The Dragon Queen: Beginnings

Chapter 9: Calm Before the Storm

Dead man walking as the old saying went. It was a saying that weighed heavily on Ser Raymond's mind as he led the mostly intact but badly mauled elements of his command back towards Antiva City. Less than three days ago the Queen had commanded him to ride out and overtake the convoy carrying the Antivan Royal children to safety in neighboring Kirkwall.

Everything had started off perfectly. His company had caught up to the Antivans even quicker than he had expected and slaughtered the royals' escorts with minimal difficultly. Yet in that success he had encountered his first snag. During the butchery the infant prince had been killed and the princess has escaped with the help of a Crow assassin who simply refused to die.

Even after that he had mustered his troops and ravenously pursued the princess and the assassin towards the Kirkwall border. He would of have had them at the border had Kirkwall soldiers not crossed the riverand ambushed his men. When the din of battle had faded it revealed his prey had escaped him once more.

And now Raymond was trudging back to his Queen empty-handed with his tail tucked between his legs. What was supposed to be his crowning achievement and propel him to Cecilia's right hand, now that the General Ser Markus Tiberius was to take up the rule of the north of Antiva, was now his shameful failure. Now all he could hope for was some garrison command as castellan of some third-rate fortress near the Wilds.

Raymond glanced back at the small mountain of burning corpses they paused back down the road, mercenary casualties from the storming of the city no doubt, as small kernel of fear worming its way into his gut. Or Cecilia could have an example made of him.

The gnawing feeling grew as he passed through the city gates and it grew even larger as he was told by the gatekeeper that the Queen was waiting for him. A few minutes later he and his company arrived at the palace. The knight in command of the palace guard directed his company to a place were they could be billeted before he escorted Raymond personally into the palace.

While unfamiliar with the layout of the palace itself it wouldn't require a savant to figure out he was being led into the heart of the monolithic structure. His suspicions were confirmed by the time he reached the ornate double door that were guarded by a dozen men-at-arms of the Order.

As he entered the dead king's throne room Raymond noticed the Queen was not alone. There were both knights of the Sovereign's Own and of course was Ser Markus Tiberius the Queen's right hand and general of her armies. The other was Ser Roland, a man he didn't know in person but by reputation.

Ser Roland held a fairly unique position in the order as he held the title of Lord Commander of Gwaren. During the events of the Fifth Blight the House of Mac Tir had proven itself untrustworthy. The result was that they had been stripped of their rule of Gwaren and the land had been annexed as a direct possession of the Royal House. In that was it was just like the former Arling of Amarathine.

The position was nonhereditary and held, appointed and dismissed at Cecilia's discretion ensuring that Gwaren and Amarathine remained under her direct command. Save the office Tiberius held as the General of Her Majesty's Armies it was the highest position one could hold in the Order of the Knights of the Sovereign's Own.

"Ser Raymond," the Queen's sultry but commanding voice torn him from his muses, "welcome back how fared your mission?"

Halting at the foot of the dais the knight dropped to a knee and held his head low partly in fear and partly in shame, "Majesty," he started his throat suddenly very dry, "I have… I have failed you."

With that admission the events of the past days spilled from his lips and he explained what had occurred. He told her about the pursuit of the caravan and his attack. He told her about the death of the infant prince and the princess's escape. He explained that the thrice-cursed assassin had been there as well and had been instrumental in helping the Antivan princess elude him. Lastly he informed his queen of the ambush and Kirkwall's involvement.

When he finished he fell silent waiting for the inevitable explosion to occur. He waited for her to rage and him, strip him of title and rank and cast him out of the Order or perhaps even worse… send him to the Peak, but it never came.

To his surprise the next words the Queen of Ferelden said were, "The mission is on no consequence… I never expected you to succeed and the fact that you came so close speaks highly of your abilities and the abilities of your company."

Raymond's head snapped up look stare the Queen in her ice blue eyes. He held her gaze only for a second before a jolt of terror ran down his spine and he broke away from her hypnotic gaze, "I… I do not understand."

"In offering succor to the princess, Hawke would have placed himself against us in the eyes of the world," Cecilia explained taking on the tone of teacher to a student, "an open challenge if you will. Now," her voice hardened dangerously, "the Viscount of Kirkwall has murdered my men and I will take payment for their blood in turn."

A small smile touched the knight's lips and he clenched his fists at his side. He liked the sound of that. Very few people could claim to know the mind of Cecilia Theirin and Raymond had to admit he wasn't one of them. What he did know was that she was not one to issue threats lightly. Kirkwall would burn for its Viscount's sins and he would be there to see it done.

"Get some rest Raymond form you and your men," the Queen continued pulling him from his revelry, "take care of your wounded and find something to eat," a cold smile touched her face and an even colder look shown in her eyes, "I have an assignment for you. One I think you shall rather enjoy."

XXX

After the Queen's orders Ser Raymond and Ser Roland had departed, the latter of which only after receiving his orders assemble the armies of Gwaren and take them north to receive the surrender of the Antivan nobles who may be… reluctant relinquish their lordships without the visible threat of force present.

With the death of their king and surrender of their capital city most of the fight had gone out of the remaining nobility. What was left would die when they saw the ten thousand man host bearing down on their lands.

Once the pair of knight had left Ser Markus Tiberius turned to his Queen with a thoughtful expression written on his face as he tried to phrase the question that had entered into his mind. She must have seen his confusion and thoughts through his expression and turned to him, "I was lying of course about that all being planned… if you were wondering."

He had been as a matter of fact. It had worried him, the queen's words. If they had been true if would have meant she had been lying to or at the least misleading him. That was her right of course but Tiberius had known the Queen since she had been a child and on a more professional level was her right hand. That she would feel the need to conceal something of this nature from him would have cut deeply.

"War like life is fluid and ever changing and one must change their plans accordingly," she started matter of factly as she brought a glass of fine wine to her lips, "while Hawke's actions were not expected to the extent he took them the results of his rash actions will do nothing but strengthen our position and hurt his."

Tiberius nodded in agreement. Then after several moments of silence he added, "And Kirkwall?"

The General watched as Cecilia's eyes narrowed dangerously and her voice took on a lethal tone, "Now that I have no further use for the man I believe it is time we teach Hawke not to interfere in the affairs of his betters."

"I could not agree more," he agreed earnestly. Hawke and Kirkwall had been a thorn in his and the Queen's side for far too long. He was also the last loose end in their very complicated scheme, though of course Hawke had no way of knowing it. The sooner the Viscount's soul was sent screaming into the Fade the better and after every grievance the arrogant bastard had foisted on him and the Queen, Tiberius would be more than happy to do it himself.

"Now Tiberius," Cecilia said as she downed another glass of magenta wine, "I want you to begin preparations to move our forces south to Kirkwall within two days. I want to be at the border with ten thousand men within the week."

Running through the numbers in his head he paused before nodding. The Sovereign's Own would supply about a third of the strength even with a large portion of the order heading north with Roland the rest would come from the host of Highever. The Arls and Banns who would not heading north with Ser Roland would be staying behind with Arl Teagan in Antiva City to garrison the south of the country.

"Everything will be ready," Tiberius promised.

XXX

The House of Ram, Charles thought with a snort into his brandy, hardly a subtle name. The three story white brick building in the wealthy district of the capital city was what the Antivans' called a House of Leisure. It had the elements of a tavern, a theater and a whorehouse all rolled into one catering to the desires of the nobility and the rich.

As it stood Prince Charles only availed himself to the drinks and theater and stayed away from the whores… something some of the nobles were enjoying to their fullest. Then again perhaps they earned it. The Fereldan's had done something he would have deemed impossible.

He glanced around again noticing that amongst all the nobles and the knights here that there was not a single black cloak of the Queen's men. Then a thought clicked as he remembered hearing something about the Queen not liking her elite to mix with the others… she probably didn't want loose tongues wagging.

"Ahh Charles my friend," a booming voice called and it took him but a second to recognize the voice as belonging to Arl Chester of the West Hills, "tis could to see you here."

"Chester," Charles answered the big brutish looking man before him. The burley Arl had been the first man over the walls in the siege and was one of the biggest and most ferocious men Charles had ever met. He was also a man with whom he had forged a friendship of sorts with.

The Arl ordered a stout ale, or at least what passes for ale in this part of the world, and sat down across from him, "Have you heard the news my friend?"

Cocking his head the Prince of Orlais queried, "What news?"

"I heard from Tiberius mind you… the bloody bastard himself," the Arl whispered conspiratorially as he leaned forward pitching his voice so only Charles could hear him, "The Queen is assembling ten thousand to march on Kirkwall."

Charles was surprised by that. He had known Kirkwall and Garret Hawke had been making themselves a thorn in the Queen's, but he had no idea relations had gone this sour. He wondered what had caused relations to devolve to this, but had a feeling the Arl was going to tell him.

"Apparently the Viscount ambushed some of our men in the South of Antiva as they were escorting Princess Anna back to the city," the Arl of the West Hills said with a shake of his head, "they murdered some good men and the Queen's out for blood… a lot of it."

"Damm," Charles swore softly and shook his head, "I wonder what the Viscount is thinking?

"I have no idea," the big Arl said as he downed his second drink of the night, "but what I do know is that he shall not live to see another summer."

The Prince of Orlais nodded as he thought the news over, "Kirkwall," he muttered under his breath. The city was amongst the wealthiest cities in all Thedas. Its capture would be another jewel in Cecilia's already expansive crown. "When do we leave?"

"Two days," he said, "Tiberius and the Queen want us ready to move in two days."

Charles opened his mouth to say that ten thousand fighting men, their supplies and auxiliaries couldn't possibly assembled in two days, but that thought died stillborn. The might of the Queen's army was still encamped on the outskirts of the city and on its war footing so it wouldn't be as hard as he first thought, "Very well," Charles finally said, "I and my men will be ready."

"To war and glorious victory," Chester said raising his glass of ale in toast.

"To victory my friend," Charles said echoing the gesture before downing his own drink and tossing a gold coin on the table to cover the cost of his drinks. "Now if you excuse me I must see to my men," and while he was at it he would go see the Queen as well.

XXX

Garret Hawke Viscount of Kirkwall sighed as he felt warm rays of the Maker's light caressing his bearded face from his lofty position at the very crown of the Viscount's Keep. From his tower he could the sight of his sprawling city, safe for the moment behind the strong arms of her guards her onyx walls.

To the north lay the rest of the proud cities states of the Free Marches and beyond them the ancient Imperium of the Mage Lords and the alien terror of the Qunari hordes. To the West lay stubborn Neverra and proud Orlais the grandest of all the kingdoms of man. In the South was the Waking Sea with its emerald waters and Ferelden the land of his birth now the realm of a mortal foe, but it wasn't the South worried him now.

Feeling his age and then some Hawke finally turned his wizened eyes to where the heart of his problem lied .It lay East across the Vimmark Mountains to the land of the Antiva the home of assassins and the merchant princes. What was once a proud land now lay pinned beneath the boot heel of Cecilia Theirin Queen of Ferelden and her armies… armies that would soon encroach upon the land and people he had sworn an oath before the Maker of Mankind to protect.

He grimaced as he thought of the upcoming battle. Despite the army he assembled, he trained from the ground up he knew the fight ahead would not be an easy one. The Queen of Ferelden's armies were vast and well trained and bloodied on the fields of battle while his were not. The officers were noblemen of good breeding, after all he needed their support and more importantly their money, but they were ill suits to the rigors of command and war.

That was one of the reasons that his choice of battlefield was so important and why he had been out to inspect the battlefield personality. He needed every advantage he could lay hands on if he hoped to best the Queen's knights on the field of war at the art for which they were bred and raised. Again he reminded himself that he did not need to destroy Cecilia's army, but wound her enough to shatter her illusion of invincibility.

So lost in thought was the Viscount of Kirkwall he almost didn't hear the sound of metal boots of the cold unforgiving stone of the Keep. On instinct he turned half drawing his greatsword from its silver inlaid sheath.

"Easy old friend," a voice said belonging of Lord Alexander Threnhold. The nobleman held his up in a nonthreatening gesture.

Cursing, Hawke re-sheathed his blade annoyed by his lack of concentration that had allowed an old man to slip up on him and catch him unaware. Turning back away from his my friend and comrade, Hawke faced the amber glow of the setting sun and said, "What brings you here?"

"I bring… bad news," he started slowly as he came to rest beside the Viscount. Hawke turned his head to face the man he had called friend these many years and was again shocked to see how much he had aged.

Grimacing he asked even though he truly didn't want to know what had Threnhold looking even more haggard than he usually was these days, "What has happened?"

"Antivan City has fallen," he said with a sullen, quiet tone.

Hawke starred at the nobleman with shock plain on his features. He had expected the siege of the Antivian capital to drag on for weeks or even months. He had planned for the Queen's army to squander at least a portion of its strength on those walls. He'd hoped for the monotony and dreariness of siege warfare to take a toll on their will, but most of all he had been dependent on the time to raise and train an additional two-thousand or so troops.

"How," he finally managed after the shock of the announcement faded enough for him to regain his senses.

Threnhold shook his head, "I am sorry my friend but the reports coming in do not paint a clear picture, but I would wager that one of the mercenary companies may have betrayed old Castlen… it would certainty explain the ease with which the city was taken."

"And Cecilia? Do your spies report where the queen shall turn her gaze and her armies next," Hawke queried once more putting faith in the elder nobleman and his spies, "will she head north to quell what remains of the Antivian nobility there?"

Alexander was silent for a moment before answering warily, "I cannot be sure. If he has not been caught my last man will have left by now and we shall have to wait for him to report."

"Your opinion?"

Again Threnhold hesitated, "Cecilia is as proud as they come. She will not allow your challenge or assault on her men to go unpunished," the man sighed heavily, "I fear this is a feud that will end only in death… yours or hers."

XXX

From the saddle of her massive destrier Cecilia sat, surrounded a cadre of knights of her private guard and by the General Tiberius, Prince Charles, her uncle Teryrn Cousland ,Arl Teagen, and the young Lord Gawain Cousland her cousin and soon to be teyrn of Southern Antiva. Each noble was glad in their finest battle regalia their armor gleaming in the morning sun and their heraldic banners fluttering in the breeze.

The gently rolling on which the noble part sat mounted overlooked both the city and the road south. It was a perfect position from which to watch the Queen's ten thousand warriors stream from the gates of the city along the road that would take them once more to war. Though it was barely a fifth the strength of the host she had brought with her to Antiva it was an impressive and deadly force to reckon with.

The host was compose of nearly all the might of the Sovereign's Own save those thousand that would march North with the Lord Commander of Gwaren and the Bannorn to destroy any last hope of organized resistance. The rest of the Queen's host would be comprised of the flower of Highever's chivalry, the fearsome Dalish mounted archers and the murderous berserkers recruited from the savage Chasnid tribes that lived in the Korcari Wilds.

"I wish I could be going with you cousin," the young lordling of Highever, Gawain Cousland, said from his chestnut stallion in a wistful tone as he starred longingly at the column.

From out the corner of her eye Cecilia watched with an amused look as her uncle the Teyrn of Highever gave his son a disapproving glare, but she silenced the elder Cousland with a disarming smile. Turning back to her cousin she said patiently, "You need to see to the affairs of your new Teynir and other than your father I can think of know better man to help you than our uncle Arl Teagan."

The Arl of Redcliffe inclined his head, "You honor me more than I deserve."

Teagan like Fergus was one of the few she could trust, though not with her deepest secrets and plans. Fergus was loyal because of the blood they shared and because she was the only child of his beloved little sister. Teagen was loyal to her as the heir to the throne of Calenhad the Silver Knight and grandchild of Maric who had been his brother in arms and through the marriage of his sister. He would be a good mentor to the young Cousland and his advice would be sound and trustworthy to guide Gawain while the Queen and Teyrn where in the South dealing with the problem in Kirkwall.

"I am trusting you Arl Tegan to oversee the south and teach my cousin while we deal with the upstart Hawke," Cecilia said in a tone that was friendly but not lacking for steel. It was a warning of what would happen if he failed or displeased her in any way.

"I shall not fail you my Queen," the Arl of Redcliffe promised.

Cecilia nodded before turning her gaze back to her army. Gripping her reigns tight in her hands she spurred her horse forward with Tiberius, Charles and Fegrus and their respective guards following behind creating an impressive armored phalanx on men and horse gleaming in the bright yellow of the sun.

She approached the column the scarlet red dragon seemed to leap off the obsidian banner and the sight of her personal standard sent up a roar amongst the soldiers. Cecilia wolfishly grinned as took the red dragon from its standard bearer and held it high above her head. As she did the excitement of the soldiers in the column rose as they beat their shields and thrust their swords and spears into the air let loose cheers and praise.

They were proud of her… she had led them across the Waking Sea to a foreign land most had never seen or would ever make it to. She had conquered said land bringing glory and honor to their kingdom and themselves. They now stood as a premier power amongst the great nations of the world with prestige their fathers and forefathers could never have dreamed of.

And… and she had made them all wealthy men. The ransom she had extorted from the Merchant's guild plus the money she had taken from what was left of the Antivian Royal Treasury and the sums recovered from the bloody remnants of the mercenary companies had been largely dispersed amongst the ranks. Evenly the lowest levy and man-at-arms would go home with more wealth than they or their families had ever before possessed.

The un-landed men and women were looking at their new found wealth and hungrily turning their gaze to the lands that their liege lords could grant to them possibly propelling them beyond their current station. Land would grant them better position for marriages and for the future of any children they might have.

It was of course part of her grand designs. When the bulk of her army returned home to Ferelden her numbers here would be severely reduced. Those who remained would serve as a force that could be called if need be to fight. It also had the effect intermixing her Fereldans with the native population strengthening her claim up on the land.

The Queen of Ferelden had treated them well and showed that she cared for them and their futures, in return they loved her… it may have been a misplaced love, but they did love her and would fight the demons of the Fade if she asked for it. All she had to do in turn was give them victory.

XXX

Ser Markus Tiberius the 'bloody bastard' as he was known to the Orlesians watched as the men cheered their Queen. It made him proud to see the men react to her in this way. They feared and respected him and would follow him into battle but they would never love him… his reputation prevented that. Soldiers would do things for her out of love that they would never do for him out of fear.

Where they cheered wherever the Queen went they merely acknowledged his presence with curt but respectful nods and hushed whispered tones. Other men, lesser men might be angered… furious, jealous that their star was eclipsed by a woman who was barely out of her childhood years. Many treacheries had been carried out by underlings envious of their master's power. Kings, Emperors, Consuls and even on rare occasions the Divine herself fell that the hands of those they should have been able to trust.

A smile flicked across Tiberius's face even though it was hidden behind the faceplate of his great horned helm as a thought raced through his mind. Even Andraste the Maker's chosen prophet had been brought down by the betrayal of her husband who had been jealous of the Maker's preeminence in the eyes of his wife.

Tiberius was content to serve the wishes of his Queen standing at her side as she issued the world into a new age as she ushered her reign over all of Thedas. When Cecilia stood triumph over the Maker and his servants and re-ascended to godhood he would be her right hand from then until the end of days. Power, immortality and unending conflict would be his once the War God reigned supreme… that was his reward.

"General," a knight responded with a polite nod as Tiberius reached his position in the vanguard of the Queen's army.

"Ser Edgar," Tiberius responded as he and his guard settle into their marching order, "How far our elven friends?"

The knight grunted beneath his helm. The Queen would often place a company of mounted knights and Elven horsemen out in front of the man army to scout ahead for traps and ambushes. The Elves on their mares and leather armor were lighter and fare swifter than the knights of the Sovereign's Own and could harass any foe they found with a deadly rain of arrows before the armored horsemen charged in a wave of steel.

The partnership of the elves and these knights was still relatively new and prejudice invariably took ages to overcome. Still they had developed a hard won mutual appreciation of each other's skills. The Elves were masters of wood craft and stealth in ways that the knights or the human scouts could never compare. They were not friends, the knights and men-at-arms of the Sovereign's Own and the elves, they would and perhaps could never be, but they would work together.

"They separated from the column for patrols almost as soon as we departed," the knight said tossing his head in their direction of travel.

"They have keen senses," Tiberius reproached. Though he too had no great love of elves finding them subpar warriors on the field of battle he did admit that they were superior scouts and hunters.

Remembering his history he knew that the Elven armies were master ambushers and had bloodied the Chevaliers of Orlais on several occasions, striking out from their woods and disappearing before the Orlesians could respond. Yet when forced to stand and give battle they were inevitable defeated. The Queen had known that as well and had decided to use them as scouts and skirmishers where their hit-and-fade tactics would be most effective.

A shout sounded from their right signaling the approach of riders a second shout confirmed it as an elven scouting party returning from patrol. Riding up to Tiberius the lead elf named Helvetii , his position denoted by the elaborate swirling tattoos etched into his face, said, "General we caught this one fleeing the city."

Once of the other scouts turned their mare to reveal a man bound and gagged secured over the horse's rear. Tiberius maneuvered his stallion closer to the scout's mare, reached out and taking a fistful of the man's hair wretched his head up so he could a good look at him. Tiberius didn't recognize the man but that in itself didn't mean anything.

"Who is he," Tiberius questioned.

"I do not know," Helvetii shrugged, "but he was found with much gold, maps of the city and the strength of this host."

Tilting his head he looked down on the man in new light, "A spy," the general growled in a low tone as he released the man's head letting it bang against the side of the horse. Tiberious mulled over his options for a few moments, "You two," the general said pointing to two mounted men-at-arms, "Take this man to the rear. The Queen will want to question him personally once we make camp for the night."

Several of the knights and men-at-arms of the Order flinched at the general's words knowing the Queen's temperament in such matters as spies and assassins. They knew that man would not be long for this life and would soon find himself in the world beyond, cast adrift on the eddies of the Fade for all time.

Once the men-at-arms had secured their prisoner on the back of one of their draft horse they began to trot back along the column toward the Queen's guard where they would present their captive to those handpicked knights.

Turning to the elf Tiberius gave him curt nod, "Well done Helvetii. Once again you and your men have proven your worth. The Queen will know of this."

"She already knows of my worth horned-one," the elder elf said his eyes hard and the distain in his eyes for the General was clear, but Tiberius did detect a note of pride in the elf's voice.

Tiberius nearly laughed but managed to keep a straight face. Something just occurred to him. This was what the world was coming to… what the new order Cecilia created. It would be a collection of men and women clamoring to sit at her feet. Glancing up at the sun as it rose in the sky he smiled… he had a good feel about this one.

XXX

When night began to fall the army slowed to a crawl and then as the last traces of light vanished beneath the mountains the great host of Ferelden halted and made camp. They had made good distance for the size of the host they had brought and within the week they would cross the border with Kirkwall and hit the city less than two days later.

Not that Cecilia expected to fight Garret Hawke on the walls of his city. While vast and impressive the city would not survive a siege. If the Viscount intended to save his city he must leave his walls and venture out to face her in the field. Glancing down at the map laid out on the oak wood table in her tent Cecilia knew exactly where the battle would take place.

Her man in Kirkwall had relayed the number of men the Viscount had raised for the city's defense. Five thousand against her ten were not good odds. If Hawke was half as smart as she had been led to believe he'll have picked out the field on which battle was given tilt the scales of fate in his favor.

The place where the fate of Kirkwall would be decided was called the Wounded Coast. It was a place where the mountains pressed against the coast creating a narrow sliver of land which was the only approach to the ancient city. There was a spot on the coast which was narrower than the rest. That was the spot where he would wait for her. She knew this because it was exactly what she would have done in his position.

Finally she turned to look down on the prisoner who was kneeling before her. She had to give him credit for his bravery for despite the fact that he was obviously terrified he did not beg or plead for his life. Even though the knights that flanked him had beaten him bloody he had refused to talk. The fact that she was here outside the privacy of her palace or the Peak she couldn't revert the darker, magical arts of interrogation.

Still she admitted that there was nothing that he could tell her that she did not know or could guess herself and it did no good to engage in simple sadism despite the urges. Turning to the knight she gave him barely visible nod and the man produced a piece of rope.

While one held him in place the other faceless black knight stepped behind him and wrapped the rope around the spy's neck. The man struggle for what seemed like a long time before his restless and frantic movements stilled. Once the movements had ceased the knight held on a little longer before releasing his grip.

Wordlessly the knight gripped the dead man by the wrist while the second grabbed his ankles. Emotionlessly they dragged the man from the Queen's tent to dump the man's body in the latrine pit where the smell would be less easily noticed.

Once gone Cecilia stood rolling up her map and replacing it with the others before heading through a hanging curtain to where her cot rested. A female squire was waiting for her and began to strip her of her armor placing it on the stand next to the cot. Once finished the squire made to leave as quickly as she could clearly unsettle by the armor's malign presence; it was common enough that most would associate it with simply being unnerved by the presence of their liege lord.

A rustle of cloth caught her attention causing her to glance to in the direction of the tent flap where Charles of Orlais had entered, his helm tucked in the crook of his arm a smile on his face as he saw her lying on her cot.

A part of her… a very small part of her felt bad at what she was doing to this man. A part of her cared for him, but it was not enough stop her from doing what she had to do. The Prince was a necessary part of her plans and she would see them through despite the cost. The same humane part of her wished there was a way for Charles to endure what was to come but there was not. If might not come for years, but a day would come when Charles of Orlais would prove more of a hindrance to her designs than an asset. When that day came she would… do what she needed to do.

"Cecilia are you alright," a voice said and Cecilia looked up shocked to find Charles had closed the distance between them and was now standing over her. Seconds later she felt his gloved hand caress her cheek, the rough leather dragging over her porcelain skin. "What is the cause of your tears?"

Horrified Cecilia brought her right hand to touch her face and felt dampness that had not been there before. She opened her mouth to deny that anything was wrong but found she could not speak. Instead the next thing she was aware of was strong arms wrapping in her a comforting embrace.

XXX

Ser Raymond gripped the deck rail as the Trading Cog rolled again in the waves cursing as it did. Raymond and his company had boarded the day after the Queen had departed with her army drawing the eyes of any spies in the city with them.

"Maker's ass," the knight cursed and grasped his stomach as he felt another quiver of nausea shoot through him. He was a soldier, a warrior, a master of the art of the horse, the sword, the shield, the spear and the lance. He was not and never wished to be a sailor. For him the sea held no allure. It was a thing of fear and horror and the promise of a watery grave.

The boat rocked again and next to him another knight lost the battle of wills with the see-saw motion and voided the contents of his stomach over the edge. The action was quickly followed by two more knights and a couple of men-at-arms.

From behind all of them their came the throaty laugh of the Highever born captain who had been handpicked by Queen Cecilia to command the galley just as she had handpicked Raymond to lead the assault troops. Unlike Raymond who had been born far from the coast in central Ferelden the captain had grown up upon the sea and was far more suited to it than he.

Raymond looked to his right where he saw the barely visible Antivian coastline and then up to see the black sails of a pirate fluttering from the mast. While he despised the fact he was forced to travel under the banner of an outlaw he understood the reasoning behind it. A warship bearing the Queen's colors would draw unwanted attention as whereas singe pirate ship off the Antivian coast would be able to slip through unnoticed.

He understood it, but he didn't mean to like it. There were few people the knight from the little town of St. Giles would swallow his pride for, but his Queen, his liege lord was among them. He loved and respected her more than anyone in all his life, he'd risk everything down to his life and own immortal soul for her.

He also owed the Viscount a debt of Vengeance for the deaths of his men at the border and Raymond would see that debt paid in full. He'd promised to carve the name of each of the men he'd lost into the stone of Hawke's throne and this mission would allow him to do just that. Raymond let his hand slip to his side to caress the blade sheathed had his side… soon he murmured softly, soon.

"It's all going to be over," the grisly voice of Ser Robert called from behind him. The big knight had a ill look on his face look on his face and not one of a sickly nature.

He turned to look back at the other knight and felt his lip twist. Raymond was a man who followed his orders and carried them out to the best of his ability, but he took not great pleasure from the death and suffering they caused. All he wanted was to serve his Queen and Country, protect his men, avenge their deaths and get them home.

Robert on the other hand loved battle for battle's sake. He was a simple butcher… a man who killed for the sake of killing. There were always uses for such men in battle, but Raymond didn't have to like it. Whenever he looked at the man he remembered the sight of the knight holding the broken body of the infant prince of Antiva, but whatever his feelings towards the man he was devoted to Cecilia's cause and therefore bearable.

"You are wrong Robert," Ser Raymond said rapping his armored fingers on the deck rail, "this has just begun."

XXX

It had taken another day's forced march to reach the Antivan border and cross it. Prince Charles found himself up in the vanguard allowing General Tiberius to slip back to the Queen's side. Truth be told he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else than up in the front.

Out ahead of the main body the Prince found himself with a small group of elven scouts and two of his elite chevaliers. They were concealed beneath some underbrush watching as a party of Kirkwall horsemen trotted by. These were no doubt scouts for the Kirkwall army out looking for the approach of their foe. It was a shame that these men would never complete their mission or see their city again.

Charles tightened his grip on his crossbow and shifted his gaze to look at the elven chief Helvetii and was once more impressed with the man's skill in the art of woodcraft. Though Charles couldn't see them he knew that there were three more detachments of archers hidden in the wood line all waiting for the signal.

The approaching Kirkwall horsemen were lightly armored, outfitted for mobility not sustained combat. These were scouts after all meant to reconnaissance the area, to serve as the eyes and ears of an army in garrison or on the move. They were not expected to engage enemy infantry or duke it out with heavy cavalry. It also meant that they were far more vulnerable to enemy attack. It was standard

A low series of bird calls sounded from Helvetti and Charles raised his crossbow while the other's notched their arrows and then they waited. It was a soldiers lot in life to hurry up and sramble to get ready and then wait. Fortunately he didn't have to wait long before Helvetti let his first arrow fly free.

The lead Kirkwall scout's hand flew up to his neck that was suddenly pierced by an arrow. The rest of the men stared in shock at the man as he slumped over and fell from his horse. They were green, Charles noted, slow to react and new to the chaos of war and they died for it. They never hand time to do anything else as Charles sighted in the next man sending a bolt careening into his chest followed by a hail of arrows from invisible firers. The other horsemen died before even knowing what happened.

Charles watched as the spooked now riderless horses took off some still dragging dead bodies behind them. The horses would be retrieved and put to use by the elves as they were nothing if not a resourceful people. The Prince made to stand up, but a strong hand on his shoulder kept him down. He tossed a glare in the elf chief's direction.

"We wait Orlesian… to see if they have friends," Helvetti whispered as he silently notched another arrow

Slowly he nodded waiting and listening for any man made sounds, but the only ones he heard where the moans of dying men which were quickly silenced by white fletched arrows. Several minutes later when they were sure the Kirkwallers were dead Charles watched as a group of elves moved out and began to drag the bodies off the road.

From prior experience with the Dalish the Prince of Orlais knew that the elves would strip the bodies of anything useful and hen burry them in shallow graves erasing any signs of the conflict that had claimed these men's lives. The Prince felt a slight amount of amusement at the twist of fate. It wasn't but a few years ago that he'd been in the same position tracking down an elusive group of Dalish bandits operating in the Wilds of northern Orlais.

During his sweeps through the countryside he lost men to elven ambushes only to never find them again or on the rare occasions he did find them they were stripped of any useful equipment. This had forced his men to travel in large well organized parties for fear of vanishing into the ancient woods. It had been an… inconvenience to say the least. Now he was working with them… well the world was full of little ironies wasn't it.

"Now we can move Orlesian," the elf said gruffly.

As he stood Charles turned toward the chieftain, "So why do you do it serve Cecilia? You are of the Dalish not Ferelden. What do the Queen's ambitions mean to you?"

The elf sighed deeply as he rose and after giving a few orders to his men turned back saying, "She gives my people hope. In return for the service we provide she had promised us the land south of Lorein and Ostagar to be our own; to exist under her protection for all time."

The Prince went over it in his head. If he was not mistake that was the lands called, "The Korcari Wilds," he finished the thought out loud. "Hardly a hospitable place to build a future."

The elf smiled bitterly, "It is more than we have at the moment. The Queen had promised us aid to building a future and taming the wilds of the south. It is a chance to rebuilt Dales and Elvhenan. It is a chance for us to live once more as a people, worshiping our gods and living our way."

Charles nodded understanding the vehemence that had shown in the elf's tone as he finished. These were a people who had lost much, more than any man or dwarf could ever understand. Cecilia had offered them hope, a chance to regain even a bit of what they had lost and the elves had seized the offer with both hands.

He could not tell whether he should pity them or congratulate them.

XXX

The sword flashed a bare inch from his throat as the Viscount backpedaled spinning to the side to avoid the shield strike. Using the momentum to his favor he brought his greatsword about slamming it into his opponent's flank. The force of the blow caused his opponent to buckle and fall to the mat clenching their side.

Had the swords been real and not the magically blunted practice weapons gifted to the Viscount as a gift from the newly reconstructed Circle of Magi. Garret Hawke had been wary to accept any gift from the successors of the Circle he had so ruthlessly destroyed, but eventually Threnhold had persuaded him to accept the peace offering for what it was. Breathing heavily Hawke summoned a squire and handed off the exquisitely crafted greatsword to the young eager nobleman before turning back to offer his hand to his fallen foe.

Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen stirred taking off her helm revealing red hair now tinged with grey. Never destined to be a beautiful woman Aveline had trained to master the art of sword and shield from a very young age becoming one of the most capable fighters in the Free Marches. Now she was his second in command in everything military in Kirkwall just as Alexander Threnhold was his second in everything economic and political.

"Still as good as ever Hawke," the captain of the Home Guard said as she stood shakily holding her side, "From what I have heard you shall need every bit of skill you possess to best her Hawke. Do not underestimate Cecilia old friend or it will be the end of everything we have worked so hard for over the years."

Hawke nodded slowly. Of all the friends he gather over the years those who had been with him through thick and thin, had seen him rise from nothing to Champion and the Viscount's throne only Aveline Vallen had remained. Only she and Alexander were left of the original cadre and he treasured both of them for their advice and perhaps more importantly their friendship.

"Do you think we can win," Hawke asked cursing himself for the waver in his tone. He was supposed to be sure, to display the confidence the others would need to see this conflict through.

"If you mean to defeat Cecilia in open war then my answer is no definitely not," the woman cocked her head, "If you mean the upcoming battle than yes I believe we can. As you said the force she can bring to bear against us is limited as she still has to hold down what she has taken and claim the North before resistance can form," Aveline took in a deep breath, "If we can beat her on the Wounded Coast then everything will be worth it."

Once more Hawke nodded knowing he could always count on her for an honest assessment. By this time they had both handed off their weapons, removed their armor and were on their way through the back halls from the private training area at the base of they keep towards his private living apartments.

The Viscount's Keep was a massive sprawling complex built ages past by the Magister Lord Emerius Krayvan to serve as both a lavish mansion to entertain the highest of Tevinter officials and nobles and a fortress from which he could oversee the slave trade conducted through the city. The keep was as imposing as it was elegant and it was a home Hawke had never quite gotten used to.

"Milord," a panting voice called and Hawke spun to see his dwarven manservant Bodhan, "Lord Hawke, Lord Threnhold is searching for you. He says it is most urgent."

"Where is he?"

"Your study," he answered and Hawke thanked the Dwarf.

Hawke and Aveline exchanged pleasantries and the Guard-Captain retreated to join her guardsmen for preparation for the events to come. Moving more quickly than was perhaps dignified for a man in his position he began the trek from his current position to his private study or at least restricted to him and his closest confidants. The study like his quarters was nestled near the top of the Keep as far away from the audience chamber and as daily work in ruling the city as possible.

He reached the antechamber to his apartments and passed the two pairs of guards which had orders not to let anyone but himself, Threnhold, Aveline, and Bodhan pass. The men saluted as the sunlight which filtered through the stain-glass windows reflected off the high sheen of their polished armor making them look like the valorous spirits of the Fade.

Inside the first chamber on the left sitting in a plush high back chair and sipping at a fine glass of wine was Lord Alexander Threnhold. The elder man wore a look of mixed tiredness and worry that seemed all too common these days. As Hawke entered the chamber Threnhold stood and clasped his arm in greeting.

"Alexander my friend what troubles," the Viscount asked concerned.

"I have received word from the borderland," he started and Hawke felt the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach grow, "The Queen's army is on the move towards us. Within a day, two at the most she will cross our borders."

"Your agents?"

"Dead most likely," the lord sighed, "The patrols you sent out have yet to report either," he took a deep breath, "she is coming Garret I know she is."

Hawke frowned. Without Threnhold's spies and his patrols Kirkwall was all but blind. The scouts Hawke had sent out as soon as he had heard word than the Queen had taken Antivan City had had strict orders to report via rider every morning. They were good men who wouldn't miss a check in unless… unless they were all dead.

As the thought hit him he realized that if his patrols had been wiped out than the Queen's army could be closer than even Alexander thought. A stream of curses slipped from his lips that would have most assuredly earned him a clout on the ear had his mother still be alive."

"We need to get the army assembled and on the move and we need to do it quickly Alexander," Hawke said the urgency in his tone causing Threnhold to glance up from his drink, "What about Anna? Have your contacts located a safe place for her to stay."

Threnhold hesitated and Hawke thought he saw a flash of sadness in his eyes, "Yes, yes I believe I have. As a matter I received a letter some days ago saying they were setting sail."

Feeling relieved that that problem had worked itself out he clapped his old friend on the shoulder. Now all he had to do was defeated the Queen's army on the field and everything would be set for her downfall and finally he'd have his justice.

XXX

The self-styled Witch of the Wilds wasn't sure if she should be pleased or abhorred at the progress she was making. The creature, the former patrician magister, who actually bestrode the pearl streets of the Golden City all those eons ago, a fact that Morrigan found hard to believe, seemed to have an endless supply of darkspawn on which to experiment. And endless supply that was very much needed.

To Morrigan's horror she had discovered why. In the bowels of the Soldier's Peak always guarded by a dozen of the ominous juggernauts was a darkspawn broodmother. From where Cecilia had procured the creature… or even worse who she had sacrificed to create the horrid abomination Morrigan did not know nor care to know. All Morrigan cared about was never going down into that chamber again.

After shaking off terrible memories about that last time she had ventured into the abysmal depths of the Deep Roads and the ancient dwarven thaigs Morrigan had thrown herself back into her grisly work with some success. Even after all these years it was a horror she would never forget.

Using a series of mystical devices the witch doubted had been seen since the heyday of the Imperium's power Morrigan had been able to make progress in extracting the magical essence of the darkspawn taint. The fatality rate among the test subjects had been nearly complete, but the survival of the creatures had not been a concern.

Still seeing them drawn apart and what pathetic life essences they had ripped from them in a horribly, terrible spell made even her fridged heart cringe. It was though not from sympathy but out of sheer horror of what was being done. This ritual, these techniques were amongst the blackest she had ever seen even including those that her 'mother' Flemeth had conceived.

Taking a deep breath Morrigan placed her hand on the obelisk device's pedestal and opened herself up to the magic that dwelt within her allowing it to flow like a river into the device. A bluish haze surrounded the obelisk like device swirling at the top like a small hurricane. When the storm built to its climax a bolt of white lightning leapt from the center of the swirl and connected with the darkspawn creature chained to the opposite wall.

Unlike natural lightning which vanished after impact this magical lightning remained the tip dancing over the darkspawn's corrupted form. As the lightning danced its color began to darken as it drew the taint from the creature. After what to Morrigan seemed like an eternity but in actuality was only hundred hearbeats the now midnight black lightning detached and like a worm on a hook wigged as it was pulled back towards the obelisk.

Then like ink spreading through water the lightning began to disperse the taint causing the magical energy surrounding the obelisk to change from blue-white to black. Morrigan tense readying herself for the most difficult part of her task. Mustering her will she drew the blackened magic down the obelisk and focusing it into a small gem in the middle of the pedestal.

Finally when the magic had abated Morrigan gingerly severed the link between herself and the arcane device knowing that a single mistake could see her soul shredded or her mind destroyed or perhaps even worse see her defenses fall and a demon consume her. With a shudder that shook the chamber Morrigan separated herself from the pedestal.

Morrigan collapsed backwards onto the cushioned chair which had been placed their after the first time she had fallen flat on her ass. Hearing the scrapping of metal on stone she glanced up seeing two juggernauts removing a charred, lifeless husk of a body from the wall chains. The bodies, she had learned, would be taken and feed to the broodmother in a sick perversion of life.

Then she looked down at the blackened jewel sitting in the center of the pedestal. Slowly after recovering a little bit of her strength she pushed herself up wiping at the sweat that had dripped down her brow and intro her eyes. Reach out she laid her hand upon the stone before snatching it away as it nearly seared her flesh.

A third juggernaut approached and took the stone off the pedestal. It would take the gem back down to join the others where Corypheus would prepare it for the ritual once the rest of the ingredients were assembled, whatever they were. All Morrigan knew was the end was rapidly approaching… whose end she did not know.

Sorry this took so long… I've been out for month training with the Army.