The Keening Blade
Chapter 35: Wardens Abroad
Thinking of Maude at sea was far worse than thinking of her in Gwaren. He had ordered Kain and Darrow to go with her, and Valentine had volunteered to travel with them too. The lad was a Marcher himself, after all. He knew the Free Marches well, and had spent time in Kirkwall. Before going herself, Maude had sensibly sent a letter to Viscount Dumar, Kirkwall's ruler, informing him of her upcoming visit.
She had sent the letter, in fact, as soon as she arrived in Amaranthine, Loghain discovered. It was irritating—even a little hurtful— that she had made her decision to cross the Waking Sea without consulting him. Useless to tax her with it, since she would stare at him, sweetly and blankly, and then point out that she knew what was going to happen, and that he would agree that it was necessary, and needless delay was illogical...
After the wrench of seeing her off, he left a pair of guards in Amaranthine, comfortably ensconced at the Crown and Lion, to serve as couriers if a letter should arrive from Amaranthine. Maker knew how long it would take her to conduct her business in Kirkwall, and she had promised to write him as soon as she safely set foot on dry land again.
Anxious days passed: days of peering north toward the sea, trying to divine the weather, days he spent sick with dread at the prospect of storms. Maude's luck was holding, it seemed, for there was not even a rainshower. By the time the couriers arrived with parchment sealed with the Gwaren wyvern, he was so angry with her for going away that it took him a moment to compose himself, and actually accept the letter.
But he did; and cracked the seal instead of shredding the parchment. In a moment he was devouring Maude's words.
10 Kingsway, Dragon 9:32
Dearest Loghain—
I had a most delightful voyage across the Waking Sea! Captain Winters let me take the wheel very often. Such fun! I am learning all I can of the art of navigation by the stars and lodestones. If one is going to own a ship, one should know everything about it. The sailors are so competent, and can make sail at a single word from their captain. Poor Valentine is not a very good sailor, I fear, and spent a great deal of time hanging over the rail. I am never seasick. Nor are Kain and Darrow, who take it all in stride.
Such beautiful things I have seen! I wish you were here to share them! There have been pods—the correct word is pods— of Silverback dolphins, who follow the ship and pop up to squeak at us so charmingly. Scout barked back at them at length, and the dolphins seemed amused by him. They grin, Loghain! Actually grin—much like dogs. I believe they are at least as intelligent. The sailors tells tales of how they have been known to rescue shipwrecked sailors. We saw some sharks, too, but the dolphins fought them off in a quick, savage battle. I swear that the dolphins were coordinating their offense, squealing at each other as they surrounded and slaughtered the sharks! I have tried talking to the dolphins, but with little success. They smile nicely at me, however.
We also came upon a school of rainbow flyers, who leaped together out of the sea, and hummed past, their fins glittering. At some distance, we saw a huge whale breach out of the water, and smack the sea with his flukes. Such a huge spray of water! I asked about ambergris, and Winters said it was sometimes cast up on the Wounded Coast near Kirkwall, but that many people did not know what it was. It is pretty disgusting in its raw form.
We did not see a sea dragon, which the captain told me would be a Bad Thing, anyway. They are rare in the Waking Sea, of course, preferring the warm waters of the Amaranthine Ocean up around Rivain. The captain has seen them, and could tell me about them. They sound formidable.
Anyway, I reached Kirkwall with no trouble from dragons or pirates. I'm awfully glad I wrote to Viscount Dumar before coming, for Fereldens are treated like absolute dirt in this country. I had no sooner got off the boat, when I heard references to "Dog Lords," which is the charming term used for Fereldans in the Free Marches. Naturally, I presumed they were speaking of Ranger, who is indeed a lord amongst the pitiful curs here. He doesn't mind the title, so I continue to act as if I believe it applies to him. Actually, I think "Ranger, Dog Lord of Ferelden" is very suitable and deserved, after all his exploits. We should propose it at the next Landsmeet. I think Topaz would like being made a Lady.
I found out that a ship was departing for Amaranthine the following day, and arranged to send my letter to you by it. Captain Winters has agreed to remained docked in Amaranthine until I am ready to leave. It is expensive, but with this and that, I think it wise to have a means of departure handy.
The Chantry (meaning loud-mouthed Templars) rules the roost here in Kirkwall, and is constantly on the lookout for scary, sinister apostates. That means, of course, that Kirkwall is packed with them, since the Templars are their usual incompetent selves. Then, too, there is something off about Kirkwall: I've read that there's a disproportionate number of mages who go wrong here. Perhaps it's the extraordinary level of Templar oppression: perhaps it's something in the water. I shall have mine boiled very carefully.
The Hightown is quite beautiful, once the initial impression at the harbor wears off a little. The seaway into Kirkwall really is as grim and forbidding as everyone says. Kirkwall deserves its old name of The City of Chains. Those two colossi the locals call The Twins—the statues depicting anguished slaves at the harbor entrance— are enormous and dreadful. I suspect the Marchers here are secretly proud of their past as the center of the Tevinter slave trade, or they would have long since destroyed those horrible statues. I would, anyway.
Thinking about it a little more...this city is old: very, very old. Considering what the Tevinters did here when the city was called Emerius, I would not be surprised for a mage to tell me that the Veil is dangerously thin throughout the city. And of course in the days of the Tevinters, any one from what is now Ferelden would be brought in on a slave ship.
Had I not been a distinguished visitor with a title or two, I myself would have been relegated to the Gallows—the horrible barracks where slaves were locked up on their arrival, back in the bad old days. Now refugee Fereldans are kept there if no one will agree to take them in. The Gallows is also where the Kirkwall Circle of Magi is imprisoned.
Tell Morrigan that I met someone we know! When we were saving the Circle from itself, along the way we saved a pretty and touchingly earnest Templar by the name of Cullen. Morrigan will remember him as the poor sod who was being kept in a spherical ward and driven mad by visions—I suspect of nubile young mages. Anyway, he's here and second-in-command of the Templars and comparatively sane now. He greeted me on my arrival and was very polite to me. Of course, so he should be!
Most people have been, other than those who make the Dog Lord remarks, which trouble me not at all. Of course, the glamorous armor and the gold don't hurt. I only had to give my name to obtain an audience with the Viscount. He knows my family, after all, and is no doubt hoping I'll take home some of our countrymen. He is a thin, anxious, harried, elderly man, and seems somewhat out of his depth.
He seemed to like me well enough, and invited me to dinner. I broke down and wore my black and grey velvet, which was much admired. His son Saemus chatted on and on at table, mostly about the Qunari. He is a nice but naïve boy, and is entranced by them, apparently. Fortunately, I could meet him in conversation, with talk about Sten and his winning ways. Now he thinks me a kindred spirit and a wise and wonderful woman. Which I am.
I have seen no gowns here nicer than mine. Nor armor either, for that matter.
More seriously, though, the Qunari are in Kirkwall. Really. I did not understand at first, even at the docks, but an entire regiment of Qunari, commanded by an Arishok, is IN the city. Hence Saemus Dumar's starstruck awe.
They claim to be shipwrecked, and awaiting a relief vessel, but I do not believe it for a minute. They are Up to Something, and I say that as one who has often been Up to Something myself. They have fortified a private compound within the dockyard district. I tried to control my expression at the news that the viscount had permitted a foreign armed force within his walls. Is he mad? Or madly careless?
Well, now that they are here, the viscount has not a large enough guard to dislodge them by force (which would mean killing them all), and the Chantry is only interested in yammering on about mages. Things cannot go on as they are indefinitely. I will bet serious coin that the Qunari stage a coup eventually. Perhaps they are trying out a new strategy in Kirkwall. At any rate, if the Qunari are getting interested in the Waking Sea, then Ferelden had better do something about port defenses, and NOW. Tell Anora about this. I'll sniff about and see what I can discover. Yes, I'll be careful.
If I want to get this letter on the ship to Amaranthine I must close right now. Love to all, and especially to you.
Ever your
Maude
"That's lovely," Anders snarked. "Maude's in a town in the process of being invaded by the Qunari."
That was the first response when Loghain shared the letter at dinner. It was not one calculated to make him feel better about her situation. It did sound like an invasion: not a quick, brutal attack, but a slow and subtle infiltration, lulling the city into complacency, while the invaders dug in, readying themselves to strike. Maude should leave as soon as possible, and that is exactly what he would tell her.
Keenan considered the matter. "The Qunari conquered Kirkwall back in the Storm Age, and occupied it for years. You'd think the Viscount would have dealt with them summarily. They would have been vulnerable right after that shipwreck. That was the time to strike."
Telamon shook his head. "Dumar is a doddering fool. He's a Chantry puppet. The Templars didn't want anyone capable in office, and this is the result."
"And Cullen!" Morrigan sneered. "I remember him! A comely lad, yes, but mad with fear. He wanted us to kill everything in our path. After we put down the uprising, he urged his commander to slay all the surviving members of the Circle, lest they be secret blood mages. 'Tis a wonderment that he can look Maude in the eye after such behavior."
"I remember Cullen, too," Anders said, with wry nostalgia. "He used to stammer and blush when any girl spoke to him. The sort who pretends to be your friend right up until the moment when he cuts off your head. He'd be the sort who'd tell you how bad that made him feel. Of course, you'd feel worse, but you're just a mage and don't feel things like real people."
Loghain was ready to change the subject, not in the mood for Anders' typical rant about the Chantry. Morrigan, however, had more to say.
"I find it interesting that he is in Kirkwall now. Did the Knight-Commander weary of the boy's hysteria and transfer him abroad? Or did he do something untoward that could not be concealed?"
"Knight-Commander Greagoir is unlikely to tell us," said Loghain, rather uneasy himself. It was bad enough that Kirkwall was full of invading Qunari: it was worse that it was also full of lyrium-crazed zealots who held views antipathetic to Maude's own. He hoped she had the sense not to talk about religion to anyone in Kirkwall. He suspected that free-thinking was not encouraged there.
He had letters to write himself, and left the dinner table in a grim mood.
First to Anora—and Alistair—telling them the news from Kirkwall. They might already know it and had not bothered to share it. They might even dismiss it. Nonetheless, it was cause for concern. He would write tonight, and have the letter on its way to Denerim tomorrow. Then he would travel to Amaranthine himself, to discuss the situation with Nathaniel Howe and to send a brief letter to his wife. Four words should be enough:
Dear Maude:
Come home.
"I'd heard that a Qunari ship had been wrecked near Kirkwall," Nathaniel said, rather startled, after civil greetings and a friendly glass of wine, "but not that they were actually in the city itself. That seems...unwise."
"Unwise on the part of the Viscount, certainly. Very convenient for the Qunari if they intend to seize the city," Loghain snorted. "One wonders if the ship was wrecked or merely grounded."
"Kirkwall is on the other side of the Waking Sea," Nathaniel mused.
"—But Amaranthine and Highever—and even Denerim— are closer to the Qunari homelands. Do you know," Loghain asked, "that a Qunari officer traveled with Maude during the Blight? He said his Arishok had sent to him to investigate the Blight. His men were killed, but he survived, and traveled the length and breadth of our country. I daresay he had quite a lot of intelligence to share."
Nathaniel stood still, eyes wide and alarmed. "Perhaps you should talk to Fergus Cousland about this as well."
"I intend to. And Wulffe, too. West Hill sits directly across the sea from Kirkwall. I hope you will mention this to Delilah. Ferelden has to think seriously about its northern defenses." He frowned. "There is certainly no need for a panic, but for sensible, long-range planning..."
Looking briefly miserable, Nathaniel said, "I hate to pile more on her, poor girl. She hates being Arlessa, you know."
"She should marry. A reliable husband would share her burden." Then Loghain grimaced, trying to think of likely candidates. There were a fewer younger sons of Banns, but nothing from the higher nobility. Habren Bryland had snapped up Teagan Guerrin, and the only other eligible unmarried man of comparable nobility was the Arl of South Reach himself, who had enough on his plate without saddling himself with the problems of an arling that did not march with his. Unfortunately, Loghain could not come up with the name of anyone he thought both decent and competent enough to deserve Delilah. If Bryland's younger son were older, he would be the most appropriate match, but the boy was only twelve. Flinching away from that image, he changed the subject, but only slightly.
"And you as well. You were much admired at the spring Landsmeet. There seems little reason for delay..."
Nathaniel brow darkened. "Warden-Commander, I welcome your advice in anything pertaining to the security of Ferelden and Amaranthine, but I would prefer you did not try to play matchmaker."
Loghain stiffened. He was only trying to help the young man..."As you wish."
Young Howe's expression was very peculiar. "The only match ever seriously put forward for me was with the lady to whom you are now married. That was when I was fifteen, and as you may have noticed, the attempt was unsuccessful. I think it best if I arrange something for myself."
Loghain had not known this. He wondered if her parents had told Maude. "It was my understanding that the plan was for Maude to wed your brother Thomas."
"That was later. After I had proved myself so unsatisfactory that my father sent me into exile abroad." The bitterness in the young man's voice lay heavy in the air. "Of course, Maude was a child then, but a clever, amusing one: and anyone with eyes could see she would be a beauty. I liked her, and she seemed to like me well enough, from the way she plagued me. The prospect of one day being Arl of Amaranthine with Maude as my Arlessa was one I was happily becoming used to, for a brief time before my father put an end to it."
Instantly, Loghain could see it all: an entirely different series of events; an alternate history of the past ten years. If Howe had secured Maude for Nathaniel—whom he knew for a fact would have been acceptable to Bryce and Eleanor, unlike Thomas—the Howes would have had a legitimate claim on Highever, should any "unfortunate accident" befall the rest of the family. Nathaniel and Maude would have been Teyrn and Teyrna, no doubt influenced and guided by Rendon. They almost certainly would have had children by now.
But that was only in a world without Blight. However charming a domestic picture such fancies made, it was possible that they might have perished in blood and fire and darkspawn taint. Although Loghain would always detest the man, it was entirely likely that Duncan had saved Ferelden the night he recruited the reluctant Warden Maude.
After a moment he said, "If the Maker bothers to look down at us at all, it seems to me that he revels most in irony."
Five days later, another letter arrived. Not just a letter, actually: for the couriers rode back with a woman behind one of them and a man behind the other. These starved, ragged people bowed before Loghain, while a courier briskly handed him a letter.
"Her Grace gave them a note saying they were to come with the letter, Commander," the courier said.
"The lady promised work for us, my lord," the man explained, very nervously.
"—and coin," whispered the woman.
Loghain scowled at then, and broke the seal. This letter appeared to be quite long.
"Find quarters for them and give them a meal," he told the courier. To the couple he said, "We'll speak later."
He went to the new and shining library and sprawled in a chair to read Maude's latest adventures.
15 Kingsway, Dragon 9:30
Dearest Loghain-
I am sending this by way of Pol Sinton and his wife Ailidh, who are eager to keep our sheep up at Soldier's Peak. I promised them a situation and five gold sovereigns, so do be good enough to keep my word. You said something about sheep anyway, so here is your shepherd. They are from the Hinterlands, and lost everything to darkspawn. Like most Fereldens, they have not exactly made their fortune in Kirkwall, City of Chains, and are eager to return home. I believe there was a child who died, so don't be too hard with them.
Everybody wants my dragon bits, but quite a few don't want to pay for them. Understandable, but not permissible. There was a bit of a scuffle on our ship, but I dealt with it, and made the folk understand that no one steals from me.
Apparently the Viscount likes me, for hearing of the altercation, he was good enough to have his people arrange for a house for me in Hightown, where the cargo has been stored and locked away.
It is a very nice house. Very civilized. I am glad I brought my own servants and guards though. My bed is very large and comfortable and I wish you were in it.
For that matter, Kirkwall appears very civilized on the surface. Valentine has been taking me about the city. It's great fun exploring a new place.
Anyway, a consortium of wealthy dwarves want to buy all the dragon things I have, but they imagine they can wear me down to their price. Very funny. Of course, their price has gone up quite a bit in the last few days, so who knows? I don't want to stay here forever. I drop a word now and then about going on to Cumberland. That seems to make them very nervous. It is very amusing.
All sorts of people have called on me, along with the merchants hot for dragonbone. Lots of Fereldans, of course, wanting to get out of here. I discovered a shop in the Lowtown called Lirene's, which caters to Fereldans. I was practically mobbed there. Kain and Darrow proved their worth. I did not want anyone hurt, but I did want to breathe.
Now, every morning, there is a line outside the house where I am lodged: petitioners wanting my help in returning home or wanting me to put in a good word with the Viscount for them.
Among the latter is an interesting family of decayed gentry named Hawke. The father, now deceased, was Fereldan, and the mother is an Amell, a noble Kirkwall house. From what I can gather, amidst all the puffery and exaggeration, Leandra ran away with a Fereldan commoner. They lived in Lothering, and during the Blight, the widow fled to Kirkwall with her children, expecting to be forgiven by her brother and to live at the family estate. She had believed herself to have been disinherited by her parents when they died.
Not so, however. She is very tiresome, but the children are interesting, and they really have been ill-used. They arrived to find that Leandra's brother had already run through the estate, and was now living in a hovel in Lowtown. Worse still, they discovered that Leandra had never been disinherited, and was the rightful heir.
In order to be admitted into the town proper (and not kept in the horrible Gallows), the son and daughter had to indenture themselves for a year to a mercenary company. The indenture now fulfilled, they are attempting to restore their fallen fortunes.
Widow Hawke has petitioned the Viscount to return title of the family home to her, which brings me to the reason she calls on me nearly every day
The house which the Viscount appointed for my use is in fact the old Amell property, and very nice it is. When I am done with it, I see no reason not to appease the widow. I would prefer that they return to Ferelden, but Widow Hawke is set on remaining in Kirkwall, and the children are very dutiful. I do like Adam and Bethany: they are very well-bred and pleasant company. I think Valentine fancies Adam, but not so much that he would be untrue to you, dearest.
After dinner with the local nobles and visiting the tiresome Hightown taverns, I discovered that for a city that hates Orlesians, the upper class is absolutely stuffed with them. And those who are not Orlesian, act like them anyway. Silly people. They all ask about you, of course, and I let them talk. One pretty fool, the Comtesse de Launcet, thinks you're some sort of ogre. She actually attempted to be sympathetic!
"Do I appear ill-used to you, Comtesse?" I asked her. She became very flustered.
"No—no, of course not, Madame la Régente!"
"Actually," I told her. "My dear Loghain is a gorgeous husband." I smiled at her reassuringly, but she seemed rather unnerved by the whole conversation. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of "Loghain" and "gorgeous" in the same sentence. More fool she. If her idea of a good husband is the doughy, pampered nonentity who is the Comte de Launcet, I can definitely see why you might not be to her taste. The man would drop dead if he had to run a mile in armor!
Having had enough of these twittering bores, I went with the two young Hawkes to a lively tavern in Lowtown, called the Hanged Man. Yes, yes, Ranger, Valentine, Kain, and Darrow went too. The ale was a bit thin compared with a proper Ferelden brew, but the company entertaining. A charming place: you cannot imagine a more wretched hive of scum and villainy!
I met someone else I knew! Morrigan and Oghren will remember a Rivaini sea captain named Isabela, who bested three swordsmen at the Pearl, and was good enough to share some of her dueling tricks with me. She is in Kirkwall, and 'between ships,' as she says, for the Siren's Call was wrecked, and she is doing a bit of smuggling, I surmise. She is as charming as ever, and young Adam Hawke was quite taken with her. We had a pleasant evening, and he introduced me to his friend, Varric Tethras, the younger brother of one of the prosperous dwarven merchant princes in Kirkwall. He is a very amusing type and a great storyteller.
While some of our party played cards, and Adam and Isabela flirted, this Varric told me a very interesting story indeed: the story of why the young Hawkes are cultivating me so assiduously. Not for my undoubted charm or my possible influence with the Viscount, but because I am a Grey Warden! Varric and the Hawkes are hoping to winkle some maps of the Deep Roads out of me, in order to better prepare for a hare-brained expedition to same.
! ! !
Varric is a partner in the venture, and the Hawkes have amassed a small fortune—some fifty sovereigns—to buy their way in from Varric's stingy older brother. Adam desperately wants to provide a decent home for his mother and sister: a worthy goal to be sure, but what a way to attempt it!
Leaving the tavern, we were set upon by one of the local gangs. Mere buffoons, of course, but they nearly put a hole in the skirt of my gown! So that was the end of them, and they seemed rather startled. I discovered more interesting facts, though, in the course of that little affray, and one of them is that Bethany Hawke is a mage.
Of course, now it's all rather clearer. Apparently the father was a mage as well. They're a family of apostates, trying to avoid the Chantry's notice. A house in Hightown would give the girl an extra layer of protection. Adam was slightly wounded, so I helped them home and had a look at the 'hovel' they wish to escape. Widow Hawke was there, of course, but not the uncle, who apparently spends his leisure at an expensive brothel.
Well—their house really isn't so bad. I thought it had possibilities, but I'm a Fereldan barbarian, after all. Rather dirty, but soap and water are not beyond their means. It's large enough that one could do quite a bit with partitions, and the children have amassed plenty of coin for decent furniture, but they are so set on regaining their lost status that they refuse to do anything to improve their current situation.
"You see how we have to live!" the widow wailed. I fear Varric saw something of my opinion in my eye. I have slept in worse places. A lot worse.
So young Bethany (for she is quite young) healed her brother, and I was once again belabored: by the widow for my supposed influence with the Viscount; and by the Hawke chicks for maps of the Deep Roads.
I have them, of course, but I tried to explain that I thought the adventure was much, much more dangerous than they could possibly imagine. I told them a few tales, but alas, that only seem to excite them. I shouldn't have included the looting bits, I suppose.
The delightful Varric called on me the following day, and told me a little more of their affairs. They are not without friends in Kirkwall. The captain of the city guard came with them from Ferelden (which is something I wish to know much, much more about), and Adam did the Viscount's son some service. With a little effort on my part, I believe I can talk the Viscount round quite easily, and then the Hawkes shall have the old home place, plus the small fortune the children have won. Possibly I can wangle some court position for Adam, and then we'll need hear no more about the Deep Roads!
Anyway, enough of them! They are typical of some of the refugees here. After looking about, there also are a number of our countrymen that Ferelden is better off without. As for the others, I wish I could load up the Bold Sunrise with them and send them home tomorrow. It cannot be, however, for the threat of my leaving is one of the chief weapons in driving up my prices. If I seemed stranded, that would be the end of that!
I am to dine tomorrow with the Viscount again, and with some of the notables of the Chantry. Somehow I think that weak ale at the Hanged Man would be infinitely more pleasant.
As for the little teyrn, he is wonderfully well, and being a model of unborn discretion. He is there and sometimes moving a bit—a strange sensation—but I can still wear my gowns, so at the moment my situation is perfectly comfortable.
I hope to conclude my shopkeeping in the next week or so. If the dwarf consortium can come through for me, it looks like the next few generations of Fereldan Wardens will be very flush indeed!
Now that the ship is empty of dragonbone, which takes up so much space, I am considering how to fill it on my return. Even a great sum of gold leaves room for other cargo. I am looking about for your stallion (though horses are not permitted within the walls of Kirkwall). The stables and stockyards are all outside in a great sprawl to the west. My brave companions and I had an outing there. There were some possibilities, but nothing irresistible. Lots of grim-faced guards loomed about. Apparently when the Qunari landed, a large number of them headed for the hills along the Wounded Coast and became Tal-Vashoth (which means no longer devoted to duty and the Qun).
That was interesting. I remember how utterly devoted Sten was to his Qun and his home customs. He made the Qunari sound very united and monolithic, but this event shows that perhaps they are not. Perhaps the Qunari custom of assigning roles from which one can never depart is not universally satisfying. It's all very well if one is an Arishok (commander), or a Sten (lieutenant), but perhaps those on the bottom of the heap do not find their roles particularly agreeable. A chink in the armor, as it were. There are possibilities there.
On the other hand, the Tal-Vashoth also serve the Arishok's purpose, if that purpose is to create fear and uncertainty and weakness. Now people are more afraid than ever to travel the road along the Wounded Coast.
Do be kind to the poor Sintons. They've had a rotten time. And don't forget the five sovereigns!
Love to all, and most to you. I promise to be home as soon as possible.
Ever your
Maude
The letter was rather worrying. Loghain hoped that Maude would not get mixed up in some half-baked scheme to loot the Deep Roads—though it was exactly the sort of thing he could see her getting mixed up in, had she thought of it first. The rest of the letter was less alarming, and he would act on it at once. It was only too true that people who ate as much as Wardens needed a ready supply of meat for the table.
That very afternoon, the Sintons were paid their money, and settled into the servants' quarters, while the masons set about constructing a neat stone stone cottage and sheds for their use. It would take time to build up a proper flock, but the sooner they began, the better. Loghain decided to send Keenan, who had grown up on a farm, to buy what stock he could in Amaranthine and eastern Highever.
Loghain knew that he really should do some recruiting before winter, too. All very well to gather livestock, but what they needed were Wardens. Dragonslayer of Ferelden or not, he knew better than to show his face in the Circle of Magi or the Denerim Alienage. The Wardens could use another mage or two, but Maude was the only Warden who would be tolerated there. Loghain briefly pictured sending Anders—or Morrigan!—and laughed out loud.
If he and Maude did indeed make the suggested journey to Gwaren, he could do some recruiting there, and Maude might also be able to make use of her good relations with Keeper Lanaya. It would not be a bad idea to cement relations with the Dalish by including some of those fine archers among the Ferelden Wardens.
While he himself might not be an effective recruiter among the city elves, there was Telamon...
He liked the idea, thinking it over. The city elves would be impressed by Telamon. He could go to Denerim, and bring Telamon and Sigrun with him. There was a large population of surface dwarves; there were the elves of the Alienage; and of course any number of out-of-work mercenaries. A trip to Denerim would give him a look-in at Rhoswyn—and at Alistair and Anora, too, of course.
First, however, he would go to Amaranthine.
He did, the following day, taking Anders along. Anders knew the apostates in Amaranthine, and might have some luck there.
Bann Nathaniel put them up, and a steady stream of applicants made their way to the Keep's doors. After some pretty stringent testing, Loghain narrowed the warriors down to five: four experienced men, and one rangy, hungry-looking woman. Anders explained the lack of mage applicants as being due to their sensible caution about going anywhere too official. With that, Anders took himself off to the Crown and Lion for a day of drinking, and returned that evening with a scrawny, clever-eyed elf who gave the obvious false name of Sketch.
"He's pissed a lot of people off," Anders confided to Loghain. "He's out of options. He thinks he'll be safer with us than anywhere else, since there is currently no Blight and we have an isolated fortress for him to hide in. Don't worry about skills," he added. "The timid act is just that: he's done his share of fighting, that's clear enough."
"You know him from the Circle?"
"No. I don't know where he got his training, but he's capable enough. Maybe through the Mage Collective, or maybe his parents kept him hidden in an Alienage and an apostate trained him there. He's got some Healing skills, too, by the way."
Loghain was pleased by that. He hoped the elf would survive, and that they would have at least two or three more Wardens after the Joining. The success of the little jaunt to Amaranthine was crowned when he received yet another letter from Maude, just as he was departing for Soldier's Peak.
This letter, too, was accompanied by returning refugees: this time a woman and her two young and pretty daughters. At least Loghain thought they might be pretty. The girls stared at the floor, and never met his eye. They had very pretty figures, certainly.
18 Kingsway, Dragon 9:32
Dearest Loghain—
Do give this good woman, Mistress Bungley, five sovereigns and a place in our dairy as cheesemaker. When you have tasted what she can do, you will not regret it. With her are her two daughters, Loveday and Demelza. They are from West Hill, and have experience milking sheep as well as cows, so put them to work as soon as may be. A ship was taking hides to Amaranthine, and I wanted to write to you and send some more Fereldans home where they belonged!
I miss you very much, and hope you have not put me completely from your mind. I hope the puppies are thriving as they should, and that the craftsmen are not being too vexing.
I am getting very tired of Kirkwall. Things are moving along as to the merchant princing I'm doing, but the negotiations are sometimes tiresome. I hosted a dinner for my potential buyers, It seemed a good idea to show them I was in no way poor or desperate, so I did it in fine style, and invited heaps of important or interesting or beautiful people. I use "and" rather than "or" because, alas, very few people are more than one of those. Viscount Dumar and his son consented to come, and seemed to have a pleasant time.
I invited the amusing Varric Tethras, of course, and his brother. Bartrand is a shifty fellow, even for a dwarven merchant. He is not actually one of the consortium, since he is hoping to make his fortune in the Deep Roads. I would have said something to Varric about not trusting his brother an inch, but it's clear that he doesn't, so I held my peace.
I arranged some entertainment—musicians and players and dancers and quite a good juggler. No puppeteers, though. One of the dancers had light fingers, but she was tactfully relieved of her acquisitions before her departure. I invited the Hawkes, who dressed decently for the occasion, and their friend Aveline Valen, the Captain of the City Guard.
Do you know her? She was a lieutenant in the Hafter Company under Corvin Macrory. After Ostagar, she left the country with the Hawkes. One might say she was guarding them on their way, but "deserting" is, I think, the correct term. She does not entirely approve of you, except for the bit about saving the country. Twice. Since she does not entirely approve of you, I do not entirely approve of her. Anyway, the dinner was a great success.
I realize now that I did not tell you about the earlier dinner with the Chantry powers. Perhaps I was trying to blot it from my memory, but it was interesting and you should know about it.
Do you know that the Knight-Commander, by name Meredith, actually murdered Viscount Threnhold, when he attempted to curb the power of the Chantry, which is indeed out of all control?
Meredith is an utter loon, and if I were in Ferelden and did not have thousands of sovereigns at stake I would off her faster than you can say "Orlesians suck arse."
Loghain, there are many potential threats to Ferelden. You and I have disagreed in the past as to which are the worst. You remain suspicious of Orlais—and I don't deny that they would gobble us up in a minute if they could. However, I do not think that Empress Celene will ever declare war outright. It has not been her way so far. After her departure, however, I think any successor might try to make a name for himself by his martial successes, and he very likely would look east.
The darkspawn are a spent force for now, other than the bands that are still wandering. They grow fewer and fewer each month, and we are making good progress there. Unless we are very unlucky, and they find another of the Old Gods, Ferelden should be comparatively safe from them in our lifetimes.
The Tevinter Empire is too distant, and too busy staving off the qunari to be a serious threat, at least militarily. They are not above the odd slaving raid, but I do not see them attacking if force, though I still wonder about that band of blood mages in Denerim, and if they were some sort of scouting expedition. Their slavers are active in Kirkwall, and do not limit themselves to elves.
I am VERY concerned about the Qunari, Loghain. While they are also distant, they creep closer, and are a naval power. Now they are sitting across the Waking Sea from us, and as I said before, they are no doubt planning to strike at Kirkwall when the opportunity comes their way. They have cannon, Loghain! These cannon can fire at longer range than our mages can cast spells. I feel strongly that somehow we must discover the secret of their "black powder!" No, my dearest, I won't try to infiltrate their compound—not with the little teyrn to consider—because it would be supremely dangerous. However, I think someone should, or I should someday, when the only person at risk is myself. We must fortify Denerim, Highever, and Amaranthine, Loghain. Gwaren I do not see as being a target, since their scouts have not penetrated to it. I think we need to be very careful about the qunari in Ferelden, even those who claim to be "Tal-Vashoth," or no longer following the precepts of the Qun. A good cover for a spy. I can see that tactically Ferelden would be very desirable from the Qunari point of view, and would position them favorably for an eventual invasion of Orlais. Sten was sent to Ferelden for more than one reason. I do realize that, and he as much as said that he expected the Qunari to attack us someday.
The greatest danger to the security of Ferelden at the moment I believe to be the Chantry. That is how the Orlesians are going to strike at us, Loghain. The Chantry is in their capital and in their pocket. And, even if it were not, they are a foreign power, and immeasurably zealous and aggressive.
Which brings me back to the odious and impressive Knight-Commander Meredith. I could take her, Loghain. She really needs killing.
The Chantry loves to stir up fear of mages, but that is their clever ploy. An individual rogue mage is dangerous, of course: an abomination even more so. But they are dangerous on the individual level. There is no army of mages, preparing to swoop down and enslave Thedas. The Chantry is an organized threat, the Templars a genuine army: thousands of zealots in lockstep, whose leaders cynically use the fear of magic to increase their own power and to abrogate the rights of everyone else. Not only to abrogate rights: but to kill, openly and blatantly as they like. With "protectors" like these, who need fear what the mages could do? And they practice slavery openly in all the lands they control: for how else does one describe the Tranquil, those unfortunates bereft of will, emotion, and dignity, whose unpaid labor fills the Chantry's coffers?
We must take a long, hard look at the presence of the Chantry in Ferelden, and see that it grows no stronger. Would Fereldens lie down and take it if the Knight-Commander killed Alistair and Anora in cold blood to strengthen the power of the Chantry? For that is exactly what happened here in Kirkwall. I would prefer to think not, but they claim the authority of the Maker, and that counts for quite a bit with silly people, which, unfortunately, are generally in the majority of any population. I would urge Anora to allow no more new foundations, and no new templar strongholds in her plans for Denerim. That way lies her own destruction.
On the other hand, we must do nothing overt at this time, for that way lies an Exalted March. I agree that at this time it would be a disaster, but I think it a real possibility in the future. A more aggressive Orlesian emperor might very likely find a pretext. There is a real nightmare: the power of Orlais and the Chantry combined. Maker knows the Chantry did enough harm to Ferelden during the Occupation!
If I were a Marcher, Meredith would be toast. As I am not, I shared a very fine dinner with her, and listened to her tiresome bigotry with limpid earnestness and many smiles. She regarded Ranger with amused disdain,, but did not notice it when he pissed on her the hem of her cloak. Ha! That's my good boy!
She uses a greatsword. I could be in, and her head off before she knew it. And Thedas would be the better for it.
Ever your
Maude
Loghain was not sure he agreed with her analysis in its entirety. His own opinion was that rogue mages could be far more dangerous than she allowed; and also that the Chantry as an institution was less dangerous than she feared. Yes, the Chantry hierarchy had collaborated with the Orlesians during the Occupation, but many brave priests and brothers had remained loyal to their country. Loghain himself would never forget the kindness and courage of Mother Ailis, who had shared all the privations and dangers of the little band of rebels led by Loghain's father Gareth. Apparently, Maude had never had such a figure in her life. She spoke fondly of the priest who had served at Highever, but that priest had not made a very great impression on Maude's character. Perhaps she had tried to tell Maude how to think or what to do, and that was always a waste of time with Maude.
Loghain felt rather uneasy at Maude's talk of stealing secrets from the Qunari. At least she seemed to realize that she must not risk the safety of their child. Yes, someday, they must get the secret of this "black powder." He would much prefer that Maude not try it.
He thought about it a little more. Perhaps, rather than trying to obtain the formula, if someone could put their hands on some of the powder itself, it might be possible to divine what was in it. It was certainly an idea, anyway. Anders was a clever fellow with potions and such-like. Perhaps he could make something of it.
Loghain brought himself up sharply. But someone else will have to steal it. Not Maude.
Still, there was much food for thought in the letter. The Qunari were dangerous, and he would discuss them with Anora and Alistair when he was in Denerim. He had received a subtle hint from Alistair's way of talking that the young man had not liked Sten very much. The word "creepy" had been used. That was good. That was useful. That showed that the boy was not so stupid and credulous as Loghain sometimes feared. The boy's instincts in the matter were sound, and should be encouraged.
And there would be Rhoswyn to cuddle. Being a grandfather was a very fine thing, after all.
Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, MsBarrows, Zute, Judy, Shakespira, Cloud1004, Jyggilag, karinfan123, JackOfBladesX, Psyche Sinclair, mutive, Guile, mille libri, Eva Galana, Lehni, , Tyanilth, and Juliafied.
Next week, a chapter of Victory at Ostagar, I promise. The past few days have been difficult, with a very sad loss. I decided to post something that required less work.
To Silent Storm: I was not able to rely to your lengthy and intriguing review, because you have disabled the private messaging feature. You raised some very interesting issues, especially in regard to the Wardens' child. The effects will not be particularly visible, but they will certainly be there.