A/N: My thanks to my beta and friend, Lisa! You are goddess sent!
Thank you to all those who lurk, read and review, I appreciate it more than I can say.
The Myth of Family
Morning was still an unfulfilled promise, the skies outside the drape-covered windows a pale lavender and grey. Not even the birds were awake, and the fire in the hearth was nothing more than memory.
Glancing up from the stack of letters on her desk, Margaret found Fenris's eyes on her, his face a mask of control, but she saw the hint of disapproval in his eyes. "What is it, Fenris?" she asked, carefully setting her quill in the inkpot, concern slowly wakening.
"You had only four hours of sleep. There is nothing in the correspondence that cannot wait."
She bowed her head to hide the smile of relief and tenderness that rose. He sounded like a scolding father and she wondered if he had any idea how suited he was for the role. A pang caught her unexpectedly as she realized children were probably not in their future. It was something she had always been aware of as a mage; with magic running so strongly in her family, the likelihood of mage children was strong and she wasn't about to condemn them to the life that meant. She pushed the thoughts back into the darker regions of her mind.
"I couldn't sleep, and rather than toss and turn all night I thought to get ahead of my work. Not that I have. I think leaving all these letters and lists alone in the dark was a mistake…they seem to have multiplied."
He moved to the fire, picking up a poker and stirring the cold ashes in search of living coals. She stood and walked to his side, her smile growing at his look of frustration. She was tempted to use her magic to light the fire but he was intent on bringing it back to life on his own, and he was still not comfortable with displays of the more mundane use of magic.
"I thought we could have everyone over tonight for a family dinner. It's been so hectic that we've not had a chance to just gather and give thanks that we're alive," she said, careful to keep her voice neutral.
"Did we not just have your brother and uncle here? Are they not family?"
Another smile, quickly hidden because she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him, skimmed her lips and was gone. He took such words literally, and his own family provoked little or no memories in him. "They are blood family, yes, but I had in mind to invite those friends who are as close as family. And perhaps poor Seneschal Bran. He looks so lost right now."
"The man has never considered us better than common thieves and brigands. He has treated us with nothing but disdain in the past," Fenris protested forcefully, stepping back to admire his handiwork as the fire began to flicker to life.
"He's lost his family, Fenris," she remonstrated. "They may not have been of his blood, but they were a part of his family. Would you really begrudge him a seat at our table?"
A strange expression settled on his face and he studied her carefully. "Our table," he repeated and the words were soft and light. A smile came to rest on his lips. "Then let us gather our family around our table," he agreed, his arm coming to rest around her waist. "But should Anders pontificate on the evils of templars and the Chantry, I shall remove him from our table without hesitation."
Fenris's slow metamorphosis from bitter mage-hater to the man who smiled and teased, who loved a mage, gave Margaret's laughter wings. She felt lighter than she had in days and knew that with him at her side, all things became possible. It gave her a sense of peace she hadn't known for longer than she cared to admit, and she wondered if he was even aware of the changes within himself. He raised a dark brow at her, waiting for her to respond.
"Very well, but only if you do so gently."
"I shall endeavor to do so, but I make no promises."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'll accept that. Oh, I nearly forgot! A letter came for you this morning. It appears to be from Minrathous."
"It can wait a few moments. Let us enjoy the quiet while we have it."
~~~oOo~~~
Eyeing Nathaniel, who was already grabbing his bow and quiver, Anya shrugged, unconcerned. She sheathed her daggers and strapped the leather belt around her waist before speaking.
"It's probably just one of Raoul's men," she reassured Nathaniel. "I can't imagine it would be the Grand Master of the Sword himself."
Flynne whistled. "That's quite a title. At least I'm impressed. Uh…what's a Grand Master of the Sword? And what does it have to do with you?"
"The Grand Master of the Sword is the man in charge of Celene's private guard. He is responsible for the empress's security and, as such, undoubtedly has spies in every port city on the Waking Sea," she explained, taking the few steps to Nathaniel's side and laying a light hand on his arm. "My brother, Raoul Caron, is the current Grand Master of the Sword."
"You don't sound all that surprised that we've been tracked," Nathaniel uttered, slipping his hand under her elbow to help her up the steps.
"I'm not. Nor are you, judging by your expression. If it isn't one of Raoul's men then I suspect it will be someone from the Chevalier Dirigeant's office. And before you ask, Flynne, the Dirigeant is the commander of chevaliers."
"Who happens to be her father," Nathaniel added in a grim voice.
Flynne whistled again, looking at Anya with raised brows. "You might have warned me that you were so well placed in the Orlesian aristocracy."
"I'm not. My family is."
"Blood is blood," Flynne argued, a view that seemed surprisingly naïve from a mage who had spent his life on the run.
She realized she knew nothing of his history, making a mental note to speak to him about it when they had the time. She had come to respect and trust the mage but had yet to sit and talk to him about his past life. And while that was an unspoken rule of the Wardens not to question someone about their past, it wasn't one she necessarily followed. She didn't hold a Warden's past against them, but she preferred to know what that past was. She had always felt that it helped her understand the people under her command, and it helped establish that bond of brotherhood that was so necessary among Wardens.
Anya glanced at Nathaniel, raising her brow, and he took a quiet breath before answering Flynne. "Family is as much an accident of birth as it is anything else. Being related by blood doesn't guarantee a happy family," he told Flynne quietly, his voice without inflection, but she felt his hand tighten its grip on her elbow momentarily as they stepped onto the sun-washed deck.
"Nowhere is that truer than with the many cousins of Celene. We've seen that blood weakens when it is diluted. Rousel is proof of – oh no – " she broke off, squinting into the bright sunlight. "If I'm not mistaken the man in the boat is Raimond de Luc. He's the Chargé d'Chevalier – the second in command of the chevalier. He's also a ruthless bastard," she added, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. With a sigh of frustration, she turned to the mage.
"Flynne, take Carver and stand guard over our prisoner. Do not release him unless Nathaniel or I tell you to," Anya instructed, her voice calm and even. "Do whatever is necessary to keep Rousel from being taken."
"Nathaniel, no matter what he says don't allow him to anger you. He is a master manipulator and he'll know exactly what to say to throw you off balance."
"You sound like you have a history," Nathaniel remarked, a hint of a question in his voice. He handed her his spyglass.
Smiling her thanks, she quickly trained the glass on the figure in question. "Not a happy one," she replied shortly, unwilling to rehash painful memories with the subject of them drawing near. "Not everyone finds me as charming as you do," she added, trying to lighten the tension that was continuing to grow as the boat drew close.
"I find that surprising, Commander Anya." He gave her a quick smile that bordered on a smirk and disappeared nearly as quickly as it had appeared.
"He was determined to keep me from joining the Grey Wardens, not because he cared about me, but because he knew my father wouldn't be happy if I became a Warden. Even after I joined he attempted to kidnap me in order to 'bring me to my senses', as he put it. Luckily my fellow Wardens at Jader had other ideas. In the end, Riordan personally tossed him out of the compound. Maker, I miss that man," she added around a sudden lump in her throat at the thought of her mentor.
"Raimond believes I'm a conceited, ungrateful child who doesn't deserve the family I have," she continued after she'd regained control of her voice. "He came to the chevaliers when he was twelve; raised by the former Chargé d'Chevalier, Marcel Broussard, when his own family died under mysterious circumstances. A more loyal, unprincipled man you'll never meet."
She stared at the boat and battled the nervous energy that made her want to adjust her uniform and ensure her braid was tidy. She fought her arms, holding them at her side even though they wanted to wrap around her almost as badly as her legs wanted to sit, rather than stand. She closed her mind against an onslaught of unwelcome memories.
"I can't guarantee I'll take it on the chin if he insults you," Nathaniel whispered, his eyes straight, his stance rigid. "In fact, I'll guarantee that I won't," he added.
"Please, Nathaniel, ignore it. If he sees you have a weakness, he will poke relentlessly at it," she pleaded softly, her eyes sliding to meet his. "He can't touch me; his words mean nothing. Don't give him that power." The words, spoken to soothe Nathaniel, helped restore Anya's calm.
As the ropes were lowered over the side of the ship Anya's heart fluttered restlessly in her chest. She waited, eyes narrowed against the garish splashes of sunlight that trailed along the deck in between the shadows from the sails. A light wind fluttered the banners atop the sails, and she could almost smell the heady floral scent of the gardens of Val Royeaux, though they were still more than an hour offshore.
A man, tall and powerfully built, easily climbed over the rail and planted his feet on the deck, hands at his side. He wore the glittering plate armor of his office, the dark purple enameled horse rampant embedded into the center of his silverite cuirass, indicating his rank within the chevaliers. His dark blonde hair was pulled into a tight warrior's tail, his hazel eyes were narrowed against the glaring sun and his mouth was turned down. His cheeks were gaunt, as if he had recently lost weight or been ill, yet there was no sign of weakness in either his pose or his manner.
"Raimond de Luc, errand boy to Enrique Caron," Anya sneered by way of greeting.
"As pleasant as ever, I see," the man replied, bowing stiffly at the waist, his smile mocking.
"I assume my father knows who our prisoner is and wants him. Tell him this is a Grey Warden matter, and not one for the chevaliers."
"Brave words from a coward and a cripple," the man shot back with contempt.
Nathaniel made a low sound in his throat and she felt the heat of anger rush into her, felt her face burning from it, but she held Raimond's gaze steadily. "I see you still haven't learned what true bravery is. But then you would have to step out of the shadows to understand the concept."
"Enfant irréfléchie," the man accused, his anger turning cold. "Your friends are not aware of your subterfuge and deceit or they would surely know that serving at your side is a death sentence."
Her back stiffened at his words and she felt another flare of anger. She was far from an unthinking or careless child, but the jab had hurt, nonetheless. "My friends are aware that I am a leader, and that I will do what is necessary to accomplish the tasks at hand. That includes protecting our newest recruit," she said, her voice devoid of the triumph she felt watching his face blanch. The lie had come easily to her lips, making it believable. It was a lie she would follow through with if necessary and that, too, lent power to it.
"You're bluffing," he accused, his eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare defy your father."
She laughed, a short barking sound, without any trace of humor. "You know that I have dared to defy my father on a number of occasions. Don't make the mistake of thinking now is any different. And do not make the mistake of assuming because I was injured that I am weak," she warned, her voice crisp and cool.
She was grateful for Nathaniel's quiet strength beside her, his need to defend her held barely in check, but held. She wanted to smile at him, to reassure him, but she refused to break eye contact with Raimond.
Once, years ago, she had been terrified of him. And even longer ago she had aspired to be like him. But that Anya, that child, had died so long ago she barely remembered her. She saw Raimond as he truly was…a clever bully. Any power he had ever had over her had died the day he had tried to kidnap her.
"Since you are intent on being the messenger of the Chevalier Dirigeant, take this message to him. Tell him his daughter, the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and the Arlessa of Amaranthine, as well as her Wardens, seek his hospitality and his counsel. But advise him that the prisoner, Rousel Gagnon, will not be joining us. He is to rest in preparation of his Joining."
Color rushed into Raimond's cheeks, gaudy against the pallor of his skin. "Your insolence will not be tolerated," he growled. "Your prisoner is a citizen of Orlais and falls under the jurisdiction of the chevaliers" he added, his voice rising in anger.
"Tut, tut, Raimond de Luc. You are in danger of losing your temper. I warned my men of your cold and calculating manner, yet here you are shouting like a whore on the Rue de Rouge," Anya chastised, instilling amusement in her voice to further goad him.
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his eyes boring into her; she was unflinching under the glare, but she was far from calm. She felt a deepening concern because his behavior was not at all what she had expected. He was erratic in his mood and his attempts to challenge her, to slice into her defenses had been weak and ineffectual. Either she had grown up or there was more to his visit than he was letting on. And then it occurred to her why his manner seemed so strangely at odds with his normal behavior. She had seen him act in such a way one other time.
"My father doesn't know you're here, does he?" she guessed, her voice breaking into the sudden silence. "You aren't speaking for him, you're speaking for yourself. Have you fallen so far out of favor with him that you must sneak around trying to get back into his good graces?" she mused aloud, her earlier fears and concerns fleeing at the realization. And on the heels of that thought was another, more sinister thought. "Or have you switched your allegiance?"
Rage darkened Raimond's eyes and he took a step forward. "You are the one who has changed sides. You threw everything away to play at war and look at you," he growled furiously. "Twisted and hideous, a blight on the great Caron name," he mocked.
Only with great effort did she refrain from gutting him, her anger so deep it left her feeling queasy. Nathaniel moved forward, his posture seemingly relaxed, but she could feel the heat radiating from him. He was every bit as infuriated by the man's words as she was. He didn't say anything and to her relief, he didn't attack the chevalier, but she knew the effort it cost him. It cost her no less.
"Ah, a protector. Of course. You have always needed one," Raimond said in scathing tones as he looked at Nathaniel with a sneer curling his lips. "Did she tell you how she played the men under her father's command to get what she wanted? That she has no remorse or regret in using whatever means necessary to obtain her goals?"
"You have until the count of three to remove yourself from the ship before I assist you," Anya broke in, her voice deathly quiet.
She took a step forward and then another, until she was standing directly in front of Raimond, bracing on her good leg and pulling herself to her full height. "One."
"Do you really think you have the power to throw me off this ship?" he scoffed with a sneer.
She took another step, gauging the distance to the railing and knowing if she put her good hip into it, she could leverage him over the side. "Two."
She took another step, unsheathing her left dagger and smiling politely. His face paled again, his eyes shifting from the dagger to her face as he realized he had lost any tactical advantage he might have had. She resisted the urge to smile her triumph.
"You wouldn't dare attack a chevalier," he blustered, but the uncertainty in his voice was riding just beneath the surface of his bravado.
"Three," she said calmly. The moment his eyes moved to her dagger again she brought her right hand up to his ear and twisted sharply, eliciting a small cry from him. Next she used her good hip to brace against the railing as she slid her dagger under the silverite plates of his tasset. When he jerked away from the dagger, she twisted his ear again before dropping that hand, and he let out another low cry of pain, pulling away from her until he was bent over the railing, trying to escape both her dagger and her hand. It was easy, from there, to bring her hip around and pin him in place.
"Take the rope and climb down while you have the chance to retain even a tiny bit of your dignity," she said. "Otherwise, you'll go overboard wearing that armor. Trust me, it will cause you to sink like a stone."
"You will pay for this, enfant," he averred before pulling away from her to hoist himself over the rail and begin the descent down the rope ladder.
She found she was shaking when she turned to face Nathaniel and she wasn't able to give him more than a weak, tremulous smile. "Hopefully, he was merely trying to garner more notice from my father. I would hate to think he's working for someone else."
"Either way, you humiliated him in front of others. He won't take that quietly."
She shrugged. "He wouldn't dare hurt Enrique Caron's daughter, no matter how much he wants to."
"Unless he's working for someone else, as you suggested."
A shiver chased along her, reaction from the confrontation continuing to filter through her numbness. Nathaniel was right to be concerned. If Raimond de Luc was working for someone else, she had just made an implacable and dangerous enemy. But she found she couldn't be sorry for her words or actions.
"Let's go see to our prisoner. We should let him know he is safe. For the moment."
Nathaniel's relief was palpable. "I was afraid you were serious and that I'd have to call him 'brother'."
She chose her next words carefully. "Let's hope that doesn't become necessary."
~~~oOo~~~
"Come on, Blondie, before you turn into one of those mushrooms you're always gathering."
Anders glanced at the dwarf. "Did she send you to check on the crazy mage?" he asked, shaking his head. "Tell Margaret that I'm just fine."
"Fine? Listen, mage, you look like shit and you've been locked away in this rat hole for over a week. You want her to know you're fine, you go tell her," Varric shot back.
Anders blinked in surprise. A week? Had it really been that long? He'd been so busy after the explosion and so intent on avoiding Anya or Nathaniel, that he'd lost track of the time. "I can't. I have a – a patient I need to check on," he lied quickly.
Varric glanced around the empty clinic. "Where? Hiding under your bed?" Varric teased with an uneasy laugh.
It was the unease that stabbed at Anders. The one person who never seemed to judge him was doing just that, and it hurt to know that Varric was no longer comfortable around him. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the swell of emotions the thought dredged up.
"No, no. I mean that I need to go to the patient's home and check on him."
"Come on, Blondie, don't lie to a professional liar."
"I have my reasons for staying in," Anders said stubbornly, unable to control the edge of defensive nervousness in his tone.
"Well, whatever they are, you need to forget about them for awhile and come out. Hawke's having us all over for dinner tonight. She wants you there and I promised I'd deliver you."
"I can't, Varric."
"Why not?"
Anders gave a tired grunt of laughter. "Tenacious as ever, I see. But the truth is…" he trailed off as his conscience wrestled with his need to protect Fallon.
"Blondie, don't even think of lying to me again."
Shoulders slumping, Anders pondered the ramifications involved if he told Varric about the young boy he'd taken in. Someone else needed to know about the boy in case something happened to Anders, and Varric was much better at keeping secrets than he pretended. He'd always confided in the dwarf before. He hesitated, glancing at the closed door to his quarters before pointing to it.
"See for yourself," he mumbled, sitting down again.
Varric frowned at him, his eyes darting from the closed door to Anders and back several times. "Do I really want to know?" he asked, walking over to the door and stopping. Taking a deep breath, the dwarf whipped the door open, stepping across the threshold and out of sight.
Anders gripped his hands together tightly as he waited, still not sure he'd done the right thing. But maybe, with Varric on his side, he'd find the courage to introduce Fallon to the others. It would do the boy good to know that others cared about him too.
"Okay, I can take a joke as well as the next, but I don't get the punch line for this one, Blondie," the dwarf muttered, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
Anders's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" he asked around a dry mouth.
"I mean, what's an empty room got to do with you refusing to leave the clinic?"
"Empty?" Anders asked hoarsely, confused by the dwarf's words. He jumped out of his chair and hurried to his living quarters.
They were, as Varric had said, empty. Fallon had been curled up in the only comfortable chair in the room, reading his primer while Anders had seen to the last of the patients. Now the chair was empty and the primer was where it normally was, in the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. "I – he – Fallon! Come out this instant. Varric won't hurt you, he's a friend!" Anders commanded, striving to put more reassurance than fear into his voice and missing badly.
He waited a minute and when nothing but silence followed his command, he went to the small bedroom and then the even smaller bathroom and found nothing. He opened the armoire, expecting Fallon to jump out at him, laughing at the joke he'd played, but the wardrobe was empty of everything except clothes. Fallon's new clothes were hung neatly beside Anders's robes.
"He won't have gone far, his clothes are still here," Anders said around a flood of relief, his hand reaching out to touch the clothes. What had he been wearing that day? Why couldn't he remember?
Varric, coming to stand beside him, looked at the clothes and then at Anders. The pity in his eyes made Anders's heart thud in his chest. "Too small for you, that's for sure. Whoever this Fallon guy is, he's on the short side," Varric remarked and then stared at the clothes again, frowning. "Are you shitting me, Anders? This is a pretty elaborate joke, even for you."
Anders frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"What, you didn't think I'd recognize Lirene's marks?" the dwarf asked, pointing to the unobtrusive dot of bright paint on the collar of Fallon's linen shirt and the waistband of his woolen trousers.
It was not unusual for shopkeepers to mark their merchandise in some way, to prevent theft and to help identify stolen merchandise. But he was been sure he'd removed the paint spots once he'd brought the items home and they would have washed away even if he'd forgotten. Something felt wrong – off – and he couldn't figure out what.
"I – I don't understand," he muttered, stumbling away from the closet. "Fallon just went out and forgot to tell me. He's shy, that's all."
But the evidence said otherwise and he felt his stomach lurch at the implication. Was he dreaming? There was a surreal quality to the scene; he felt disconnected, as if he was dreaming, and too warm. It was too warm in the room and he felt the trickle of sweat down his back. Yes, he must be dreaming. He'd wake up and share the dream with Fallon and they'd both have a good laugh about it.
His eyes closed again, his lids heavy. Maker, he was so tired; he felt unable to move, his muscles unresponsive in their exhaustion. He collapsed in the chair and closed his eyes. So bloody worn out.
He was barely aware of Varric when the dwarf covered him up with a blanket. "You catch some sleep, Anders and I'll be by to check on you later."
Later. Yes. After he'd slept. He gave a groggy nod and closed his eyes against the lurking unease in Varric's gaze. He felt boneless and weightless as his head lolled against the back of the chair and sleep overtook him.
~~~oOo~~~
"You aren't seriously considering inducting Gagnon into the Grey Wardens," Nathaniel said, unhappily surprised by her comment.
She shrugged. "Not unless I have no other choice, but I won't willingly give him over to anyone else until I'm sure we've extracted every last bit of information from him."
There were times when she still startled him with her hard-edged pragmatism. "And if he's killed in the process?"
"Then he dies. His chances of surviving the trip from the docks to the Grey Warden compound are slim anyway. And if he refuses to tell us what he knows then there isn't much point in keeping him around as anything more than a decoy to lure out those hunting us."
Nathaniel stopped and stared at her retreating figure as she limped along the narrow corridor of the ship. "You're very callous about his value." He hadn't intended to sound accusatory but they were both aware that his tone was critical.
She stopped and turned back to him, her smile sad. "I'm not callous, believe me, Nathaniel, but I can't afford to be too emotional, or too kindly disposed towards the nobles we'll meet. You don't understand that the vultures will see us as little more than carrion, and at the least provocation they will swoop in and devour us. I know it sounds melodramatic, but that is the way the court is, that's the way nobles are. They fight and murder and scramble over the bodies of their victims to reach the upper echelons of power, and they don't care if it is family or not they climb over. To them it is all a game to see who comes out on top. They lost their humanity so long ago I doubt they even remember they once cared about others. Don't make the mistake of underestimating their depraved indifference."
She took a deep breath and smiled sadly. "If we get out of Val Royeaux without coming to blows with each other it will be a miracle. But know that beneath all this ruthless calculation is the Anya you know and love. I'll do whatever it takes for us to survive this trip, and that includes conscripting Rousel Gagnon."
Nathaniel had been in Orlais several times, but never Val Royeaux and most certainly never in the Imperial Court. He had considered his father to be everything that nobility wasn't supposed to be, but now he felt himself wondering if his father was the norm and not the exception when it came to the behavior of the nobles. The thought sat heavily in him.
He looked at Anya again, saw that she was struggling to maintain her cold indifference. Nodding, he brought his hand up and grazed her cheek with his fingertips. "I'll follow your lead, Commander Anya," he vowed.
"I'll start packing if you want to watch us come into port. The view of the Grand Cathedral is stunning from the docks, especially at sunset. The cathedral's pink granite is remarkable on a sunny day, picking up a golden peach color."
"Anya, you don't have to do this by yourself," he said quietly, watching as her chin jutted stubbornly. "I know how treacherous family members can be, and I also know how redemptive they can be," he reminded her.
Her shoulders bowed slightly. "I'm not sure I can withstand the onslaught of both my brother and my father if they demand Rousel's return," she admitted in a rush. "If I conscript him…" she trailed off, her eyes drifting away from his.
"Then you'll have firmer ground to stand on," he finished for her.
She nodded, misery coming into her expression briefly before he saw her will it away.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, we'll support you, Anya, you know that. Not," he added seriously, "because I'll ever trust that bastard, Rousel, but because I trust you."
Two hours later, they entered the harbor of Val Royeaux. Nathaniel watched the city come into view and couldn't help but acknowledge the grace and beauty of its marble and granite buildings and monuments rising in an impressive array along wide boulevards, bedecked in flowers. Even the dock managed to maintain a beauty in its long, low buildings and gaily painted stalls. From a distance he thought he could hear the Choir of the Divine's voices raised in song.
Anya, dressed in her ceremonial Grey Warden armor and tabard, stood beside him, her eyes not taking in the sights, but scanning the people gathering along the wharf. He took her hand and squeezed it once before letting go again. She flashed a smile, bright and brief, before returning her gaze to the wharf.
He'd also changed into his Grey Warden leathers and tabard, as had Flynne and Carver. They made an imposing sight, standing at attention, each of them armed and watchful. Neither men spoke, as if a tacit signal for silence had been given and perhaps, he thought as he took in Anya's proud stance, it had been.
The ship slipped effortlessly into its berth and the great sails were lowered and furled. The first mate, a bristly young man from Rivain, nodded to them. "Your equipment and baggage will be unloaded before nightfall. Your prisoner should be removed at your earliest convenience, Arlessa Anya," he said formally. "We will be loaded and ready to sail by tomorrow's evening tide."
Nathaniel nodded briefly to Flynne and Carver. "Get the prisoner and bring him up. Remember to fasten the hood of his cloak tightly, but not before you gag him."
The two men nodded and went down to get the prisoner. Nathaniel, removing his spyglass, handed it to Anya. "Do you recognize anyone in the crowd?" he asked, retaining his professionalism even though he wanted to comfort her in some way. Her face was pale and grim, her hair neatly braided, the white patch of hair stark against the dark red.
He knew, instinctively, that their time in Orlais would be a test of their strength, their commitment and their love. Some part of him knew that he would fight to the death to protect her, even if it was from her own family, because she was his family. She had fought to keep him alive, fought to help him restore his family's honor, and fought for him still, whenever his pride overcame his common sense. She had reminded him that he was a man of honor even if his father had forgotten what honor meant.
"My brother, along with a small contingent of his men, but they are in plain clothes, not uniform, which means it's not an official visit. He's here to provide escort and legitimacy to our visit."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Then let's not keep him waiting."
She nodded and turned away, taking a few steps and then stopping. She looked at him, a smile curving along her lips and a light in her eyes. His heart skipped a few beats and he returned her smile. "No matter what else happens, remember that you are my family now; that it is by your side I want to be," she whispered.
His smile came unbidden and his determination to request her hand in marriage grew even stronger.
Hopefully, her family would accept that.