disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"It took them so long to come and attempt to arrest you? Two hours?"

Kathryn shrugged and gave a soft laugh. "Maybe it took that long to find some templars who didn't faint dead away at the prospect of trying to arrest a mage who didn't respond to mild persuasion methods."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "Mild persuasion methods?"

"Holy Smites and the like."

The Seeker gave a soft snort. "Mild indeed." She turned and paced the small cell, running her fingers over the chess board on the table. Kathryn had exhibited extensive strategic and tactical thinking during their game. "You came to the conclusion that the templars had been ordered to move constantly around Ferelden to avoid detection? An intriguing possibility. Unconventional, but intriguing nonetheless."

Kathryn made a face. "Yeah. I thought it was a great piece of deduction on my part. Pity I was wrong."

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. "Wrong? Hardly. They were an armed force constantly moving so as to avoid detection."

"I was wrong," the mage snapped. "Yes, there were a few hundred templars moving around the country. I thought they were constantly on the move specifically to avoid gathering in one place, not that they were part of a very slow, subtle supply network. Once I made the incorrect deduction, I just stopped thinking. It was a critical error on my part."

The Seeker cupped her chin with her hand. "What would you have done differently?"

"I should have convinced Eamon to order the army patrols to scout out all the lightly travelled areas of the country, to confirm that there were no gatherings." She shook her head angrily and pounded her leg with her fist. "I should have remembered! Loghain told me! He said that you could hide an army in the forests of Ferelden. By the Black City, he did it personally during the occupation!"

Cassandra waited for the Warden to finish her self-castigation. It was the first time she had seen anything but self-assurance in the elf. Perhaps she could build upon it. Kathryn Surana expected so much of herself, and failure, even when success could hardly be expected, galled her. "Neither you nor Arl Eamon were ever formally trained in the logistics of armed forces. Many nobles generally prefer to leave such details to underlings."

Kathryn snorted. "It wasn't only logistics that I was ignorant of," she grumbled. "Bryant and the other templars all but shouted to the world that they were assembling at Ostagar. They said they were after an apostate, but I assumed they had come from Denerim, rather than from somewhere nearby. They were nervous when I mentioned the fortress, despite the fact that there was nothing to be nervous about. The fact that the templar with the map had personally seen the ruined Warden watchtower was another clue." She turned and hurled a ball of sparking energy at the cell wall, where it exploded and left a chrysanthemum pattern on the stone. "I should have realised why the Dalish had left the area. It was all there, and I missed it."

The Seeker hid her smile. This loss of discipline could be exploited. "What would you have done had you inferred such?"

"Does it matter?" she said, throwing herself onto the bed. She pulled her legs under her into a cross-legged position, and leaned her back against the wall. "I'm not so naive to think that there wasn't a plan B. And probably a plan C, D and E as well. After all, it was dreamed up by a man so coldly calculating that he positioned his troops years ahead in preparation for a possible Exalted March. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a plan for every letter of the alphabet."

Cassandra nodded. "As I said before, it was a brilliant military strategy."

"And I agreed with you," Kathryn said, darkly and with much reluctance. "They gathered south of the usual patrols. Hundreds of two man wagon teams kept them supplied, but hidden. Had the Exalted March gone as planned, the force at Ostagar would have split up and moved north as soon as the Ferelden army marched to secure the expected invasion routes - the Frostbacks and the ports. A force of a thousand behind those fronts could have completely destroyed all the supply lines, supporting infrastructure, crops, harvests and civil works. Ferelden would have been gutted, completely unable to respond to either threat. The Chantry would waltz back in and assume control of everything. They'd probably have allowed Orlais to manage the civil aspects of the occupation, just like before. Alistair, if he'd been allowed to remain on the throne at all, would have been a puppet, dancing to the Chantry's perverse tune."

The Seeker regarded the Warden carefully. "And, yet again, you undermined it. All that effort, completely wasted."

The Warden flashed a glare of pure rage at the Seeker for a single instant, before barking a laugh. "Yes, well, that's what I do best, isn't it? Accidentally screwing up carefully laid plans just by being in the wrong place at the right time. I suppose my sanity was a small price to pay."

"Your sanity? Is that why you disappeared afterwards?"

Emerald eyes blazed, at Cassandra felt a shiver run down her spine.

"We're getting a little ahead of ourselves,"she ground out between clenched teeth. "All of that that happened months later - after the Wardens destroyed the two darkspawn factions in Amaranthine. Let me tell you about the Landsmeet."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Two bowls of stew, a loaf of bread and another thick, meaty bone later, Thunder and I made our way to the palace's entrance hall at Eamon's request. The guards on duty nodded to me, and opened the double doors leading to the main antechamber. Through the thick, outer doors to the palace courtyard, I could hear what sounded like an angry crowd. That didn't bode well. Though, rather incongruously, the two guards on this side of the doors did not appear too concerned.

"Ah, Kathryn. Right on time," Eamon said as he strode down the hall behind me, flanked by a quartet of soldiers. "Things are not going well for the templars sent to collect you," he said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Oh?" I blurted, surprised. "What's happening out there?"

"Why don't you go and have a look. I think it safe to say at this point that they won't notice you."

I frowned at his enigmatic answer, but turned and walked over to the main doors. One of the guards saluted me, and carefully opened the door about two feet. I cautiously stuck my head out.

A squad of a dozen or so templars were in a heated exchange with what appeared to be… Denerim. Soldiers, merchants, elves and townsmen all shouted insults and epitaphs at the holy warriors, who had drawn themselves into a tight huddle in an effort to weather the storm of abuse. In the flickering torchlight and light drizzle, their armour glistened, but showed evidence of having been pelted with mud and unidentifiable foodstuffs.

Someone noticed my head and shoulders sticking through the door and recognised me. "It's the Warden!" came a shout, which swept around the courtyard like a fire through a patch of grease. A great cheer arose, and morphed into a two syllable chant. "War-Den! War-Den! War-Den!"

I don't ever think I've been so surprised in my life. I was literally dumbstruck. As I scanned the cheering crowd, I picked out familiar faces. A very large number of familiar faces, in fact. Some of the soldiers I'd recently travelled with. Some of the Denerim City Watch, including Kylon. Shianni and some more elves from the alienage I'd rescued. People I'd saved from darkspawn. From blood mages. From bloody Arl Howe.

I could not speak - my brain was literally not working. Face after face from the past year stood between me and the templars. Literally shielding me from the Chantry with their bodies. And they chanted. My stomach twisted inside me, and I felt tears well in my eyes.

The templars, on seeing their target, tried to move forward. It turned out to be a mistake.

Eamon pushed the door fully open and stepped forward to my side. We watched the events unfold without moving. "I do believe this was a success," he ventured.

"Yeah," I blankly agreed as the templars ran for it, pushing each other out of their way as they individually tried to escape the hail of mud, rocks and abuse. "That looked painful," I offered, unable to come up with anything more profound.

"Quite. I fear I may be stating the obvious, but from your expression I judge it necessary. You are not reviled for being a mage, Kathryn. You are a hero to these people." He gestured with a sweeping arm. "The Chantry may claim spiritual authority over us, but just like the crown, that power derives from the consent of the people."

I swallowed, looking at the cheering crowd. "So I see."

"Go. Go and greet them. Take your time. We shall continue our conversation tomorrow."

I nodded absently, before stepping down the steps and into the light drizzle. Among backslaps and handshakes, I began to understand that the impact I'd had by finishing the Blight was nothing compared to the lives of individuals I'd shaped with my actions.

I'd saved everyone in Thedas by defeating the archdemon. But that was an ephemeral fact, one which you could not even begin to understand the consequences. Whereas almost everyone in the loud, boisterous crowd had been affected personally by my actions.

It was said that by saving one life, you change the world. If so, then from the joy and pleasure I saw on the faces surrounding me, I must have changed it beyond description.


Before I met with Eamon again the next day, he and the royal couple had their daily briefing. The arl was noticeably more subdued afterwards. Nothing more was said about my actions, either during or after my visit to the Circle, just the expectations that would be made of me during and after the Landsmeet. We spoke of the Orlesian Wardens who had arrived in Denerim while I had been away, and the fact they had already left for Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep.

A dozen Orlesians in the heart of Rendon Howe's old demesne. Oh, that was going to be a welcome to remember.

"Oh," he offered as the meeting was winding down. "I've found you a recruit."

I froze, glaring at him. "What?"

He looked surprised at my tone. "Er, I found you a recruit for the Wardens. A palace guard who recently foiled an assassination attempt on the King. She was given a knighthood as a just reward and a place in the Shields, but wishes to join the Grey Wardens."

I crossed my arms and leaned back. 'The Shields' or the 'Royal Shield' were a small company of guards who were personally responsible for the safety of the royal couple. Admission was rare, and considered the pinnacle of a career as a guard. "Really? And why would she wish to do that? Especially if she's been promoted to the Royal Shield?"

Eamon frowned, looking puzzled. "Because she wishes to be part of something larger? I'm not sure what you mean by your question."

I took a deep breath. "Eamon, I am the Commander of the Grey. I decide who to recruit, not you."

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, both Alistair and Anora agree that she would make a fine Warden."

I grunted. "Aha! So, Anora is involved. What's the story?"

He sighed. "There is no need to be so testy. She is a perfectly able-bodied warrior; keen and diligent. She would be a worthy addition to your ranks."

"And? Why is Anora involved?"

Eamon's eye twitched. "Her Majesty has expressed her interest in Mhairi's career..."

"Eamon!" I snapped.

He slumped. "Very well. Ser Mhairi has, since saving the King's life, expressed more admiration for him than is appropriate. She has long been an admirer of his, and her close association as one of his personal guards has exacerbated her infatuation."

I sighed. "So Anora wants her out from under her husband's gaze."

"Indeed. She is a magnificent warrior, by Alistair's own appraisal. And she has personally expressed a burning desire to join the Wardens. But yes, it is mostly Anora's idea."

I ran a hand over my forehead. "So, who else have I been saddled with?"

"No one," he insisted. "The Orlesian Wardens took several recruits from the general populace with them to Vigil's Keep. They left a week ago. Ser Mhairi is the only one I have had any interaction with. She left with the last supply line yesterday. She will be there by the time you arrive."

The feeling that decisions were being made for me made me testy. As much as I disliked being required to make all the decisions of command, I was damned well going to make them myself. If something went wrong, it was my backside that was going to be kicked.

The coming gathering of nobles had me rather nervous. The last one had but one purpose, the resolution of the question of leadership. With no such ground-shaking issue pressing, this meeting of Ferelden's nobles promised to be a much more political animal - with nuances and subtleties I had no way of recognising.

Almost every noble in the country was in Denerim, which inevitably meant that the thieves of the city were doing a roaring trade. I wandered around the city the following afternoon, chatting to merchants and gossips, trading both goods and information. Any templars I saw studiously ignored me. It was glorious.

I didn't go looking for Slim to see if there were any political enemies of Alistair or the Cousland brothers who could do with having their assets diverted into more deserving hands. Without Leliana or Zevran at my side, my chances of success were slimmer - significantly so. I did however spend a number of hours running profitable errands for the Collective.

I also imposed upon a family-run apothecary which specialised in plants and plant derivatives. For a handful of silver, I got a crash course in plant maintenance; how to care for the wilting samples I'd gathered a week before. We extracted what seeds we could from the pressed samples, rendering them fertile and capable of germination.

Eventually, I had a bag of seeds, the pressed samples and hopefully enough hints to keep the four precious live samples alive.

Back at the palace, every servant, cook and page were running around in a sort of chaotic dance that seemed to accomplish little. Even as I tried to sleep hours later, the constant noise and bustling made it difficult.


The next day, the Landsmeet formally convened. Alistair and Anora, both bedecked in clothes produced by that effeminate Orlesian, opened proceedings with a pair of short speeches.

In contrast to the traditional agenda, the main hall in the palace was converted into a long, thin buffet. Nobles and guests were invited to fill up on sweetmeats, fruits, pastries and wine; a lot of wine.

Mingling, as only a noble could, was performed. It was the only way to describe it. Political chatter ranged up and down the hall. This was an event for all with noble blood, not just those with titles. Young lords and ladies ran up and down the room, pudgy faces smeared with foodstuffs, while nannies and governesses tried desperately to regain control of their charges.

Elderly men and women sat and traded stories and advice, with varying degrees of success.

All in all, it seemed to be to be a waste of my time. I was repeatedly accosted - noble after noble, lady after lady. People I'd never met, all wanting my advice, or seeking clarification about the darkspawn threat, or simply wanting to be seen speaking to me. After six hours of it, I had not changed my mind - it was definitely a waste of my time.

I sipped from my wine glass, the crimson liquid as dark as my mood. My gown constricted and rubbed me in unfamiliar ways. My feet ached from the idiotic shoes I'd been supplied with, and wore only at Anora's insistence. Already my magic leaked and bubbled out through my irritation, leaving the air nearby chilly in the warm air of the ballroom. Most people avoided me now, unaccustomed to the unusual magical potential in the air.

That wasn't to say I was ignored. Teagan nodded to me from across the room from where he had been bailed up by some eager, artless spinster. The ninth of the afternoon, by my count.

Around me, nobles and their families circulated and gossiped. Delicate negotiations were conducted next to a pair of belligerent drunks on the verge of challenging each other to a duel. Betrothals between infants, lines of succession, political alliances, all were fair game. And the same, stupid dance continued.

I waved my hand at my feet and relieved the pain with a delicate caress of healing magic. Any templar in the room would instantly feel the magic, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I let my gaze wander around the room. I recognised most of the garishly dressed nobles. Anora sat on her throne at the far end of the hall, surrounded by a cloud of vapid ladies. Her long sedentary session was fuelling speculation that she may be pregnant, a rumour that was no doubt already on its way to the various kings and queens around the world by fast messenger.

Arl Wulff looked to be almost as unsocial as I, leaning against a pillar with crossed arms; though he took the opportunity to give me a nod of solidarity from his position. His arling had been hit hard during the Blight, and offers of aid from nearby nobles had been thin on the ground.

Ceorlic looked unhappy, his lips pursed tightly together in an unmanly pout. So tightly, in fact, that his mouth bore a strong resemblance to a cat's bottom. His status had taken quite the hit, as had his purse - the darkspawn had rendered his lands unusable for this growing season. He was going to be looking to...

"Warden-Commander Kathryn, I presume?" an urbane voice interrupted my musing.

I turned to face the newcomer. A slender man of average height and early middle years stood next to me, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a severe, dark grey tunic, much out of place in the garishly coloured crowd. It looked like a blend of monastic and military fashions.

"Yes," I ventured, seeing no reason to lie.

He allowed his right hand to fall from behind his back, and he held it out for me to grasp, as if from one equal to another. "It is an honour to finally meet you. It has been a desire of mine for many months." He was obviously not Fereldan; he spoke perfectly fluently, with barely a hint of an Orlesian accent. His voice was deep and smooth, a delight to listen to. It hinted at culture and education. Leliana would have been insanely jealous.

I nodded and took his hand. He was wearing black silk gloves, which did nothing to hide the strength behind his grip. "A pleasure," I intoned perfunctorily.

He nodded just as perfunctorily, his hand slipping back behind his back. "To be perfectly honest, I did not believe that I would have the opportunity to observe a Fereldan Landsmeet, let alone introduce myself. Not being part of the landed gentry, you see."

I gave him a crooked smile and a soft chuckle. "The landed gentry are all out there, performing their own little dances, trying to gain some perceived, yet transient, advantage over each other," I said with mild derision in my tone.

He smiled easily. "Alas, such political manoeuvrings are all but universal across Thedas, from villages to mighty cities. The mighty and powerful would like to believe they are unique in their intrigues, but they are truly universal, simply scaled down. Even the Chantry suffers from wasteful infighting and pointless arguments at all levels."

I suddenly felt the need to examine this man more closely. "The Chantry?" I asked, running my eye over his frame, noting details. He held himself upright, back straight, feet a shoulder-width apart. A military bearing. Was he a soldier? A templar? It seemed unlikely. He didn't have the bulky build of someone who wore heavy armour for a living, but he was certainly no stranger to army life. A chevalier, perhaps?

"I work for the Chantry, yes," he admitted easily. "I am a scholar more than anything else. A philosopher perhaps, if you wish to use the ancient terms. I study lore and history, and reconcile ancient teachings with our current knowledge."

I nodded, not believing it for an instant. "I must say, Brother Genitivi is not as imposing a figure," I said, trying to see how he responded to flattery.

He gave me a small smile, as though I'd said something amusing. "With my build, I am hardly imposing, Warden-Commander, but I take your compliment in the spirit it was offered. But yes, for all Brother Genitivi's achievements, physically imposing he is not. You met him, did you not? In the village of Haven, I understand."

I nodded. "Yes, we found an old… temple there."

"And, supposedly, the Ashes of Andraste."

I eyed him carefully, looking for some hint of scorn. "They were Andraste's Ashes, unless you think that…"

He held up a black-clad hand. "I believe that you believe you discovered Andraste's final resting place. I believe that your companion Leliana also believes such. As a scholar however, I am required to maintain a certain level of scepticism to such fantastic claims, before they can be validated."

I fought to keep a sneer from my face. "Do you intend to maintain your scepticism in the face of all evidence, or are you willing to accept the idea that Andraste's Ashes are really there?"

He didn't appear to take offence. In that same, urbane, cultured voice, he said, "To be frank, I would be most surprised if this temple did not in fact hold the holy bride's ashes. It is certainly not inconsistent with Chantry lore. Your friend, Sister Leliana, led a contingent of priests and scholars to the temple. Unfortunately, the being called The Guardian proved unwilling to cooperate with them. Several important people perished in the maze that ostensibly protects the Ashes."

I found that I liked the mental image of pompous windbags demanding access and then discovering that they were not worthy. "Important to whom? Themselves?"

He actually gave me a thin-lipped smile. "Quite," he replied vaguely. "I suspect that their personal opinion of their importance had less to do with their work in the Maker's name, than their rank within the Chantry. As it stands however, there is no consensus as to the veracity of the discovery."

"Brother Genitivi is convinced, and he is famed as the foremost scholar among the Chantry," I pointed out.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed. Genitivi is nothing if not diligent, even if he does not consider the consequences of publishing theories not validated by the Chantry hierarchy."

"Inconvenient?" I asked with a smile.

The man hummed what sounded like non-verbal agreement, without actually saying he agreed. "On occasion. The world moves on, you see. Values held dearly in one age may well be considered quaint, or even inhumane, in a subsequent age. While the Chant itself is eternal, political expediency has been used as a justification for temporary changes. Brother Genitivi has a habit of tracking down these changes - and more importantly, the justification for making them - and bringing them to light."

I nodded. "As I said - inconvenient."

He gave a small shrug, not denying it. "And as I said - on occasion. He is a scion of a minor branch of a noble family, and was educated as such. He has devoted his entire life to scholarly pursuits; a worthy goal. As devout as he is, the Chantry did not provide him with anything, and he does not hold the stern, unbending belief in its work that others do. Those of us left upon the sacred steps of the Grand Cathedral as babes are all given an education which includes military training, before we are permitted to chose undertakings more suited to our talents. We are raised with love and affection, and in return we give ourselves to the Maker's work in our own small way."

I nodded, but said nothing. I examined him as closely as was polite, noting his hair style, skin tone, clothing quality, even his scent. There was a very familiar scent lingering about this man.

He continued, not the least disturbed by my silence. "I'm afraid I was never an exceptional warrior in my youth. Most of my martial success was a direct result of diligent study, my great passion."

"Ah, now in that we have something in common," I offered with a smile, feeling dirty at having to play nice.

"Indeed, I suspected as much," he replied, his own smile genuine. "Sadly, I suspect that neither of us have as much time to devote to study as we would like."

I found myself nodding in agreement. "How do you see the Chantry's current political ambition in Ferelden?" It wasn't particularly subtle, but I wasn't interested in verbal fencing.

He raised his face and took a deep breath, as if considering the question. After a pause, he said, "The Grand Cleric has overstepped her boundaries, without question. It should never be the Chantry's policy to manipulate the civil authorities. Her goal should be merely to advise and spiritually guide. Though I must point out that this state of affairs has been a long, ongoing issue in Ferelden."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What about it has been ongoing?"

He inclined his head at my question. "There has been friction between the ecclesiastical and temporal powers in this kingdom for many years now. Long before you were recruited from the Circle of Magi. You would not be aware, but it was the Grand Cleric who insisted that one of her Revered Mothers be part of the Council of War at Ostagar. A pointless, even detrimental assignment. The Revered Mother's poor understanding of tactics caused much consternation among the army leaders when she tried to manipulate things. And her prejudices against mages prevented them from being used effectively, long before the decisive battle."

I took a deep breath myself. Where was this going? "That is true, though in all honesty, there is no way to know if we would have been successful had Uldred's suggestion been implemented."

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me. I was in no way suggesting that it would have been a rousing success or a cataclysmic failure, merely that a priest has no business interfering in the decisions made by a War Council. Nor does a Grand Cleric have any business interfering in the lawful running of a kingdom. The spiritual needs of her flock must be her first priority."

I nodded, as though accepting him at his word. "A templar would have been a better appointment to the War Council, if someone from the Chantry was needed," I said, dropping the idea to gauge his reaction.

He shook his head, to my surprise. "No. The templars at Ostagar were there for a very specific duty. Even those high in the Templar Order's ranks are not specifically trained in the strategic and logistic issues involving entire armies. Teyrn Loghain's attention was split between managing and leading the army with placating an ignorant woman." He shook his head. "A most unfortunate state of affairs."

I regarded him carefully. "A pity that such opinions are not more common among the priesthood."

He gave a soft grunt, whether of agreement or disagreement, I couldn't tell. "The Grand Cleric of Denerim was promoted too early, unfortunately. As you would expect, she was a political appointment, the decision made in Val Royeaux to appease a specific faction. She had yet to grasp the acceptable limits of her position, and strove to extend her influence - ostensibly for the benefit of the Chantry. Now, she expects, as her due, power and control she should not have. Indeed, that she should never have possessed. Her impertinence contributed to your Queen Anora's declaration of the Fereldan Circle of Magi's independence."

I had not ever expected to hear a Chantry man, even a scholar, expound such thoughts. That lack realisation sent my paranoia into overdrive, and I wondered why he was trying to ingratiate himself with me. I shook my head. "No, Circle independence was something I requested of her. Honestly, I didn't expect her to agree, let alone announce it to the world without discussion."

He too shook his head. "I'm afraid that your request was simply a fortunate excuse. Queen Anora has been in a long-running battle with the Grand Cleric over the extent of her power over the Crown. Both King Maric and King Cailan passively permitted gradual encroachment, which Queen Anora has in recent years tried to claw back. She saw your request as an opportunity to strike far into territory held by the Chantry, to use a military metaphor."

While I did not believe him out of hand, it did make a sort of sense. Especially given the circumstances surrounding the Circle's usual governance. However, to get a better understanding of this man, I decided to outwardly agree with him. "Hm, you know, that makes sense. Anora's been holding out on me. Using me."

He gave me a gracious smile. "Your Queen is a most intriguing woman. In any event, her declaration charted the Grand Cleric's course. Her priestly pride would not allow her to retreat from her long won positions of influence over the crown, nor could she simply allow the Circle of Magi to be allowed to govern itself. These recent unpleasant events have been a direct result."

"You're saying it's all Anora's fault?" I asked, knowing full well he wasn't claiming such.

"Of course not," he replied calmly, as though in a lecture rather than a debate. "It is factually a consequence of your Queen's decision. Just as it is a factual consequence of your ill-considered request. The fault," he emphasised by raising a lecturing finger, "lies in the character of the Grand Cleric. Pride is a dangerous attribute in those with power. It cometh before the fall, as it were."

How interesting. A Chantry man who considers things, thinks about things. Who does not accept rulings without examining them. How refreshing.

I blinked. How dangerous.

Who was this man?

Before I could as for a proper introduction, he gave me a small bow. "Forgive me for taking up so much of your time, Warden-Commander. It has been an honour."

"I- er," I said intelligibly, having my chain of thought broken.

With that, he strode away, completely at ease.

Why had he left so abruptly?

The answer came a moment later. "Ah, Mage Kathryn," a honey-sweet voice with hidden barbs said from behind me.

I rolled my eyes and turned. "Wotcher," I said with an informal nod, knowing that it would piss her off.

It did. The Grand Cleric of Denerim flushed at my greeting, but held her sickly sweet smile in place. "I was under the impression you had committed to meeting me at the Cathedral yesterday." She held out her hand bearing her ring of office for me to kiss. It did not escape my notice that she held it significantly lower than custom dictated.

I just stared at her. "Really?" I asked, making no move to either bend knee or pucker up.

She lost her smile and gave her hand an imperious shake. "You did not come," she snapped.

"No, I meant, really, you had that impression? Seriously?" I said, dismissing her insistent hand with a wave.

The templar at her side stiffened. "Greet the Grand Cleric, mage," his voice echoed out from underneath his bucket helmet.

"No," I replied.

He clenched his fists, the metal gauntlets creaking against the leather inners. "Show respect, or..." he trailed off, threateningly.

"Or what?" I asked mildly. "You'll Smite me? That's been tried. Do you want to have a go? Unsatisfied with having the usual number of eyes, are you?"

He drew a sharp breath, and stepped back.

I nodded in satisfaction, before turning back to the priest. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'respect is earned'? Well, so is contempt." I turned my back on the Grand Bitch and walked briskly away. I could have ranted at her for an hour or so, but that would undoubtedly have given ammunition to my enemies. That and I wasn't sure I could keep myself from immolating her. Or entombing her in a block of ice. Or sucking the life force right out of her. Or...

My brief conversation did not go unnoticed. A great many discussions broke off momentarily, then resumed at a higher pitched buzz. I drained my glass and placed it on the tray of a passing servant, deciding against any further alcohol for the evening.

"Well, this Landsmeet is far more entertaining than I first suspected," a familiar voice said to my left.

I broke off inventing elaborate fantasies involving the painful death of the Grand Cleric and turned with a smile. "Aedan! You're back from Orzammar!"

Aedan gave me a crooked smile. "Still nothing wrong with your powers of observation, Kat. May I introduce you to my betrothed?" He turned to one side, and included the tall, severely pretty lady at his side. "Bann Alfstanna, Commander Kathryn Surana of the Grey Wardens. Kathryn, this is Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea."

I nodded to Alfstanna. "We've met," I said easily, to Aedan's obvious surprise. "How is your brother?" I asked the Bann politely. "I hope he is recovering well."

Alfstanna inclined her head imperiously. "There has been little change, though I still retain some hope of improvement. Thank you for your concern, Warden-Commander, I shall mention it to Irminric when I next see him." She turned to Aedan, looking down her nose at him. "Warden-Commander Kathryn discovered and rescued my brother from Rendon Howe's clutches."

"Ah," he said, and diplomatically didn't say anything more.

Alfstanna flicked her gaze between us, lingering on me. "I shall leave the two of you to reacquaint yourselves. I need to speak to my designated successor. Excuse me."

I raised an eyebrow as she drifted away. Her gown fitted her very well, highlighting her feminine attributes, while disguising her musculature. She was definitely a warrior; she looked and moved as though she'd have given Cauthrien a fair showing.

Aedan sighed. "She doesn't like me," he said sadly.

I gave him a sympathetic look. "Give her time, Aedan. How long have you been betrothed?"

"Almost a full day now," he said sardonically.

"And you expected her to warm up to you so quickly? You might need to aim your expectations a little lower."

He shook his head. "She hasn't liked me for years. Waking Sea is just to the west of Highever, you see. While not a vassal, her father was a regular visitor with my father during my childhood. She still sees me as the snotty-nosed kid she had to be nice to, who followed her around like a puppy. I was eight years younger, and just about the most irritating little bugger you could imagine."

Ah. They had a history. "You're still eight years younger, you realise," I pointed out. "Why did Anora pair you up, if you don't get along?"

Aedan grimaced. "It's part of her grand plan. I can't say too much about it before the formal announcements."

I gave him a small smile. "Are you getting Gwaren?" I murmured softly.

He blinked, looking taken aback. But before he could answer, another figure approached from behind me and intruded on our conversation. "Giving away my secrets already, Kat?"

Aedan's eyes widened, and he bowed deeply. "Your Majesty," he intoned.

I turned and grinned at Alistair. "What secret? I just keep my ears open and all sorts of things fill them."

He gave me a long suffering look. "I've debated the merits of that idea with exactly four people, Kat. All of whom were sworn to silence."

I wiggled my eyebrows. "Sworn to secrecy, perhaps. Silence, not so much. Remember, my ears can be a bit better than most."

He made a face. "Ah, right. That. I suppose I should have guessed."

"Guessed what?" Aedan asked, thoroughly confused.

"Magic has many uses," I said with a mischievous grin. "One of them is... adjusting things so that your ears are better, or your vision is sharper."

Alistair rolled his eyes at the explanation but didn't contradict. Aedan's expression was thoughtful, then turned suspicious as he looked at me. I really needed to remember that Couslands were quicker on the uptake than most.

Alistair reached out and snagged a glass of wine from a passing servant, and deftly changed the subject. "I noticed that you met the Grand Cleric, Kat. No blood was shed either, so I suppose I should be grateful. Would it kill you to greet her properly?"

I shrugged. "It would probably be the death of one of us. Who would you prefer?"

Aedan suppressed a laugh. "You should form a club with Fergus, Kathryn. The Grand Cleric has been hounding me to intervene with my brother over his decision to evict the Highever priests. Beastly woman. She can't take the hint that I fully support him."

"Yes, well, hopefully the Divine has placed limits upon her," Alistair said, taking a sip of his wine and nodding to someone off in the distance. "I'm quite impressed with the man they sent to evaluate the discovery of Andraste's Ashes. He seems capable of persuading her to moderate some of her more excessive moves."

I gave him a questioning look. "Who is that?" I asked, strongly suspecting the answer already.

"The chap you were talking to earlier," he replied. "I didn't want to interrupt; you'd been speaking to a Chantry representative for more than two minutes and no one needed rescuing or cremating. A record, I believe."

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "That was no scholar."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you say that? He was formally introduced to Anora and I at court yesterday - as a scholar from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux."

I snorted. "If he's just a scholar, then so am I. He's a templar. A Knight-Captain at least, but more likely a Knight-Commander."

Aedan and Alistair shared a look. "Uh, Kathryn? Are you seeing templars everywhere you look? He doesn't look like he could even stand up if he put on templar plate armour," Aedan said tentatively.

"Aedan's right, Kat. What makes you think he's a templar?"

"He's got a grip like iron, he stands like he's on parade, and," I paused, but pressed forward. "I can smell it."

Aedan gave me a lopsided grin. "Smell it? You can smell the 'templar' on him?"

I nodded. "Yes. He smells of lyrium."

Alistair drew in a breath. "Kat," he hissed.

Aedan shook his head and softly said. "I know about the templar addiction, King Alistair. It is quite a common rumour among the criminal element of the city. There is a thriving black market for it among the templars at the Cathedral." He turned to me. "But you could smell his rank?" he finished in a disbelieving tone.

I shrugged. "Not his rank, just the concentration of the dose he takes. It's quite potent and it's on his breath. They don't bother giving the initiates and rank-and-file templars that quality."

Alistair pursed his lips. "Damn. Zevran was right."

I raised my eyebrows. "As much as Zev would love to hear you say those words, what was he right about?"

Alistair sighed, and looked around for anyone listening. Given we were in the middle of a hall full of professional gossips, and he was, you know, the king... I can't imagine why he thought he wouldn't be eavesdropped upon. "He said that a high ranking templar was being sent to deal with the issues around the Circle. By the Divine herself."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Where is he now that he dredged up that rumour?"

Alistair gave me a lopsided grin. "Sorry Kat, I can't tell you."

I nodded, not in the least bothered. "No problem. So, what is his name?"

"Darrian," Alistair said. "Well, Knight-Commander Darrian, if you are correct."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra frowned ever so slightly at the mention of the name.

To her sure and certain knowledge, it had been Knight-Commander Darren who had been assigned to evaluate the veracity of the resting place of Andraste. It seemed a simple mistake; in terms of the importance of the interrogation, it seemed hardly worth mentioning.

It was just… Darrian was the name of one of the Vanished. Knight-Divine Darrian had disappeared from the Grand Cathedral. He, along with a fellow Knight-Divine, were the first to be reported missing.

She wanted to believe that it was a coincidence. That the inconsequential mispronunciation of a name was nothing to be bothered with.

But she did wonder. Was it possible? The Warden did have a connection with one of the Vanished. Did she have a connection to more than one?

Without interrupting the exposition, she filed away the supposition for later analysis.

o_ooo000ooo_o

When Alistair finally convened the business end of the Landsmeet, most people were already a fair way into their cups. Quite a few were snoozing off their inebriation, though most who had a voice in the proceedings managed to keep their composure.

Fergus was affirmed as the lord of Highever by unanimous acclamation. Not a single dissenting voice was heard. It wouldn't do to offend someone who controlled such a vast stretch of coastland, with the corresponding vast number of trading ports. Not unless you wished to be unable to transport your goods around easily.

Alistair then announced the betrothal of Aedan and Alfstanna, along with them being named the lord and lady of Gwaren. I watched the crowd for the reaction. As Anora had predicted, any mumbling and grumbling over the Cousland family gaining such wide-ranging power was quickly drowned out by hushed questions about what was to become of Waking Sea.

It was then that I finally understood Anora's plan. It was as brutal as it was effective, if only because of its absolute disregard for tradition. None of the nobles would have seen it coming.

More political marriages were announced. In instances where the happy couple had supported Alistair and Eamon, or at least came from families who had done so, they were elevated to large land holdings. Dozens of Banns were uprooted from demesnes their family had managed since the days of Calenhad, only to be gifted larger, more valuable domains.

Anora had taken full advantage of the deaths and forced vacancies among the country's teyrnirs, arlings and bannorns. She gave Gwaren and Denerim to her supporters. She then gave the newly vacated lands to other supporters who had smaller holdings. Leaving one or two smaller holdings to be filled by other lesser nobles.

Instead of only a handful of extremely lucky nobles, almost all of those who supported us at the previous Landsmeet ended up with more land and influence. There was some resentment among them, certainly. But the mood was definitely positive.

I marvelled at her gumption. Anora had essentially shifted over half the nobles in the country around like some perverse child's game. In one fell swoop she had temporarily sated the ambitions of dozens of people, increased her own support immeasurably, and added new, loyal blood to the landed nobility by promoting untitled sons and daughters of loyal Banns to the smaller vacated holdings.

Of course, the nobles who had stood against the crown didn't fare so well. Ceorlic in particular looked as though he was being tortured, if his expression was anything to go by. He kept his title and lands as those around him drifted up the ephemeral nobility ladder, all while he voted in favour of every single appointment raised and offered by Anora. Was that the price demanded of him to keep his title?

And finally, we came to Amaranthine. Standing tall on the landing over the hall, Alistair raised his arms for silence.

"Thank you. I am sure you have noticed that we have one prominent arling left. The crown gifted Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens in the aftermath of the Battle of Denerim, all those weeks ago." He began recounting a long and largely fictional account of our adventures, omitting the more blatant illegal activities while exaggerating the more heroic.

"The Grey Wardens of Ferelden were crippled, not only by their inexperience and numbers, but also by their lack of resources. Tithes guaranteed by treaty and law had not been paid for many years, and many questioned the relevance of the order, even as King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain battled darkspawn in the south."

There was quite some murmuring and shuffling of feet. Many nobles appeared to feel some small shame at their actions denigrating an order that subsequently saved their collective arses. Or maybe I was giving them too much credit.

"The question of tithes needs to be revisited," Alistair continued sternly. "It is obvious to all that the darkspawn are an ongoing threat, even should they retreat for generations at a time. We cannot afford to have a weakened order standing between Thedas and darkness when next the monsters emerge. The Grey Wardens must be given their due, first and foremost."

More than a few noble eyes betrayed their panic at that point. I imagine that a decade or two of back pay would all but bankrupt many on the floor. Especially since at that point, those who had been bumped upwards would have had no idea just how much their holdings owed the Grey Wardens. What a sneaky minx we had for a queen.

"To that end, we propose that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden be gifted the arling of Amaranthine, in lieu of all past owed, present due and future tithes. With their own holding, they can both support themselves and protect Ferelden."

I glanced at Anora, who predictably kept her expression studiously neutral. I couldn't help but give a soft chuckle at her scheme. The nobles most likely to object to the Wardens ruling Amaranthine were undoubtedly the ones who owed the most in back-tithes. It was a beautifully elegant piece of extortion. Agree, or pay up.

Alistair waited for a few moments to let that idea sink in before continuing. "The nominal arl or arlessa would be the highest-ranked, Ferelden-born Grey Warden stationed at Vigil's Keep. It would no longer be an hereditary title, but one assigned by charter. Should Weisshaupt nominate a foreign Commander of the Grey, they would not automatically be the lord of the holding."

That at least got a murmur of approval, especially given the fact that at present, I was the only Fereldan Grey Warden. The Orlesian Wardens were still distrusted.

Objections were raised, of course, once the tedious details of the deal were laid bare and the deliberations were opened to the floor. My elven heritage was brought up, and seemed to be a bigger stumbling block than my status as a mage. The fact that I was an un-marryable woman was not really considered pertinent, given the non-hereditary nature of the title.

In all honesty, I was stunned at the level of support the idea had. The Grand Cleric muscled her way to the podium and ranted about the nomination, offering no real substance to the debate - merely taking the opportunity to denounce me specifically, and mages in general. Given that the major objection to date had been my race rather than abilities, she really couldn't see past her own prejudices enough to be effective opposition. Her words were not heeded to as she would have liked; most in attendance ignored her, while those who actually agreed with her stance looked embarrassed at her vitriol.

The voting that took place was a study in human nature. Those who had the least to lose, the collective Banns of the Bannorn, mostly voted against, though Ceorlic actually abstained. Teyrn Aedan and his vassals voted for. But it was Teyrn Fergus and his bloc who carried the vote. Fergus even took the time to make a speech castigating those who voted against the nomination as self-centred, short-sighted imbeciles. Or words to that effect at least, he was a diplomat's son, after all.

So, Anora's scheme had worked, to my surprise. The arlessa of Amaranthine was now an female elf mage Grey Warden, who had no idea what she had to do next.

I wondered what Alistair intended to follow up with at the next Landsmeet. He'd need to do something really messed up to top this one.

Still…

Arlessa Kathryn.

It had a nice ring to it.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: And, we're into Awakenings. Thank you to all my reviewers to date - Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea, Alifangirl21, reviewer45, Nightbrainzz and Hydroplatypus (Seriously cool name, by the way…) - I love reading them.

Honestly, I didn't expect that it would take over 100 thousand words to get here, but I've enjoyed writing this.

As I've mentioned before, I will not be doing the usual retelling of the Awakening storyline. Most of the action will be around character interaction, and the differences in how the side quests are completed. It should only be three or four chapters before we're back into the original stuff again.

Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear what you think.