Fenris could not help but smile as he looked over at Zevran as the two of them reined to a stop on a high hilltop bordering the south-western edge of Zevran's bannorn. The elf's golden eyes were bright and happy, a broad smile curving his lips, his cheeks reddened from the wind that teased at their hair and the horses' manes with equal effect. It was a cold day, the sky blue and cloudless, with a nip in the air that warned that it could not be all that much longer until the snowy days began; there'd been frost on the ground when they'd set out this morning, departing the little settlement of stonemasons that worked a quarry here in the southern hills.
"There," Zevran said, lifting one gloved hand to point down across the broad river valley spread out below them. "At the foot of that mountain – that is Denerim. We should be there by mid-afternoon."
Fenris turned and looked. It was just a smudge, from here – a smudge of browns and greys huddled against the foot of a tall cliff of pale stone, sprawling to either side of a river and the bay at the river's mouth; the Denerim harbour, where Isabela's ship would have docked. A smudge of smoke over it, as well, from all the fires for warmth and industry that burned within its walls. Larger than he'd expected – larger than Kirkwall. But then, Kirkwall was essentially little more than a city-state, while Denerim was capital of an entire country.
They rode down the hill, soon loosing sight of the city behind intervening hills, and a short while later their narrow dirt track of a road merged into a much larger, well-maintained highway, its broad surface hard-packed from much traffic – the North Road, Zevran had said, which ran from Denerim north to Amaranthine, and then paralleled the coast at a distance all the way west to Highever before dipping south to meet the ancient Imperial Highway at the north end of Lake Calenhad. They made much better time on the highway, and it wasn't long until they rounded a last forested hill and saw their road dipping down a last long slope to merge with a second highway – the West Road – just outside the main gates of the city.
"Is that the palace?" Fenris asked, pointing toward an impressively high tower rising at the south-western corner of the city, hard up against the sheer cliff that towered even higher than it did.
"No," Zevran answered, frowning for a moment. "That, my friend, is Fort Drakon – it is one of several such towers built in Ferelden by the Avvar and dwarves in pre-Imperium times. The palace is to the northwest from there; an impressive structure of its type, but not particularly visible from here."
"That's pre-Imperium?" Fenris said, impressed, and studied the tower interestedly as they rode closer to the city. "They built well," he said after a while.
"Yes, very well indeed," Zevran agreed. "There are a handful of equally ancient structures still in use in Ferelden, and even some elven ruins from the time of Arlathan, though they are not in such good condition, having been abandoned to the elements for centuries. But the dwarves have always been excellent stonemasons, and when the Avvar hired them, they built for the ages."
They began to see more traffic on the road as they neared the city; farmers pulling carts of produce toward it, or empty carts away, and a merchant caravan of ox-drawn waggons setting out to the west. Apart from the oxen, there seemed to be very little use of livestock as dray animals; a trader passed them heading north leading a string of three mules, and Fenris glimpsed a small cart drawn by what he thought was either a dog or a goat in a village set some distance back from the road, but most of the carrying and pulling was being done by men, not animals.
Zevran shrugged when he asked him why. "It's a hard land; overwintering animals is difficult. Most animals are kept for meat, milk, and wool, not as beasts of burden. Only the well-off can afford mules, donkeys, or oxen – mostly oxen, as even donkeys and mules are rare here, and usually owned by foreign merchants. Ferelden has very few horses, and those are all owned by nobles."
"Why? The climate is cold, yes, but horses can be found in abundance in equally cold areas of Orlais, from what I have read."
"Because horses can be used in war, and when the Orlesians occupied Ferelden, they reserved the beasts for their own use; any horses they found, they either kept for themselves, shipped west to sell in Orlais, or slaughtered to keep them out of the hands of the Fereldans. The rebels still managed to field a cavalry, but mostly they had to use foot-soldiers against mounted men, especially after the disaster at West Hill that saw much of their army – and almost all of their horses – killed in battle. After they lost the war, the retreating Orlesians killed any horses they could not take with them, as well as vast numbers of oxen, goats, and so on, to make it harder for Ferelden to recover. They planned to re-occupy Ferelden at some point, and sought to weaken the country however they could. And then afterwards, the Orlesian Crown declared it an act of treason to sell horses to Fereldan buyers. While they cannot prevent people from places like the Free Marches doing so, any merchant who wishes to trade in Orlais finds it wise not to break their laws. So horses are still quite rare here, almost forty years on, as are most beasts of burden. And considered far too valuable to use to pull plows and waggons, when mules or oxen or men can do that."
Fenris nodded, and thought for a while. "This might be a good market for my horses than, if I succeed in establishing a good breeding herd," he eventually said. "Especially as I have no interest in trade with Orlais."
"Yes," Zevran agreed, and smiled toothily. "And the horses you wish to buy and breed, and that Ferelden nobles value most and want more of, are the ones like your Ari – the destriers. Oh, they want coursers too, and even rounceys, but it's the destriers they long for. And need; as you can image, foot-soldiers against mounted warriors is a very uneven battle. Even with archers and pikemen among their ranks, the foot-soldiers are at a vast disadvantage. You watch – they will covet even my Feo, who is regarded as nothing more than a cull in the north. Your Ari they will all but worship."
They were approaching the city gates by then. The guards there were eyeing the two of them with open suspicion – doubtless with horses so rare, seeing elves with six of them was unheard of. As they drew closer one of the guards stepped out into the gateway, barring their path. And then suddenly grinned, his attention now fixed on Zevran. "Bann Zevran!" he called out. "It's been ages since you last visited Denerim."
Zevran grinned as he slowed Feo down to a stop. "Ser Orain – a pleasure to see your face again. I have been abroad, and am but lately returned from the north. This is my friend Lord Fenris of Brynhir, from Starkhaven."
"Starkhaven! You have been far afield," the guard exclaimed. "Well, I won't delay you any further," he said, running a covetous eye over their mounts as he spoke, then grinned up at Zevran. "You know where everything is."
Zevran grinned back. "That I do. Could you do me a small favour, and send word ahead to the palace that I am on my way directly there? Someone on foot can make it there long before we'll be able to get there on horseback."
"Of course, ser," the guard agreed, before withdrawing from their path.
Fenris looked around as they rode into the city. "Why will it take so much longer for us?" he asked, and gestured to a pair of bridges to the south of them "Can we not go that way?"
"No, though that is likely the way the messenger will go. Those bridges lead to the army barracks on the south bank; public traffic is not allowed over them, and even if it was, the barracks are walled off from the rest of the city. There is a gate than allows for exit into the city on that side, but it is usually kept closed and locked, with only a small door within the larger gate opened; too small for horses. The noble quarter is beyond the barracks, and the nobles have no wish for off-duty soldiers in their neighbourhood, so apart from some small amount of official traffic between Fort Drakon and the barracks, no one is allowed through. We will have to ride well to the east of here, and take either the Market bridge to the alienage, or the Harbour Bridge a little east of it. Most likely the Harbour Bridge; we would have a great detour north around the market to reach the street leading to the Market Bridge, and I have no desire to do that, nor to try taking our horses through either the market or the alienage."
Fenris could understand Zevran's desire to avoid both by the time they reached the point where the broad road they were on passed underneath the high Market Bridge; even with a solid row of buildings between them and it, he could hear the noise of the crowded market from here, while the alienage visible on the south bank across the river looked like the worst sort of slums. And likely was; even in a country where the elves were reportedly being rather better-treated since the events of the Blight than they were elsewhere in Thedas, they were still the poorest and poorest-treated of citizens.
It wasn't long until they reached the Harbour Bridge, and turned south across it. It was a much narrower bridge, and the street on the other side equally so, though it soon reached a broader road running from the docks visible downhill to the east and out of sight uphill to the west. They followed its winding path to the west, and soon reached a very broad road. It was a fine avenue, running from south of them before curving off to the west again just north of where their street joined it. The broadest street he'd yet seen, wide enough that five or six waggons could have passed each other on it.
"It is part of the defences of the upper city," Zevran explained as he led them to the north and west, pointing out the alienage gate as they rode by it. "Look beyond those buildings to the south of us – or along the south side of the road ahead of us, for that matter – you see the high wall? That encircles the entire noble quarter, with another wall within it dividing off the palace grounds. Except for where it detours around this block of businesses by the alienage gate, this broad way runs along the base of the wall, and provides a clear sight-line and wide field of fire for archers up on the walls. Where the buildings are was once a park, I am told; they should have left it so, or changed the path of the street when they decided to build there. It creates a blind spot in their defences."
Fenris nodded, studying the wall interestedly as it came up a side-street from the south and turned to parallel the road. It was at least two or three times his height, with a battlement lining the side overlooking the street, and towers at regular intervals along it, some quite small – only large enough for one or two men to mount to the top of – and others being larger, fortified positions.
The north side of the road was open here, running as it did for a stretch along the top of a steep drop to the river below. At one point there was a narrow road running down to a small quay at the water's edge, so steep it was more a staircase than a road. They passed a couple of gated street entrances on the south, as well. And then ahead of them the road became walled to either side, the sloping area north of the road occupied with what he guessed from their position relative to the city gates to be the army barracks Zevran had spoke of earlier.
A massive building stood on the southern side of the street there, a fortified castle; the palace, he assumed. They rode all the way past it, to a large gate in the wall giving onto a street leading south. To their right were several large, well-built townhouses; to their left, a wall separating off the palace grounds from the street. They soon reached a gate in that wall. The guards there were clearly expecting them, letting them enter the palace enclosure without questioning or protest. They passed through the wall, and emerged in a very small courtyard backed by the imposing mass of the castle. A small group of people stood at the top of the wide castle steps, and even before they'd come to a stop one had broken away from the group and was plunging down the stairs toward them. A plainly dressed man, wearing a worn and stained linen shirt and loose leggings, with scuffed leather boots on his feet. A groom, Fenris guessed, which seemed to be confirmed when the man ignored them and came right up to Ari, reaching out to grasp the stallion's bridle with one hand while letting the horse snuffle at his other hand, a pleased smile on his face.
"Well," the man said, in a soft, almost awed tone of voice that brought Zevran's earlier words back to Fenris – that they would all but worship Ari. "Aren't you a beauty!"
Fenris looked away, glancing nervously up the stairs at the descending cluster of richly dressed people, only then noticing that Zevran had already dismounted and was ignoring the approaching group to look instead at the plainly-dressed man, an oddly neutral expression on his face as he stood there studying him for a moment, holding Feo's reins in one hand.
"Your majesty," Zevran said in a carrying voice, and dropped to one knee, bowing his head. Fenris stared for a moment, mouth dropping open in shock as he realized who it must be that had hold of his horse's head.