Varel's heart lifted at the sight of the Vigil as he turned his horse east from the Pilgrim's Path and heard the horn call that announced them. He was very much looking forward to a bath, a hot meal, and a warm spot by a roaring fireplace, in that order.

The dark line he had seen the day before their departure from the city had coagulated into a dark, roiling mass; at dawn, flurries had whipped through the streets like powdery froth upon the blustery ocean winds. By the time the Vigil came within sight an hour or so before noon, snow was falling more heavily, though not enough yet to impede their mounts and wagons, and the sun was only visible as a dim circle behind the thick gray clouds. It was perfect weather for an ambush, with the snow reducing visibility, but no darkspawn or bandits took advantage of it to attack them. That could be due to their numbers, or perhaps to the scouts Garevel had patrolling up and down the column to keep everyone in constant contact.

Riding as Varel was at the head of the cavalcade with Garevel and the Grey Wardens, he was in an excellent position to see Rullens coming down the ramp to the outer courtyard, smiling in welcome.

"Welcome back, Varel."

Varel dismounted with the aid of a stool a groom brought, and shook hands with the captain. "It's good to be back, Rullens. I'm glad to see the Vigil is not, in fact, a smoking ruin." He was pleased to find he was not as stiff as expected; all of those grueling sessions the armsmaster had made him go through to regain his condition had not been in vain.

Rullens chuckled at the joke, then glanced at the tail end of the procession, where the full wagons were lumbering up in the rear, and grinned. "Well, look at all that! Were you able to get everything we need?"

"Yes. I'll give you all the details in private, but I can tell you now our financial situation is no longer quite as dire."

"Good news indeed!" The captain sobered after a moment. "Any casualties to report?"

"No, thank the Maker," Varel said, watching as Garevel had Maverlies organize those mounted into an orderly line so that grooms could take their horses and free the soldiers to go help unload the wagons. "How are the ones you brought back here doing? Are they all right?"

"Healed up enough to be back on light duty," Rullens said, giving his second a welcoming nod as Garevel brought Varel's sword along with his own from where they had been stored in a wagon.

It was going to take a while for the soldiers to bring everything into the keep proper, since the wagons could not go up the wooden ramp. It made a fine defensive chokepoint, but it was also a blasted nuisance when it came time to transport large items with any speed. Garevel rounded up a few soldiers and went up the ramp, returning a few moments later with the wheelbarrows the groundskeeper used for hauling compost and manure. Varel hoped either Samuel or Garevel had cleaned them first.

"Did Ser Cauthrien stop here on her way back to Denerim?" Varel said as he squinted against the blowing snow.

"Yes, she did, but only just long enough to eat a hot meal and rest the horses, then they left again after about an hour. I'll wager she's glad she hurried on ahead of this coming storm." Rullens blew out his breath, which formed a white plume that melted some of the snow drifting down, and gave the gray sky a wary look. "Looks like we're in for a real blow."

Varel thought the captain's weather sense was right; the wind had been gusting hard all day, and the snow was falling more and more heavily. He hoped the refugees camped in front of the city's gates were able to find better shelter than tents; a storm such as this was shaping up to be could kill anyone caught out in the open.

"Shame about that one mabari, but considering how outnumbered you were, you were, it could've gone much worse."

"Yes." Varel still felt more guilt over the dog than for the sailors he had killed.

Rullens shook himself. "Well, there's no need for you to stand here in the snow; I can handle things out here. Go on, get in."

Varel hesitated, looking back at the wagons. "There's still much to be done." There was also all that work that must have piled up in the last sennight in his absence, but that would be done indoors.

"It can wait until you've eaten and refreshed yourself," was Rullens's firm suggestion. "Besides, I need to take Garevel's report. No need for both of us to freeze our arses off."

"Very well. Then please let the housekeeper and armsmaster know their long-awaited supplies are here." The stablemaster, Varel saw, already looked very pleased when he saw the saddles and tack on the horses had been repaired. He hoped the others would feel as grateful.

Varel turned to see the Grey Wardens had dismounted, though Petrus kept hold of his horse's reins, fending off a groom as he went to see to his mount personally, as he had when he had first arrived at Vigil's Keep. Rullens watched with interest as two soldiers brought the former sea captain forward from where he had been riding in one of the wagons. With his hands bound behind him, the man looked sullen and resigned - not to mention cold - but Varel had to give him credit for being smart enough not to try and escape. Not that he would have had much of a chance, a foreigner stranded in the middle of winter in a country far from Tevinter, without friends, a ship, money, or supplies.

Petrus returned in only a few moments; since he had been persuaded not to fight on his horse, he had left his mount's armor behind. "Is there a place I can put my conscript? He will have to bide there while I make the preparations."

"Preparations? What preparations?" Varel said, but the Grey Warden shook his head and did not elaborate.

"There must be a dungeon around here somewhere," Fiona said as she held on to the hood of her cloak, which the wind was trying to pluck out of her grasp. "I've never known a castle that didn't have one."

"We do, in fact." Leaving Rullens to oversee the unpacking, Varel bade the Wardens and the soldiers guarding the captain to follow. He led them up the ramp to the small building next to the entrance to the keep, where he himself had been imprisoned before being taken to the mine. It was unoccupied, so it was dark and cold inside, and smelled musty from being shut up for so long.

Petrus looked around and nodded approval of the austere surroundings. "Yes, this will do."

Varel was fairly certain potential Grey Warden recruits should not be housed in the dungeon, but then the man had been one of the main accomplices to the crime of slavery and would have been hanged for sure. Leaning his sword against the wall, he took out the heavy ring of keys he carried and unlocked the door. The soldiers untied the unlucky captain's hands and propelled him into the cell before being dismissed back to unloading duty.

Rullens had kept the Vigil running efficiently in Varel's absence, so it did not take long for the torches inside the windowless room to be lit, and a roster made up of those soldiers still healing from wounds to keep watch. Cold as the dungeon was, it was still better than the howling wind and snow now flying vertically outside. Since he was carrying his sword, Varel had only one hand free to struggle with opening and closing the door to the dungeon.

Visibility was getting so bad the captain had soldiers stringing guide ropes along the most commonly used paths, and lanterns had been lit on the walls despite the early hour, since torches would be extinguished in a heartbeat. The merchants had packed up their wares and stalls some weeks ago, knowing such weather would keep the customers well away. Losing the stall rents had been one of the many reasons why Varel was so desperate for funds.

"We should get inside while we can still see!" Varel had to shout at the Wardens to be heard over the rising wind.

The passage to the inner keep was only a few steps away, but they had to fight against the wind for every inch.

"Ugh," Fiona said once they were inside. She threw back her hood and brushed off the snow that had been driven right into the fabric of her cloak and robes. "I won't miss winter one little bit."

Petrus said nothing, having put up a more stoic front, but his face was wind-chapped and reddened from the cold.

"It occurs to me that the storm will confine off-duty soldiers to the barracks, which would make this an ideal time to conduct those lessons on combating darkspawn," Varel said, and made haste to add, "Whenever it is convenient for you, of course."

The elf nodded. "After a meal and a long soak in hot water, I will be ready. Right now there's a tub in the bathhouse that's calling my name, so I'll talk to you later."

Petrus watched Fiona leave, then gave Varel a piercing look. "I need to speak to you in private, Seneschal. When might you have time?"

Varel blinked at the blunt question, but he took thought and said, "After supper, ser. I have to speak to some of the senior staff about the supplies we brought, the armsmaster about starting Fiona's lessons, and discuss what happened and what we found with Captain Rullens -"

The Grey Warden held up a hand. "There is no need to give a full accounting of yourself. Not to me. After supper will do fine. In the meantime, I believe I will follow Fiona's lead and make use of your bathhouse as well." He shook his head, lips quirking as he turned away. "All these southern luxuries are going to spoil me."

Wondering at the kind of life that would consider a simple bath a luxury, Varel went off to put his sword away and visited the bathhouse himself. Once he was clean, he went off to arrange a meal for himself, as well as meetings with the rest of the staff, but was forestalled when Rullens, the armsmaster, and the housekeeper gathered in his office, followed by servants carrying trays of food. Instead of eating with the rest in the dining hall, he found himself the host of an impromptu working dinner. Well, at least this way he could eat and tell them all at once without repeating himself later.

Rullens and Sandis knew what Varel had been planning, of course, and they listened with interest as he gave his report. Clara, on the other hand, had had no inkling other than allowing Varel to take Jacob and arranging food for the soldiers going to the city, and she looked quite indignant at the news that slavers had been active in Amaranthine. She was pleased to hear her boatfolk cousins had been involved and had given them substantial help in stopping the slavers once and for all.

"Good on 'em," the housekeeper said in a firm tone. "But ye did make sure they'll be safe? T' bann don't like no one meddlin' in her business."

"Of course. Not that the bann would hold herself back from meddling in turn," Varel said, and told the others of the sheriff's obstruction.

He was gratified by the identical scowls of indignation on their faces; they had grasped at once what the bann had been trying to do.

"Did she really think you'd be so stupid as to let this slip past you?" Rullens said, his lips curled with contempt.

The armsmaster agreed. "The sheriff might have tried to bully Garevel, because he's still inexperienced, but you? No."

"Waste of everyone's time," Clara said, flicking her fingers out to dismiss the sheriff's foolish gesture.

The captain frowned. "Did he finally bring you that writ? Because I didn't see anyone other than that Grey Warden conscript."

"Yes, finally, near the end of the day," Varel said, making a face in remembered irritation. "It was a mess, because we had our own wagons all packed and ready to go, which blocked their prisoner transports. If our people had not been watching over the whole process like hawks, the prisoners might have tried to take advantage of the tangle to escape."

"And without Cauthrien's dogs to help you track them down if they did. I'll have to commend Garevel on a job well done when I see him later." Rullens drummed his fingers on the table. "Think the bann will try to use her thugs to harrass our people over this?"

"No, not really, but we should all be careful if we're in the city." Varel turned to Clara. "The rest of the staff should take care, too, not just the soldiers, so please pass on the warning. We are at our most vulnerable at this time, without our liege lady in residence."

"We're not helpless," Sandis said, her words coming out in a belligerent growl that boded ill for anyone trying to mess her soldiers about.

"No, but we can't afford a brawl, either."

They all agreed with that, though with varying degrees of grudging acceptance on Rullens's and Sandis's parts.

Clara, of course, had no time to spare for such nonsense. "I'll tell everyone ta be careful when they're visitin' or shoppin' in t' city, not that anyone's gonna go far in t' middle of a storm. But nuff talkin' - t' food's gettin' cold." The rest of them chuckled and obeyed, taking the covers off the platters.

It was a relief to finally eat something other than bread, salted pork, and cheese; Clara must have been immensely pleased Varel had been able to supply everything she wanted, because there was quite a spread: deep bowls of hot seafood pottage made with fresh mussels and clams, loaves with bits of dried pears and honey baked into them, and a generous plate piled high with slices of mutton in gravy. It was obvious the housekeeper wanted them all to have clear heads for this meeting, because a large pot of tea had been provided, but no ale. Regardless, the food was perfect for a cold day like this; with the wind howling loudly enough to be heard through the thick stone walls, Varel did not envy the sentries stuck outside.

Rullens seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he swallowed a bite of bread and said, "I've had to change the sentries to quarter watches, not that you can see much more than an armlength in a storm like this. Don't want anyone to catch cold or get frostbite. And it's a good thing you bought so many barrels of lamp oil; we're going to need it before long for all the lanterns we have to light."

"It's already as dark as a dragon's armpit out there, though it's not more than an hour past noon," the armsmaster said. "I had to put the soldiers on rotation so that they could all use the salle for drill."

"It's a happy accident for us that Fiona can use that time after they're done in the salle for those lessons," Rullens said.

Sandis nodded. "Aye, I spoke to her. Oh, and she told me we should all outfit ourselves with full-face helmets so they won't get their faces spattered with darkspawn blood. I've got my assistants rooting through every nook and cranny of the armory looking for some, but we might not have enough for all of 'em."

Varel made a note on a wax tablet. "Give me a count and I'll see what I can do about acquiring more, and some spares, too. The sooner the better; they will need time to acclimate themselves to wearing them."

The armsmaster hesitated. "The ones we find won't match the armor they're wearing right now."

Having mismatched armor was nothing new; only the wealthiest of nobles could afford to outfit his troops in identical sets. The Vigil was not yet in the position to do the same. "It can't be helped," Varel said with some regret, as soldiers wearing the same armor made for a striking sight.

"Just thought I'd warn you, in case you wanted to impress the new arlessa with our not-so-gleaming cohorts." Sandis's lips twitched.

"We should make every effort - but only if it's within our means. Simply because we lucked onto some money does not mean we should go overboard. It has to last us until the Warden-Commander arrives." Varel hoped the others understood that they still needed to scrimp and save, if not quite so desperately.

Clara raised her brows. "Dunno that luck had anythin' ta do with it."

Varel made a self-deprecating gesture when he saw the agreement on the others' faces. "Regardless, luck was a factor in our success."

Sandis turned the conversation back to the original topic. "Most of 'em won't like those sorts of helmets; they obscure much of their vision. I prefer being able to see, myself."

Varel was not unsympathetic; he used a helmet with full face protection, himself, but it had taken him time to get used to it at first. "Unless they want to get darkspawn blood spattered on their faces and maybe getting into their mouths, they'll have to deal with it."

Both Rullens and the armsmaster winced, and Clara screwed her face up in disgust.

"Ugh," Sandis said. "Right, I'll tell 'em. That ought to motivate 'em to be careful, but I'll thank you not to say things like that when we're eating."

"Sorry," Varel said, making a small sitting-down bow to all of them. "Well, that was my report; did anything of note occur here?"

Rullens shook his head. "It's all been routine up until this storm, and it's not as if it's the first we've ever been through. You got all of the excitement."

The housekeeper, who had stayed mostly silent while purely military matters were being discussed, spoke up. "Now that we've got t' money ta fix up t' Vigil all right and proper, we should reopen t' throne room, and we still gotta get rooms prepared for when t' new arlessa comes."

Varel raised his brows. "But she won't arrive for months yet. Surely it's not necessary to do that so soon." The Warden-Commander would not arrive until summer, and they were still in the middle of winter. Somehow it felt less fraught when he did not refer to the new arlessa by name in his own mind.

"T' sooner we get it ready, t' happier I'll be. If she shows up all of a sudden, we'll be prepared."

Varel could not argue with that. "Well, we would have to provide the best in the castle, so she should have either the late arl's rooms or his wife's."

Clara wrinkled her nose and gave him a dubious look. "Ye sure ye want ta put a Cousland in t'old arl's rooms?"

Rullens gave Varel a wry smile. "She's got a point there."

"Er." Varel thought about it. "Why don't we go and look at them both? Perhaps if we change out the furnishings..." He glanced at the other two. "If we're done here, of course."

The armsmaster shook her head and rose. "Nothing more for now. I'll get on that inventory of full-face helmets and get back to you on how many more we need."

"And I should go check on the sentries and make sure none of them have lost their way in the storm and fallen off the walls," Rullens said, doing the same. "We should all of us - er, excepting you, Clara - sit in on one of Fiona's lessons and learn about the darkspawn, too."

Varel nodded. "I planned to, yes," he said, while Clara snorted at the thought of being included in any sort of soldiers' training.

Clara gathered up the empty plates, cups and teapot and put them on the stack of trays with efficient speed, and followed Varel out as he held the door open for her. The housekeeper passed her burden on to a servant going about his own business, freeing her to go to the living quarters, where they first started with the arl's chambers.

One look at the arl's rooms was enough for Varel to realize it would be impossible to move most of the furniture. Most were large, heavy pieces that would no longer fit through the door, having been assembled from pieces brought inside. The tapestries, drapes, hangings and curtains had been taken away to protect the expensive fabrics from moths, and with nothing to soften the bare stone walls and edges, it all contributed to an oppressive atmosphere that he doubted would please the Warden-Commander. Considering the recent history between the Howes and the Couslands, she just might set it all on fire, and who could blame her? He exchanged a glance with the housekeeper, who shook her head. Without saying a word, they exited the outer chamber. Varel locked the door again, then they proceeded to the arlessa's chambers.

There was a better possibility of the arlessa's rooms being suitable; the style of the furniture left inside was more delicate, to suit the late arlessa's more feminine tastes, and the place seemed airier as a result.

"They're only a little smaller than the arl's rooms, I think," Varel said as they looked around.

Clara ran a finger along the mantelpiece above the fireplace and gave the dust on it a look of disapproval. "I think so, too. I'll get people in here ta air and clean t' place up prop'ly."

"Surely that's not yet necessary."

The housekeeper shook her head. "Better they get in t' habit of cleanin' these rooms again now."

Varel deferred to her, as he usually did in these domestic matters, and led the way to the throne room. "We should air out the arl's rooms, too, and keep them ready for important guests."

Clara twitched her brows at him. "Are ye expectin' one ta come along?"

"No, but I think it's likely that not all of them will stay in the barracks like Ser Cauthrien. It is not inconceivable that the Crown or the Warden-Commander herself might send someone to take charge of the Vigil in her absence, especially once the Orlesian Wardens arrive."

The housekeeper did not look happy at the thought of Orlesians again taking up residence in the Vigil, but kept her peace. They had no choice in the matter. "I hope they send a sensible sort."

The throne room, which had been closed not long after the Blight ended because there was no liege lord to hold court, would have to be cleaned and aired out, too. He unlocked the door and they made a cursory inspection of the room, which was dark, since the firepit was not lit, and the snowstorm outside obscured the light that should have fallen through the high windows.

"Those old bear banners will have to be taken down, and new ones bearing the Grey Warden colors and griffon made," Varel said. More expenses, and for mere fripperies, he thought with a sigh, but it was necessary to give all honor to the order, which was especially important after all the harm the late arl and Teyrn Loghain had done to its most recent members.

"Aye, wouldn't be appropriate ta have those old things hangin' up there."

Clara looked about in some disgruntlement of her own, as the size of the hall meant a monumental effort would have to be staged to clean it. She was not a woman to do things by halves, so that meant getting up into the rafters and clearing away the decades-long accumulations of soot stains from the wood and the grime from the windows.

Varel closed the door and locked it again. "Perhaps you're right about preparing early for the Warden-Commander's arrival." It was going to take time to set the rooms to rights.

"Aren't I always?" The housekeeper scoffed, then gave the closed door a glum look. "I have ta get back ta work."

There was no need for Varel to guess what was on her mind. "As do I," he said, and they gave each other looks of commiserating sympathy before they went their separate ways.

There was no point in putting it off any longer. He had to sit down and write that blasted letter.

Varel locked himself into his office and first wrote the report Cauthrien had asked for, and was soothed by the numbers as he consulted the careful records he and Garevel had made. Every copper bit was accounted for; the queen's treasurer would have nothing to complain - or be suspicious - about. Then he realized he would have to make a second copy for his new arlessa, which meant he also had to explain the situation to her, and he had not intended to so muddy the waters with this first letter introducing himself.

In the end he decided to make an identical copy of what he had written for the queen, as he feared what the Warden-Commander would do if she found discrepancies should the two formidable ladies happen to compare notes. The silverite mine would not have a deep enough shaft to hide him. The queen might even have shared the reports he had sent her earlier with the Grey Warden.

Then Varel proceeded to agonize over this, the first official letter he would send to his new arlessa. He had to be deferential without being obsequious, straightforward but not so blunt as to be rude. All this care he was taking reminded him of letters he had written to Bann Esmerelle, except the bann was a known quantity - the Warden-Commander was not. He wrote a first draft down on a piece of scrap parchment, stared at it, then sighed and scraped the flattery-laden words away. Professional, Fray had suggested, but he was too accustomed to stroking the late arl's ego in order to get what he wanted. Yet another habit he had to break. How many more would ambush him?

Five painful drafts later, he finally had an acceptable missive. It was not perfect, but it was the best he could do. His introduction and expanded report on the slavers were as bald and factual as he could make it, as was his request for appropriate seals. This would be his first official communication with the woman, and it was imperative he make a good first impression.

Before his nerve failed him, he made a clean copy and signed it, then rolled the two pieces of parchment into a message tube. He hesitated for a moment over whether or not he had the right to use the late arlessa's seal. But since it was not a personal message from him, but one he was sending on behalf of the Vigil, he dripped hot wax onto the case and pressed the signet ring into it.

There, it was done, though it could not be taken to Denerim yet while the storm still raged outside. Resisting the urge to crack the message tube open again and rewrite everything, second-guessing himself into a dither, Varel left it on his desk and unlocked the door. Several hours had passed while he wrestled with words in order to pin them to parchment, and his inner sense of time and his stomach told him it must be time for supper.

Rullens was a few paces away when Varel stepped outside, clearly on his way to remind him it was time to eat. "You look wrung."

"I just spent the afternoon composing an extremely important letter," Varel said as he fell into step beside the captain. At the other man's inquiring look, he added, "To the Warden-Commander."

Understanding dawned in the captain's eyes. "Ah. No wonder you look like a herd of horses trampled you."

Varel directed a dry look at Rullens. "Do you flatter everyone like that? All the ladies must swoon."

The captain grinned. "Makes it hard to walk, when they insist on throwing themselves at me."

"Are you sure they're not doing that to avoid looking at your face?" Varel said in a deadpan-level voice.

"Ouch!" Rullens pressed a theatrical hand to his chest. "Your wit's sharp enough to draw blood, Varel! Save it for the darkspawn."

Varel smiled at the other man. "How can I resist, when you hand me such opportunities practically gift-wrapped?"

Rullens shot him a mock-glower. "It's a good thing we're going down to supper, then, so that both of us can keep our mouths busy."