangerous and depraved. I would know. I've been tracking that unholy reprobate for years! Your Commander is not safe with him, Majesty."
That convinced him. Alistair sighed. "You make a convincing point, Ser Templar. You shall have your decree by morning."
Rylock looked triumphant. "Thank you, Your Majesty!" She exclaimed. "You will not be disappointed!"
"I hope you're right," said Alistair replied dismally.
"You know, if Anders gets wind of this, he'll just escape again." It was Namaya who spoke. "You're best bet is to stage an ambush. I believe I can help you with that."
Alistair and Rylock exchanged a look. It was Alistair who spoke.
"What did you have in mind?"
Namaya smiled a wicked smile and divulged an elaborate plan for Anders' demise.