A/N: I have been notified that you'd probably like a map of Ferelden to keep track of all the strange hamlets and towns I keep mentioning in this story. To be honest I didn't actually consider it of interest to anyone but massive nerds like myself, but apparently I have been proven wrong on that account ^_^*

So here's a map I keep using, mostly just to keep track of where my characters are in Ferelden.

(Ferelden Map Detailed DeviantArt)
Because FF keeps deleting my links even when I space them apart

As I do not have an account on DeviantArt, I cannot tell the artist how damn much his work as actually helped me. Which is kind of a bummer, really.

But this is a pretty calm chapter, compared to the others. I know we all want constant carnage, but personally I also like to just take a step back and have the characters not fighting for their lives.


Sentimentality


Society had some funny notions about dignity.

There was probably something to be said about the dignity she was supposed to embody, both in her role as one of Ferelden's more senior Grey Wardens - not exactly a tall bar when one considered that the only one newer would be Jowan - as well as her position in society as a woman of noble birth and marriage.

For example - and this was of course purely hypothetical and in no way something she was currently in breach of - upon entering the keep of a lesser noble, in this case Nathaniel Howe, Arl and subject to the Cousland Teyrns, a woman of her station was expected to carry herself with a certain degree of decorum and elegance.

"Jowan!"

Not - apparently - break into a spring across the courtyard to wrap up aforementioned younger Grey Warden Jowan in a goddamn bear hug. For some reason it simply wasn't how things were supposed to be done, though not that she honestly gave a damn.

Nathaniel, at least, seemed more amused at the scene than anything else. Jowan, for his part, didn't seem to know how to react to such a greeting, but damn it all, he was her recruit, her little Warden. She reserved the right to damn well hug him where and whenever she damn well pleased.

The fact that she had to lift him out of his wheeled chair to do so was little concern, even as he dangled from her embrace, limp feet just barely grazing the dirt. She realized with a start that she might have been a little overly enthusiastic he started wriggling in her grasp.

She lowered him back into the chair, stepping back for a moment to let him regain the breath she'd apparently squeezed from him. Right, maybe breaking his ribs wouldn't be the best way to have a reunion. It was probably hard enough that he had to wheel himself around whenever he didn't have the strength to bloodbend his own legs.

"Sorry." She couldn't quite hide away the grin, all the same, because damn it if she hadn't actually missed her little recruit. He'd started growing a beard too, as if that would make him any less her little recruit. Was this how parents felt about their children always being their children? If so, it was pretty weird but she could at least understand the sentiment now; "Hey, Jowan. I didn't even know you were here."

"Hello Talia." The kid - and by the gods he really kind of still was, wasn't he? Crippled for life before it'd even really begun - smiled up at her, the same timid, yet self-assured smile he wore around those he trusted; "It's been a while. You've gotten bigger."

"I trust you to not comment on a lady's weight, thank you." She scoffed, though the mask cracked easily and far too quickly at the merest cock of his brow, because yeah he probably knew she was messing with him, or at least trying to. Damn that Merrill for suddenly giving his maturity a kick upwards, he was way too hard to tease right these days. She noticed he hadn't answered her question though, as did he it seemed.

"I'm the Arl's guest, for the time being." He nodded to where said Arl was catching up with his liege, though the manner was far too casual for a professional relationship. Years apart, and even Rendon Howe's treachery, seemed unable to break this bond. She smiled at that, happy to add another name to the list of people Aedan could rely on; "I was on my way to the Warden compound in Denerim after the wedding, but...he requested I stay."

Talia cocked a brow, because that wasn't at all unusual. That an Arl could request the services of a Grey Warden wasn't in and of itself unheard of, from what she understood, but Jowan was hardly the ideal Darkspawn killer these days. That an Arl would then still ask him to stay, presumably with all expenses paid for, was the unusual part. And far as she knew, Nathaniel didn't even know Jowan.

"Just like that?"

"There were...exonerating circumstances." The young mage seemed hesitant to explain, merely gesturing at the young Arl; "Honestly, I'm not sure how to even explain it."

"...right, so basically ask Nathaniel. Got it." She sighed and shook her head, bringing the smile back for him; "It's still good to see you, Jowan. Do you know anything about what's going on in Amaranthine?"

"Not really, I've been busying myself here." He frowned, always an amusing thing to see on his young face; "Why? What's going on?"

"There's a fleet gathering." Nathaniel appeared like a troll out of a box, and yet managed to scare absolutely no one. She offered him her curtsies, because even if she was technically both married into the Teyrnir family, as well as by extension the Royal Family, he was the native and born into Fereldan nobility. Also, she kinda wanted to be polite to him, and friendly, considering all the shit he'd been dragged through because of his father's betrayals.

"Arl Howe." She smiled as he returned the greeting, his bow lower than hers. She wondered if he was processing their different positions in society while walking towards them, calculating the amount of inches he'd need to lower himself. It'd be funny if he had, though he'd probably never admit to it; "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, M'lady Cousland." His words were honest and genuine and somehow still made her pause for the moment it took her to remember that, oh right yeah, she was technically that now and would be greeted as such. Nathaniel knew nothing about her own House, after all; "I must admit I did not think you'd come visit without going home to Highever first..."

Talia shrugged, though somehow Nathaniel seemed uneasy. She was about to ask when Aedan walked up, his expression sour and yet bore relief. He was in a bad mood all the same, she could easily tell.

"The Chantry has declared an Exalted March, and already attacked several coastal towns, Highever included." He explained, and Nathaniel mere nodded, betraying the subject of the conversation the two had shared while she'd been re-crippling Jowan. Talia felt her guts knot up, knowing far too many people she cared about were in Highever right now. She managed to calm herself, before her breathing got out of hand, with the mantra that if something was really fucked up, Aedan wouldn't be this calm. He wouldn't be this calm if anyone had died.

"Maybe we should discuss this inside." Nathaniel said, gesturing for the main doors; "I'll have the serfs set for two more, and we can catch up on what's happened."

"Thank you, Nathaniel." Her husband nodded, finally turning his attention to Jowan; "Good to see you again, Jowan. Didn't think you'd stick around a Howe, of all people."

"This one is..." Jowan paused when Nathaniel shot them both a look; "...reasonably better of a man than the last one. Also he hasn't asked me to poison anyone yet."

"I wasn't going to." The young Howe looked at his liege with an expression of forced outrage; "Seriously, of all the things...Also I asked him to stay."

"You're both pretty damn tight-lipped as to why, though." Talia pointed out, already pushing Jowan's chair before her, without him having asked. She was pretty sure he was perfectly able to get around without help too, but it'd give her somewhere to put her hands, and keep her from wringing them at the thought of Highever under threat again.

Lunch, as it turned out, was a far more private affair than the great hall would otherwise have indicated.

A three long tables filled up the hall, placed in such a way as to form a horseshoe, with the high table at the opposite end from the doors. Only three seats had obviously been prepared in advance, though to their credit, servants were already setting plates and cups for two more. Talia eyed the table as they entered, curiosity getting the better of her. Nathaniel and Jowan were probably almost definitely two of the prepared diners, but who was the third? A visiting noble or a member of the Chantry clergy?

Meats, breads, poultry, ales and greens soon enough filled the table, and Jowan forced himself from his wheeled chair to instead take a cautious seat to the right of the center chair, leaving one between himself and what was obviously Nathaniel's, as well as a set plate to his own right. Curiously, this was the only chair completely covered in cushions, and even had stuffed linens sewn onto it, as if its user was as fragile as glass.

She noticed Nathaniel nodding to a servant, though thought little more of it until said servant, as well another, returned to the room with what could only be the final diner, and suddenly it actually made a lot of sense why the chair was so ridiculously overpadded. The two servants, carefully as if they bore a newborn child, carried an elvish woman between them, her arms and legs swaddled in cloth. Dark veins, almost like the ones born from the Taint, crept up the woman's neck, ending just below her chin. Mattered, blonde hair fell around the sharp ears, framing a face that might have once been strong, defiant and proud, yet now was tired, weak and seemed most of all resigned to her situation.

The tattoos gave Talia pause, however. She'd been around Merrill enough to know what they were, though she couldn't recall the name. Dalish clans tattooed its members upon adulthood, or something, and this was damn well just that kind of tattoo. Which, in turn, begged the question, why Nathaniel Howe was hosting a Dalish elf in his keep.

She noticed Aedan seemed equally perturbed, meaning at least it wasn't some Fereldan custom she'd not yet been told of.

"Aedan, Talia, this is...Velanna, a guest of Vigil's Keep."

Nathaniel must have picked up on their reactions, or he simply knew well enough himself that hosting Dalish in the keep - with a noticeable lack of Dalish clans in Ferelden at the moment - was not exactly par for the course of nobility. The elf in question, Velanna, seemed like the mere introduction on her behalf was an annoyance, and a gesture she could have done without. A frown marred her face, though Talia realized it did not reach her eyes, a pair of dark, brooding spheres that seemed locked on her in particular.

"I was not aware you hosted Dalish women, Nathaniel." Aedan raised a brow at his old friend, even as the remark earned him a scowl from the elf. Talia cringed a little, because really, even if she herself didn't really know what to say, she could probably have come up with something better.

"You would if you'd returned to Highever, Liege." Nathaniel responded casually, before shaking his head as Velanna was placed on the cushioned chair; "...Forgive me, it is hard to know whether to handle introductions or the news from Highever first."

"Nuvenin...who are these people?" Velanna broke off whatever Aedan had just opened his mouth to say, and instead refocused all attention on herself, a fact she seemed to realize with some dismay. The frown on her face was, Talia had to admit, actually a little bit cute. It wasn't cute in the way Brelyna was, of course, but rather, like a petulant child suddenly caught in something they weren't supposed to, but was more annoyed at being caught than repentant of what they'd done.

She was definitely not comfortable with surprises, that much was obvious.

"Aedan Cousland and his wife Talia, Velanna." Nathaniel's voice changed completely as he addressed the elf, from stoic and somber to something approaching parental, or maybe brotherly? It was weird, and hard to figure out. Or maybe, Talia reasoned, he was just attracted to her. Honestly she wouldn't be surprised in the least if the last option was the right one; "My family is subject to Aedan's, and we've been friends since childhood."

For a long moment, it seemed like Velanna didn't quite understand that. Her frown deepened, and she looked at Talia again, as if to ascertain something in question. The woman's gaze was honestly a little intimidating, and Talia wondered if it would go away if she hid behind her cup.

"Jowan speaks of you." She finally said, and suddenly all eyes were on the young mage, looking like he wished his dinner chair had wheels to carry him away faster than he could walk. The elf's tone was softer now than before, though still reserved; "You are both his kin by oath."

Velanna, as it turned out, was not exactly the best on Nirn to start conversations, nor at holding them. Several seconds went by without another word spoken, before Aedan cleared his throat.

"You said Highever had been attacked?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, facing the Arl; "When? How?"

"...I'm not sure if you've heard before today, but Divine Beatrix has declared an Exalted March upon Ferelden. We are excommunicated, Aedan. Ferelden now stands outside the protection of the Chantry, as per the decree of the Divine." Nathaniel shook his head, looking older than he was; "We're not sure when exactly the decision was made, but it'd seem to coincide with the attempt at that Imperial general's life in Denerim."

"What?" Talia nearly stood from her chair, though managed to keep her physical repulsion of the news to a mere scrape of wood against the stone floor; "When?"

"...a month past, roughly." Nathaniel shrugged; "His office blew up when he was about to enter, from what I heard. It coincided with the Divine's visit to Denerim's cathedral to pray for the souls lost during the Blight. There wasn't really a declaration of a March as much as it just...came. One day news just spread that Portsmouth had been razed by a fleet flying the Sunburst banner, and then it was just one town after the other. Every hamlet, village, town and port on the coast from Jader to Highever has been set ablaze, at times even looted and pillaged. I was still in talks with the city garrison commander of Amaranthine when news came in about Highever."

"Yes?" Aedan pressed

"It's hard to tell what's rumors and what's fact, but at least what's certain is that the Chantry fleet attacked Highever, and one of the Imperial officers commanded the defense with all the reserves supposed to have reinforced Gherlen's Pass. Then something happened that simply routed, or outright destroyed the ships." The young Arl frowned; "This is where it's a toss-up between rumors and fact. Some people say a mouth or a tongue or...something, appeared and called down a storm on the Chantry's ships..."

"But Highever was held." Talia said, releasing air she hadn't realized she'd held; "So something did destroy the ships."

"...yes, something or someone did destroy the ships, and far as I can tell there's been no news of the Teyrna being harmed in the attack." Nathaniel nodded; "But I'm not yet so gullible that I'd accept the stories of old women shouting at the skies to make them pour forth a storm. It's as likely as the Maker himself intervening."

"At least it's over, then." Aedan grumbled, thoroughly miffed with the mere fact that his home had once again come under threat; "...but why would the Chantry do this? We've done nothing to warrant this kind of attack!"

"It's because of the Empire's presence, isn't it?" Talia sighed, because damn it all she'd kinda seen this coming months ago, when the simple idea of the Empire coming to Thedas was enough to make her ponder these things. The Empire's general acceptance of other religions did not mean it would roll over and abandon its own in the face of the monotheistic Chantry, which was generally not particularly tolerant of other religions.

"That does seem to be the general reasoning of the people, yes." Nathaniel nodded, idly casting a glace to the elf at the table. Velanna seemed perfectly content with saying nothing, and either simply listened to their conversation or completely ignored them all. For some reason she wasn't actually feeding herself, but rather allowed Jowan to do so, which wasn't at all a strange sight; "I don't yet know a lot of your people, I'm afraid, but what I've seen so far would not usually warrant this degree of hostility."

"You are of the people from across the seas?" Velanna spoke up suddenly, turning Talia's attention to her. Again, those sharp, dark orbs bore into hers, as if she was herself unaware of just how intense a gaze it was; "I thought you would not look so alike the sh- the humans of these lands, yet I can barely tell there is a difference at all. I sense no shred of Fade around you, even as Jowan claimed you a mage?"

"Ah..." Right, because how exactly was she even supposed to start answering that, and where to even start? "Jowan's right, I am a mage, but mages from across the sea don't need the Fade to cast spells...I'm a bit curious, but how come you're here? Far's I know the Dalish clans go north this time of year?"

Velanna frowned at that, her eyes suddenly no longer on Talia but on the table before her, shoulders hunched. Jowan stopped trying to feed her, instead gaining something damn near his old "kicked puppy" expression, only now it seemed he was trying to figure out whether it was his own or Velanna's.

"It's...not a pleasant story, Talia." He sighed, when it became clear the elf wasn't willing to speak of it; "Velanna's clan was wiped out by Darkspawn a few months back. Far as we're aware, she's the sole survivor."

"...oh fuck me." Right, because she just had to ask, didn't she? Velanna had grown completely still, as had Nathaniel and Aedan in their seats, the latter now watching the elf with wide eyes, before turning to his friend with a look of similar disbelief; "...when?"

"Little more than a month ago, actually." Nathaniel explained, drawing her eyes; "Two Templars from Kinloch brought her in, though to Jowan's credit she was in a considerably worse state than now."

"...I thought the Imperial soldiers patrolled for Darkspawn?" Aedan said. Velanna winced at the question, though she remained silent. Talia's desire to know why was overruled by the simple fact that, apparently, Ferelden actually fucking needed them again.

"...They did, until this whole mess with Orlais started." The Arl sighed; "Now there's no soldiers on the roads or in the countryside, and the Darkspawn are suddenly reappearing, acting as if guided. They hit farmhouses and hamlets, torching and killing before disappearing as quickly as they came. I don't have enough house troops to protect everywhere, and the men I send to reported attacks arrive to find only corpses and smoking ruins."

"Fuuuuck..." Talia lowered her face into her hands, drawing out the curse. Damn it all, what a way to fuck with her mood.

"I suppose Denerim has no reinforcements to send." Her husband asked, though the tone of his voice made it clear he knew the answer to that already; "Damn it all..."

"The situation is quite a mess..." Nathaniel could only agree with the sentiment, it seemed; "But, you did not know of this. Tell me friends, why have you come to Amaranthine?"

Aedan looked at her now, and she could tell he was trying to convey with eyes alone that she knew damn well that this was her little trip to explain. While it was to his credit that he'd not really complained too much about basically being in the dark when it came to why they were going to Amaranthine, she didn't really know either. Which meant it was still a damned dirty move on his part to simply throw her at Nathaniel and step back like this.

Oh, she'd get him for it later, alright.

"...it's a little complicated." She started, stopping herself before going on, because really, what could she actually say beyond 'this old woman told us to go to Amaranthine because reasons'? She needed something better, but came up damnably blank; "...but, we're basically just taking a detour to check up on the state of things, considering Amaranthine is subject to Highever."

She could tell Aedan wanted to slap himself in the face, but somehow resisted the urge. Jowan seemed mostly just amused, definitely capable of telling her bullshit apart, but remained quiet.

"Sensible..." Nathaniel nodded, scratching at his chin; "Beyond the Darkspawn raids, things have been quiet. There'll probably be more resources to deal with that problem now that the approaching fleets are dealt with."

"Nothing unusual, then?" she prodded, feeling emboldened by the fact that she'd actually managed to bullshit Nathaniel. In hindsight maybe she should feel a bit more ashamed at that, actually; "We'd heard people on the roads speak of a grey-skinned woman in Amaranthine. We might know her, but it could just as well be rumors."

The Arl hummed, a finger curled before his lips, as he seemed to ponder her words.

"Well, rumors they are not." He mused; "I've met with Serah Maryon, if she is of whom you speak. She's been a great help in administering aid to the refugees from Denerim, as well as in the general hospices of the city."

So it was Brelyna, alright, and at least it didn't sound like she'd started killing anyone. Talia wasn't sure which was the greater relief, and felt only a little shame at that realization.

"That's a relief." Aedan seemed to have shared her thoughts on the matter.

"Say," Nathaniel said; "Amaranthine's a fair ways off, and there'll be few inns on the road better than what I could offer. Will you not stay the night? I'd be happier to see you off to a fresh day, rather than a setting sun."


"What now, then Kiir?"

Hakkon's voice was something that had at this point become a constant in her life. Her very existence used the old dragon as an anchor, a tether for her sanity to hold on to and grasp for dear life. He was, in a way, a very sentimental thing indeed.

Alma wasn't exactly given to a lot of that, of sentimentality.

In her life, sentimentality usually only served to set you up for a lot of grief down the line, because one way or another she'd always have to part with the ones she cared for. And there was always death involved too, which never really served to make the departures that much more joyful.

She'd lost more people than any one person ever really should, and she knew it'd taken its toll on her state of being, ergo the fact that she'd probably come down with a few kinds of stress way, way back. She'd never really had the time to stop and check when exactly on that long line on disasters, grief and horrors she'd dropped the last vestiges of actual humanity.

She'd had a different name once too, though only the mask yet remembered, and bothered to remind her. Hakkon, too, knew of course, but never strayed from his 'Kiir', which really did have a way of becoming pretty endearing over the years. She'd had kin of her own once, too. There were friends, loved ones, even a child of her own body.

All of that was gone, now. Lost to the darkness of time. Was this what Flemeth felt like, she wondered, when the old crone spent her days in that damned swamp of hers, playing at house with a long line of daughters that never saw their twentieth nameday?

Still, even a monster like Flemeth could probably admire the sunset, from time to time. Seated on one of the countess mountainsides of Highever's countryside, Alma had as ideal a view of the sunset as one could have asked the gods themselves for. The warm air blew softly across her face, playing with the thin, grey strands that had once held such a beautifully, fiery red color that men had near snapped their necks to gaze upon it.

Soon, it would all end anyway. Life would end as it was known, and fire would rain from the skies in an unending torrent. The dead would walk again and all bonds would break. Every Circle would run awash with the blood of the innocents, and every man, woman or child cursed with magic within the realm of Thedas would become hunted prey for zealots and fanatics.

No matter how much she worked, no matter what she did, who she killed, who she saved, some things never changed. The sun would always rise, the dead would always walk, the innocents would always pay for crimes not their own.

The sunset was, just like the world, objectively speaking, beautiful.

But she felt nothing, at seeing it.

It was just another go at the old bitch fate, just another try and get things right.

It was just another sunset.

Like the countless, tens and thousands of others.

"It's time to keep moving..." she sighed, standing from the grassy cliffside. Down below, deep below, she could see the lights of villages and hamlets, like torch bugs crawling in the dirt; "...there's about to be a bonfire in Amaranthine."

But even if nothing ever seemed to change, no matter what the fuck she did...

...she was still going to keep trying, because not trying would be even worse than failing.

Okay, maybe she was a little sentimental.