Varel bent over the sheet of parchment, carefully inking in the outline of another building. One that had survived the Battle of Denerim, through the buildings around it had burned; they were shown on the map with the scribbled texture that meant uncleared rubble. He looked up from his work, watching Oswyn for a moment.
Oswyn was standing in a cleared area off to one side from where Varel was perched on a pile of salvaged beams, leaning on his cane and talking intently to the supervisor of the work crew that was at work on clearing the rubble. He had the intent expression and faint frown that meant he wasn't entirely happy with what he was hearing. As Oswyn watched, he nodded, and asked another question, turning to wave his free hand at the desolate waste of ruined buildings that surrounded them. The supervisor nodded, and turned to shout and wave at another man, who ran over to join them, a roll of tatter-edged drawings tucked under his arm. All three men were soon pouring over the drawings, the third man holding them up while Oswyn and the supervisor looked over his shoulder, the supervisor alternating between pointing things out on them and gesturing at various points of the compass.
Doubtless they were talking about things like sewers and drainage again, or perhaps rights of way and firewalls, Varel guessed, before he turned back to his own careful map-making. Drainage had turned out to be a particularly important topic at many of the work sites they'd visited. Built at the mouth of a river as it was, much of Denerim overlay long-buried streams and springs, and in many places you didn't have to dig far to hit water. He hadn't known that himself, not until early on in his accompanying Oswyn around the city, when one of the masons Oswyn had been questioning had produced a much-thumbed map, showing the paths of ancient streams underneath the city, and where swampy areas had been. Almost all were long-since covered over and forgotten, showing up only as seasonal seepage in cellars dug too near their course, or occasionally as flooding.
Oswyn had been very excited about that map, and had Varel copy it on the spot; he often poured over it, muttering to himself and comparing it to the assortment of smaller maps he had – mostly made or copied by Varel – that showed what work was still being done or waiting to be done in which parts of the city.
He smiled as he bent his head back to his work. Oswyn seemed to have a knack for getting people talking. There was no reason for so many assorted workmen, craftspeople, work site supervisors and so forth to talk with him and discuss their work, but somehow he almost always managed to draw them into conversation and learn whatever he wanted to know about their current task. Varel had accompanied him all over the city now, from areas still awaiting rubble clearance in the worst slums – the worst outside of the alienage, that is – to sites in all stages of construction. Oswyn had even clambered around some of the construction sites, as well as he could given his physical problems. They'd walked a section of sewer tunnel that was under construction, in company with a mason who'd explained the reason for its high-arched cross-section. They'd also watched men – and elves – digging foundations, laying bricks, raising walls, nailing down floors, and putting down roofing; good fireproof tile or slate, by Anora's orders, and not the thatch or wood shakes that had previously prevailed. More expensive than either, and requiring different skills to lay, as well as a sturdier structure to bear the weight of it.
The construction of the new buildings was very different than what had gone before; more brick and stone was being used in construction, and while things like timber and wattle-and-daub were still allowed in the poorest areas, now there were laws mandating that they be faced over with inflammable materials such as clay stucco, or a facing of brick or tile, with wide laneways between blocks of such buildings to prevent the spread of flames. Higher stories on buildings could no longer be built out over such laneways; the gap was to be maintained. In addition there were high walls of brick or stone being built here and there to divide the city into wards, in the hope that even if a fire managed to gain hold, it would be unable to escape any single ward. That was what had saved the alienage from the fires that had destroyed so much else of the city; the high walls surrounding it.
It sounded like a sensible plan, and one that should have been easy to implement. But Oswyn and Varel had already seen or heard about any number of problems with the actual implementation of it, from what to do about buildings that still stood that were built in the older fashion, to how to compensate landowners who would lose some or all of their property to the wider road allowances and ward walls, and how to deal with buildings or lots where the landowners were unknown, perhaps dead. Then there was the perennial problem of noble landlords using their influence or wealth to have their own wants given priority over the needs of others, or the demands of the law. And countless other yet-to-be-heard difficulties as well.
Having finished his map, Varel checked the angle of the sun, and frowned. He carefully put away the still-damp map, and his drawing and painting supplies and rose to his feet, dusting off the back of his outfit, then picked up his satchel and hurried over to where Oswyn was standing watching a surveyor marking out streets and lots within a recently-cleared area of wasteland, his pair of guards standing nearby looking bored.
"Ser, we need to leave soon if you're to be at the palace on time," he told Oswyn.
Oswyn nodded, and straightened up. "I've seen enough here today, we might as well head home now," he said agreeably, and led the way over to where they'd left their carriage waiting. Oswyn could walk and stand with much more ease and less pain now than he'd been able to before the healer had worked on his legs, but he was not up to travelling all over the city on foot, nor ever likely to be; he didn't like using a carriage, but he had little choice in the matter.
They arrived back at the townhouse within the hour, where Oswyn took a quick bath with Varel's assistance before changing into finer clothing. They walked over to the palace, Oswyn preferring going on foot when the distance wasn't too great.
They weren't there to visit Anora in her private suite today; instead they headed to an ornate sitting room on the first floor that was part of the official function rooms, used mainly for state occasions. The group gathered there was small, and mostly female; a selection of noblewomen, mostly Banns and a trio of Arlessas, including the Warden-Commander in a splendid gown of deep blue velvet trimmed with silver-grey satin ribbons. The few noblemen there – apart from Oswyn himself – were mostly older men, including both Arl Wulff, accompanying his new bride, and Arl Teagan, still dressed in mourning colours for his brother. The one thing those gathered all had in common was that they were all supporters of the Queen; the royalist faction.
Anora rose from where she was seated in quiet conversation with Arl Wulff's wife – a handsome young woman with a tanned and freckled complexion, and long brown hair that hung loose in heavy ripples down her back – and walked over to greet Oswyn, offering him her hand. She had excused him from all kneeling – forbidden it, actually – apart from under the most formal of circumstances, and so he merely bowed deeply over it.
"Come and sit with me, Ser Oswyn," she said in a clear, carrying voice, and led the way back to the couch where she'd been sitting. Arl Wulff had already reclaimed his wife, the two moving to sit together elsewhere in the room.
Varel stood to one side of the door, among a cluster of other waiting servants, there at hand in case their principles wished their services, and to take mental note of events for later transcribing. He was mildly startled to recognize another servant standing nearby as Zevran, dressed for the occasion in royal livery with his hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, somehow managing to blend in rather than stand out. His tattoo was gone, doubtless hidden under a careful application of makeup.
Once the pair were seated, Queen Anora cleared her throat. A small sound, but it brought an instant silence to the room, everyone else breaking off their conversation to turn toward her and listen.
"I thank you all for joining me here today," she said, voice warmly welcoming. "Several of you are already aware of the news I am about to share, while others of you are only aware that I intend a special announcement at tomorrow's meeting. I ask that you maintain this news in secret until tomorrow; I announce it to you few now so that you are all equally aware of my intentions rather than being surprised tomorrow. Also so that if you have any concerns you may question me in regards to them here, now, in relative privacy, rather than seeking to have them addressed tomorrow."
She turned and looked to Oswyn, then smiled and reached out to place her hand over his. "Ser Oswyn of Dragon's Peak has agreed to marry me, to accept the title of Prince-Consort, and father children to continue my line."
There was a hush, then a murmur of voices. Several people – mostly those who had already known of Anora's plans – smiled warmly. Oswyn himself looked terribly self-conscious for a moment, then lifted his chin slightly, face settling in a calm mask.
"That's not all of it!" a voice called out from a far corner of the room, accompanied by the crack of a cane end being stamped against the floor. "Say all of it, girl!"
Anora barely concealed a smile. "Bann Tilda is correct; there is more. In marrying me, Ser Oswyn gives up his place as his father's heir; as Prince-Consort he will also have no share in my power as Queen. I wish to name him Arl of Denerim, to give him useful occupation during his life. The Arling will revert to the Crown when he passes, at which time its disposition may be reopened. As all of you are aware, there are currently several families with roughly equivalent claims on it; this gives us additional years in which to sort out their claims, and determine who the Arling of Denerim should rightfully pass to afterwards. I have spoken to representatives of all the families with such claims, and they have all agreed to this deferment."
Mostly in exchange for some immediate advantage, Varel knew, having sat in – or, more accurately, stood silently by, as he was now – on a number of such negotiations. Bann Tilda herself was one such; the tiny woman, now elderly and frail, had become Bann of Killifrost – a small bannorn tucked away in the Southron Hills – when her husband had been slain over a dispute with a group of Orlesian occupiers, some three or four years before Queen Moira's assassination. Already mother of three children beneath five years in age, and greatly pregnant with what turned out to be twin girls, she'd retreated with her people into the surrounding forests, and from there waged a campaign to drive out the occupiers and reclaim her husband's lands, which she'd eventually succeeded in doing. She'd fought in battle herself, after the birth of her youngest daughters, and had reputedly been an able horsewoman, a fine shot with a bow, and reasonably well-skilled with a sword.
After the occupation ended her five children had over time married both widely and well, making her a powerful matriarch despite the relative insignificance of her own lands. She had three different children who could, thanks to their marriages, lay some claim to the Arling of Denerim for her grandchildren. She'd insisted on meeting and pretty thoroughly interrogating Oswyn before agreeing to persuade her children to defer their claims; and at that she'd only acquiesced when she learned that Oswyn's father had started formally courting the daughter of one of the three. Some might suspect that Bann Sighard's choice had been purely politically motivated, but it had actually been completely coincidental; the woman in question met all the requirements he was looking for in a second bride, and had proven compatible enough in chance conversations for him to make request to her parents to formally court her. A courting that was going well; Bann Sighard was absent from today's meeting as he was currently in final negotiations with the girl's parents, drawing up the betrothal agreement so that their engagement could be announced at tomorrow's meeting for formal Crown approval.
As a result of Anora's private negotiations before making her announcement to even this select a group of people, there was no opposition to her choice, and in fact most of the people there gathered clearly approved of the proposal. Apart from a few people to whom it was news, and who wished it made clear just what provisions were planned for things like Queen Anora's death before any of her children reached majority, or worse, without children at all, there was very little discussion necessary before Anora was smilingly able to announce that the occasion was moving from official business to purely a social gathering.
Servants entered, carrying trays of finger-foods and drinks, and circulated among the guests, many of whom also rose and milled around, talking in groups about every subject under the sun, from the goings-on at this year's Fall Assizes to gossip about those absent, politics both within and without Ferelden, and current fashions. Anora and Oswyn remained seated where they were; a number of people went up to offer their congratulations to the pair. Oswyn smiled a lot, and exchanged compliments and flattery with the guests. Varel kept a close watch on him, knowing that Oswyn still found such formal social situations tiring. Though they were something he was going to have to tolerate; as Prince-Consort, and Arl of Denerim, he was going to have an increasing amount of social obligations.
He, meanwhile, had to learn to tolerate standing around doing nothing for long periods of time. Zevran seemed surprisingly adept at it; the assassin blended in perfectly with the other waiting servants, nothing about him indicating that this wasn't his usual role. Though Varel supposed that made sense; from things the other elf had let drop in passing in their conversations, he knew that one way the assassin had often penetrated the homes of targets, in order to eventually perforate or poison the target themself, was as a servant. Zevran must have considerable past experience at filling the role he was currently only imitating.
It was, for Varel, a very long and rather boring afternoon, made interesting only by some of the choicer bits of gossip he happened to overhear. He was relieved when the event finally ended, Queen Anora saying a short thank you and biding farewell to her guests. The room emptied quickly, and soon the only people left beside he and Zevran were the Queen, Oswyn, and Katherine Cousland.
"Well, I'm glad that's over with," Katy said, and smiled at the other two. "As I'm sure are both of you."
"Yes," Anora agreed. "Now we've just got tomorrow to get through, and then we should be past the worst of the hurdles bar the actual wedding itself. But come, let's go upstairs; it should be time for dinner soon, and I'm famished," she said, walking back over to Oswyn and linking her arm with his.
"After all that delicious finger-food?" Katy asked as she rose, and shook out her skirts.
"I was too nervous to eat a bite," Anora confessed. She stopped suddenly as she and Oswyn approached the door, and smiled at Zevran. "I thought that was you lurking over here. You're to come upstairs and join us for dinner, Zevran. Varel, you come along too," she said, and then continued out of the room. Varel was startled by the invitation, but fell in behind Katy Cousland. Zevran, maintaining his disguise, walked beside Varel rather than with her, both of them walking in silence while the other three chattered away during the walk upstairs, of necessity slowed by Oswyn's pace.