Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 37: A Very Important Errand Girl

Erlina did not got far when she tried to run. Bronwyn took her prisoner without even soiling her fine new gown.

Jowan healed the burns from the explosive powder hurled in Bronwyn's face. Now, she stared at the bound elf before her, grim and purposeful. True to her bardic training, Erlina's bruised face was a mask of calm and control. She understood that she was going to die, and had accepted it. That was the price of failure, and a fair one. She had not counted on the speed or strength—or the resistance to pain—of the Girl Warden.

"I strongly advise you," Bronwyn began, herself calm and controlled, "to tell us everything you know. Your contacts; when and where they took place; the Orlesian plans you are privy to; your speculations of the same. Everything. It is very much in your best interests to do so."

Erlina was silent. Bronwyn was silent too, looking at her.

The room was a bare stone chamber in the Wardens' Compound. It had once been a bedchamber, but had been abruptly cleared out, and now it contained only a table, two chairs, parchment and ink. the only window was high in the wall, and far too thin for even a slender elf to wriggle through. In the back of the room was a plain bench, where lounged Zevran Arainai, listening very carefully.

Erlina's attempt to flee had confirmed her treason. Bronwyn had instantly called in her mages and Zevran, who had identified the poison in the little container by the tea things.

"Inheritance powder," he said, with a wry laugh. "It is used in Orlais, and also in Antiva. I suspect it is used all over Thedas, but sparingly. It is expensive—very expensive—and thus only used for important targets. A large dose mimics a stroke: a little causes a slow decline, so one can say that the target was sickly and like to die."

"Expensive, you say?" Bronwyn asked. She had never heard of this poison.

"The most expensive!" Zevran assured her. "The active ingredient is not even found in Thedas, but in a land to the far north, beyond Par Vollen. As that is now held by the qunari, it is almost impossible to obtain. This poison can only be commanded by the wealthiest King!"

"—or Empress," Bronwyn said. Zevran gave her a little bow of assent.

"Do you know what the punishment is for one who would compass the death of the Queen of Ferelden by poison?" Bronwyn asked Erlina.

The elf gave a little shrug. It was ridiculously obvious. Of course the punishment was death.

Very quietly, Bronwyn went on: "The punishment was decreed by King Arland, over two hundred years ago. He was a harsh man, was King Arland. A barbarian, you Orlesians would describe him. A barbarian ruling over a barbarous and turbulent people. There were many attempts to dethrone him, but King Arland died in his bed. After awhile, the attempts had ceased, you see, because his punishments were such that no one would take the risk."

She folded her hands and cocked her head, using her disturbingly green eyes to intimidate the elf.

"A cook was suborned by some of Arland's enemies to poison him. Not a bad plan, as King Arland was a notorious glutton. The plan, however, was discovered, and the cook captured. It was then that King Arland, in rage and fear, decreed that anyone who poisoned or attempted to poison the monarch should suffer a punishment appropriate to a treacherous cook…" She let the words drift into the silence. Erlina sat very still.

"The false servant was stripped naked. The hair of his head and body was shaved, and he was drawn through the streets of Denerim thus in a high cart, with a placard above naming him traitor and poisoner. The people of the city pelted him with curses and with filth, and followed the cart eagerly to the place of execution appointed: the Market Place, where stands had been erected for the nobles and the wealthy, that they might see the sight. It is said that the other folk climbed to the tops of houses to see the better.

The place of execution was a pyre : but not one for the malefactor to be burnt upon. The fuel was charcoal, to prevent too much smoke that might mercifully smother a victim before the flames reached him. Instead, a great caudron was set upon the almost smokeless fire: the kind of cauldron used in butchering many boars at a time. There was water in the cauldron. Cold water."

Her face impassive, Bronwyn said, "The malefactor was enclosed in a kind of iron cage, to keep his head from dipping down under the water, and escaping the full penalty of the law by drowning himself. The cage was lowered into the water, and the water slowly heated to boiling. It took many hours. From time to time the cage was lifted from the bubbling water to see the skin sloughing from the agonized body. This prolonged the criminal's suffering. King Arland was very interested in seeing what the punishment would look like."

Erlina's eyes were red and glittering. A thin trail of snot trickled down from her nose. Bronwyn paused and studied her.

"The Queen, as you have cause to know, is a kind and just woman. Even though you have betrayed her in the worst of ways, she is no monster who delights in the torture of others, unlike those who could watch her suffering and eventual death with complacency. Nor will I soil my hands with hot irons or the rack. Two choices lie before you."

Erlina sniffed almost inaudibly.

"Make no mistake: you will die for your treason. It lies with you whether you suffer or not. If you display true penitence by telling us everything you know, I give you my word that the Queen will permit you a strong draught of sleeping potion, and you will slip from life to death without pain. If you prove recalcitrant and hardened, you will suffer the full penalty of the law, and there is no soft-hearted King in Denerim to prevent it. I will leave you to your thoughts. You have one hour to decide. Come, Zevran."

The former Crow stretched lazily, rising from the bench. "Warden-Commander, if I may…could I have a word with the prisoner? Perhaps she will listen to reason if someone not so…imposing…were to urge her."

"As you like," Bronwyn nodded. Indeed, this had been the plan all along. She left the room, and made sounds as if going away, then quietly returned and listened at the door.

Zevran sat down by Erlina, relaxed and smiling sympathetically. He suspected the Erlina knew the ruse, but under such a penalty, she would be desperate for anything resembling pity.

"My charmer," he said gently. "I think you should reconsider any hint of loyalty you may be feeling to your former employer. And cast aside professional pride as well, for it will not cool you in boiling water."

Erlina whimpered and turned her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Zevran, not unkindly said, "I attempted the life of the Girl Warden herself, and managed to speak quickly and well enough to turn her anger. As I told her then, I was not paid for silence. Were you? No. You were a tool, and a useful one; but your mistress is far away and would not admit she knows your name, and your colleague Marjolaine is dead."

"Dead?" A long, despairing sigh.

"Si, carina." Zevran said, "I was there. She was questioned, killed, and her papers seized. The Queen knows all, now. She cannot spare your life after what you have done. Had you thrown yourself on your knees before her, instead of throwing flash powder in the Warden-Commander's face, perhaps. Perhaps. But it is too late now. As my commander says truly, what you can choose is the manner of your own death. Choose wisely, I beg you. Choose for yourself, and not for others, who do not care how your suffer."

A low whisper. "And will she keep her word?"

"She always has. I myself will see that you receive the sleeping draught… if you earn it."

After a few minutes, she began to speak. Zevran dipped the quill into the ink and wrote quickly, catching every word.

Anora felt much better after the Warden mage's attentions. He was a mild-mannered, not ill-favored fellow, and spoke gently to her, explaining that he was using spells for Healing and Rejuvenation. Erlina's poison had done her great harm, and when pressed to say if the harm were permanent or not, he grew flustered. Anora shut her eyes, just wanting to know the truth.

She did not have it until Bronwyn heard it from Jowan himself, and then told the Queen.

"No, Your Majesty. There is no cure. The damage to your vital organs was irreversible. You cannot be fully healed, but Jowan feels that daily treatments will keep you feeling well and able to perform your duties."

"For how long?"

Bronwyn bit her lip. "We don't know. For over a year, possibly, perhaps more." The look on Anora's face wrung her heart. She hurried on. "We can meanwhile call in other, more experienced Healers—very discreetly. The Healer Wynne, who is now serving at Ostagar. is quite brilliant, and would know what to do if anyone does. She saved my brother's life, after all." She thought a little more. "I must go to the Dalish soon, but if it suits you, Majesty, I will leave Jowan here for you, with the story that he is convalescing from wounds and will perform the necessary administrative duties at the Compound as our liaison with the Crown. That way, he can call on you daily for your necessary healing."

"Yes." Anora nodded, clutching at the arms of her chair. "We shall do that. Jowan will stay here, and I shall write to my father, requiring the services of this Wynne. She can be trusted, do you think? The King cannot know of this…"

Her heart almost failed her. Unless he knows already…

The Wardens sat over a late supper, talking about it all. "I wish we had those Ashes of Andaste that the good brother was looking for," Tara said. "They'd cure the Queen right away!"

"What ashes?" Astrid asked. She scowled, puzzled, at Bronwyn. "What is she talking about?"

When Bronwyn did not instantly answer. Danith said, "You are speaking of the Andraste who freed the slaves? She whom the shemlens worship? The friend of Thane Shartan?"

"Yes," Bronwyn allowed. "That Andraste. Near Lake Calenhad, we met a traveling scholar who believed he knew where the ashes were enshrined. They are rumored to possess miraculous curative powers."

Jowan muttered, "It would take a miracle to cure the Queen!" He wished he could do more for her. She was so beautiful and so sad. How could anyone do such a thing to her? And people thought blood mages were monsters.

Astrid had heard of Andraste, generally when humans were cursing; and the Shaper of Memories said that the evidence indicated that she had actually existed. The Tevinters believed her to have been a powerful mage, though apparently that opinion was deeply offensive to all other humans in Thedas. She remarked, "If those ashes really had such powers, they would be a mighty prize indeed."

Bronwyn paused, a little shocked at the idea of Andraste's remains being considered a "prize." So too were Tara and Jowan, who had been forced to attend chapel services every day of their lives in the Circle.

After that first shock, Bronwyn forced herself to be rational about it. "Brother Genetivi was highly regarded by another scholar of the Chantry to whom I once spoke—a Sister Justine. She felt that he was a serious and learned person—and one who investigated the truth whether it was politically acceptable to those in power or not. When Tara and I visited his house to see if he had returned safely, we discovered an intruder there: someone who had murdered the brother's servant and had gone through his papers. Someone was very interested in the brother's researches, which tends to make me believe there was something to them."

"Were the papers taken?' Astrid asked, intrigued.

"No. We have them in the Wardens' secret cache." Zevran was not there, so Bronwyn could speak freely. "In a warehouse in the Market District, there is a secret stash of weapons and notes in case anything should happen to the Compound. You should all know how to access it. It would also do as a hiding place for Wardens in the worst case."

"How distant is this supposed shrine?" Astrid asked, frowning over the idea. "Is it in Thedas?"

"Yes!" Tara burst out excitedly. "It is right here in Ferelden, though west in the Frostbacks. Bronwyn marked it on our map!"

"No." Bronwyn shook her head. "What I have marked on the map is the location of a village where Brother Genetivi believed he could learn the location of the shrine—or funerary temple, as he called it. We have the darkspawn to fight, and that must be our first priority. However, if time and resources can be found, perhaps an expedition to this village, called Haven, can be organized."

"Wouldn't that be an adventure!" sighed Tara. "I think we should find out what happened to Brother Gentivi anyway. He was a nice man."

"I need to visit the Cathedral," Bronwyn agreed. "I can speak again to Sister Justine, as well as Mother Boann. She is the priest who officiated at Adaia's wedding. I want to confirm her story with a witness, for additional protection against Bann Vaughan."

"That is well and good, but how much longer must we stay here?" Danith wondered, more than a little grumpily. Personally, she thought the shemlen rapist needed a arrow in the eye. That would solve Adaia's problems rather neatly.

It was a fair enough question. "We must settle things with the Queen, as far as possible, and I have several errands," Bronwyn told her briskly. "First of all, I want all of you to know how to get into the cache. We will go to the Market District. Most of our errands are there, anyway. We'll visit the cache, and then see if Brother Genetivi has returned. We will visit the armorer Master Wade, improve our current equipment, and discuss some custom weapons for dragon-fighting. There is no armor here in the Compound that is small enough to fit Tara, other than the helmet Tamsin found, and I want Tara to have something sturdier than robes."

"There might be something at Zathrian's camp," Danith pointed out.

Tara tried not to make a face. She found the idea of wearing revealing Dalish armor a very uncomfortable one. Baring her midriff in all weathers was a chilly prospect. It was all very well for Danith, since she was used to it.

Bronwyn did not want to argue with Danith about it. "If we find anything there we will purchase it. In the meantime, I want Tara to be protected now. It might be some days before we reach Zathrian's clan, and we might run into danger before then." She went on, listing her errands. There were such a lot of them. The late Paragon Branka had sneered at her in the Dead Trenches, calling her an 'important errand girl.' At the moment, it was only too true.

"I have some kin in town whom I am obliged to visit. I will go to the Cathedral and interview the priests. Not all of you will want to go there, but there is much of interest to see in the Market, and before we start tomorrow morning, you will all be paid your stipend so you have coin in hand."

"Stipend?" Jowan looked up, interested.

"Yes," Bronwyn was pleased to tell him. "Grey Wardens are due money every quarter. Since Grey Wardens lead risky lives, they are paid on the first day of the quarter for the quarter—not at the end of the quarter, like most people. Even if you have not been a Warden for a full quarter, or you Joined before a quarter's holiday, you are due a sum for the days of service. I shall make the calculations and give you your pay in the morning."

Her Wardens went quite happily to their beds. Bronwyn stayed in the study, reading through the pile of correspondence on the desk.

There were so many letters! The most important seemed to be letters to Duncan from Weisshaupt, wanting to know the progress of the Blight. Bronwyn began arranging them by the dates they were sent. There were letters from other Grey Wardens around Thedas, the largest number of which were from Orlais. She had not the time to read them all. There were also letters to Duncan that appeared to be of a personal nature. Eventually, she would have to do something about them as well.

She broke the seal on the most recent official letter from Weisshaupt. The griffon seal, in grey wax, was large and heavy. The letter, surprisingly, was directed to her—"Grey Warden Bronwyn."

We have heard of the deaths of Warden-Commander Duncan and the annihilation of the Grey in Ferelden. You and your fellow Junior Warden, Alistair, are hereby commanded to travel to Montsimmard and report to Peyrolle, Warden-Commander of Orlais, for further instructions.

First Warden Wildauer

Bronwyn frowned over it briefly, and then filed it away with the rest. Go to Orlais, indeed! The First Warden could bloody well send her some Wardens, instead.

She updated the Warden enlistment rolls and then went through the accounts. Everybody still alive was owed money. She tried to recall the dates of recruitment as well as possible to make the proration of the period prior to the first full quarter of service as precise as possible.

"Thank you, Mother," she whispered. How she had hated learning accounts. Eleanor Cousland, however, had taught her that the one thing she must not be sloppy about was paying people correctly. Any mistakes there would be caught, and cause hard feelings or worse.

According to Duncan, Zevran, too, as a Grey Warden "auxiliary" was due a set sum. The base pay was less than that of the Wardens themselves, but he had been with her longer than some of the others, and thus the actual amount paid would be higher than that of her three most junior Wardens.

Then, though she would have preferred to go to bed, she steeled herself to visit the prisoner, and see what progress Zevran had made.

They did not arise very early the next morning. Astrid had taken over guarding the prisoner from Zevran, and had slept on a thin pallet outside the door. They had much to do today, and Bronwyn decided that heavy chains and a stout lock, and instructions to Mistress Rannelly to permit no one into the upper floors would be adequate to keep Erlina confined. Bronwyn suggested to Erlina that she wring her memory for every drop of useful or interesting information before Bronwyn returned.

A hearty breakfast in the Wardens' Hall was followed by Bronwyn paying everyone. Zevran was surprised to be paid as well, and immensely pleased at the amount. While everyone else made plans for their outing, Bronwyn took Jowan with her to call on the Queen.

Anora had had a fairly good night. While obviously distressed at the betrayal of her husband and her personal servant, she was physically better to a degree that gave her some comfort.

"We have a lengthy confession, with quite a bit of detail," Bronwyn reported, showing her Zevran's roll of parchment. "We will talk to her again this afternoon, and see if she recalls anything else of use."

The Queen really was looking much, much better today. Jowan hovered over his patient, studying her for any sign of weakness. She, however, was determined to be strong, and read the sordid tale quickly. The degree of guilt of the Kendalls was unclear in all this, but she would know now to watch them carefully. Arl Eamon had been deeply implicated, as was his wife. His brother, Teagan, was evidently innocent. That was a relief. Having one openly rebellious arl in Amaranthine, and another possibly plotting against her in Denerim was quite bad enough.

Marjolaine had been the King's contact with Orlais. Erlina knew of no others, though of course that did not mean there were not any. However, it would be some time before the Empress knew that Marjolaine was out of the picture. That gave them some room to maneuver.

"Do I want to know how you obtained this?" Anora asked.

"I am not a torturer, Majesty," Bronwyn told her frankly. "I simply described to her the legal penalty for poisoning the monarch. I promised her, if she cooperated, a dose of sleeping potion instead."

Anora sighed. She had been fond of Erlina, who had made her life so very elegant and comfortable; who had done her hair so well, and sewn so beautifully. It had been the easiest thing in the world to tell the staff that she had turned her off for attempted theft. It would not be so easy to replace her skills. And it hurt. Not like Cailan's betrayal, of course, but still it hurt. Erlina had been a pleasant part of her life, and now Anora knew that Erlina had cared nothing for her, and had been watching her die with no more emotion than a butcher feels in slaughtering a spring lamb. She had been foolish to trust an Orlesian. Father was right about them, and she had wrong to tease and taunt him with her servant's presence.

She felt so much better: almost like herself. Jowan was so sympathetic, and his spells had done her a world of good. She would suggest he see her twice a day. There was such a lot of work to be done, and she needed all the strength she could muster…

"Join me for dinner tonight, Warden-Commander," she said, quite graciously. Bronwyn had proven herself a true friend and loyal subject. "We have much to discuss. As to Erlina, whether or not she has anything more to say this afternoon, I want an end to her by sunset, and I want never to hear her name again."

Bronwyn and her companions walked briskly to the Market District on the other side of the river. People stopped and stared at the Wardens, whispering and occasionally offering praise and thanks. Scout pretended to be unimpressed, but his trot was unusually dignified. It was perfectly normal for lesser folk to admire his human.

It had rained overnight, and some of the nastier reek had been washed away. Zevran smirked to himself. Rain or not, Ferelden still smelled like wet dog, and the massive and otherwise splendid Scout was not helping.

But there were still things worth seeing, and much of his party had never visited a city—or at least a human city. Even Astrid was craning her neck, looking about her in interest. The long walk up Gate Street to the Market led past some handsome noble houses, Bronwyn was kind enough to point them out.

"That place belongs to Bann Fandarel. He collects works of art and historical treasures. It's quite nice inside… The Arl of Redcliffe's city estate is in a corner of the Market District. Arl Eamon tore down the old house and completely rebuilt it. I heard it cost a fortune…"

To Astrid's eye, it was all very sprawling, and the houses of the lesser folk were flimsily constructed of wood. She had read of the danger of fire to surfacers, and now she could see it for herself. They must be mad to use wood, cheap though it might be. Wood should only be used for bows and fine furniture. To slap it together and call it a dwelling was simply bizarre. Bronwyn had mentioned that her own family's house here in Denerim was of stone, which seemed infinitely more sensible. Of course, they were nobles.

Jowan looked uncomfortable and awed. Tara grinned at him. She had never seen a city before her first visit, and she could imagine what he was feeling. Today they had no need to hide who they were, and it was so much more fun. And she would see the Alienage, this time.

This place stinks, Danith thought. How can these people endure the reek? It is all so dirty: so dirty and squalid. The homes of the common folk, she decided, were very shabby and ugly. On the other hand, not everything here was bad. The Palace might be hard and stony, but it was kept surprisingly clean. The room she shared with Tara in the Wardens' Compound had a large window with a bit of colored glass at the top, and it opened. One could lean out and see much of the city. From above and far away, it looked much, much better.

"Danith!" Tara murmured, pink with excitement. "You're coming with me to the Alienage, aren't you?"

The Dalish girl sighed. "Yes. I gave you my word, did I not? I shall see how my city cousins live with clear eyes, so I can tell my clan someday my own impressions."

"You're coming with us, aren't you, Zevran?"

Zevran chuckled. "If I must. No, indeed, I should be honored to escort two such lovely examples of elven womanhood. I only hope you are not too disappointed."

"I do not think I shall be…disappointed," Danith remarked. She hoped, for Tara's sake, that the rumors she had heard were exaggerated.

Tara said, "I won't be disappointed. I am just going to see it, and then I'll know where I came from. If it's awful, then I can be glad I'm a Grey Warden and live in our lovely Compound, and eat Mistress Rannelly's delicious food. You admitted it was good, Danith!"

"The food is heavy," Danith shrugged, "but it is well-prepared and not over-salted. The shemlen woman is earnest in her desire to perform her duty."

Tara winked at Zevran. "I saw her eat nearly an entire loaf of apple bread at breakfast," she whispered loudly.

"The bread was good, and made wholesome by the addition of the fruit," Danith said, unruffled. "And the butter was fresh. It was an adequate meal."

Ahead, the noise grew louder, and the scene opened, as they emerged at the mouth of Gate Street in the broad and cobbled Market. Buildings large and small surrounded the irregular space. Shop signs distracted and confused the eye. People were everywhere, as noisy as the army at Ostagar, but here they were all ages. Danith particularly liked to see the little ones running and playing. Their sweet, high voices gave a touch of music to the human cacophony. A wave of homesickness struck her, thinking of the children of her clan, and how she had loved watching over them.

In the center of the Market was a large and colorful circular awning, shading some of the vendors.

"That large building in the Chantry," Bronwyn said, pointing the side. "I expect that you would rather browse in the Market than go there. I do not think I shall be long. I'll meet you under the awning."

Astrid was actually rather curious about the Chantry, but not so curious that she would not prefer to visit the shops. She had coin to spend, and there were all sorts of little luxuries that would improve her life.

Zevran had decided to wear a hooded cloak, and pulled up the hood at this point, just in case some of his old Crow friends were watching. The gold in his purse seemed deliciously heavy, and it was calling on him to spend it…

Of course all the merchants thought Jowan was in charge. He was tall, he was human, and he was male. They were very polite to Astrid, as a dwarf and a Warden. They did not seem to know quite to make of the elves, but they did not refuse to sell to them. It was baffling to Jowan, who had never in his life been in charge of anything, but Astrid pushed him along in front.

"Look calm," she whispered. "Look calm and haughty, and no one will question your right to be here."

He glanced down at her broad and comely face, and tried to imitate her expression; though he was unsure that anyone else could manage calm and haughty as well as a dwarven princess.

Zevran suggested they make a circuit of the vendors first, to get an idea of what was there before they started throwing gold around. It was not the flowery metropolis of Antiva, but there was much to see here: jewelry and scented oils, fine woodcraft and wax candles, musical instruments and richly dyed cloth. Pretty young girls cried their wares as they walked through the market, selling bunches of sweet herbs or berry tarts for a few coppers. Obviously, everyone had to have a tart. Or three.

Quite abruptly, Astrid's face changed, and she gasped. Before Jowan could ask her what was wrong, she was dashing away, crying, "Gorim!"

"I think she knows that dwarf," Jowan told the others. "She ran off to talk to him."

"Should we join her?" Tara wondered.

"Why don't we give them a moment together first?" counseled Zevran. "if she wishes to introduce us, she will let us know."

After only a few minutes, Astrid walked back to her companions. They were looking at her, and it was important not to let herself down.

She hoped her face did not betray her. She hoped no one could see just how bitterly disappointed and hurt she was. For all his words at parting, Gorim's life had gone on without her quite well. Exiled for his friendship for her, yes; but now comfortably established on the surface. Married. A child already on the way. She should be glad for him—and she was, she really was—but their reunion had certainly not played out the way it had in her dreams.

"He's a good friend of yours from Orzammar?" Jowan asked.

Astrid fixed a cheerful expression on her face, searching out every little muscle around her eyes and mouth. "He was my Second. He was exiled when I was sent to the Deep Roads. It was so pleasant to see him again, and to see him doing well."

He had been beneath her then, she recalled, pulling her shoulders back proudly. He was still beneath her. He had been a simple warrior, and she a king's daughter. Now, he was a shopkeeper's son-in-law, and she was a Grey Warden. Unconsciously, she smoothed her tunic, fingertips lingering on the griffon blazoned there.

She added carelessly, "Perhaps I shall buy something from him later." She pointed away from them and said, "Look! There's Bronwyn!"

Relieved to see all her people in one piece and not in trouble of any kind, Bronwyn waved back at Astrid.

Her notes were tucked away. They might or might not be useful someday, but she was clear in her own mind that Adaia—once Melian Tabris—had been the victim of a criminal abuse of noble privilege. Vaughan might be immune from legal remedies, but Adaia had been cruelly wronged. Mother Boann had signed the written statement without any hesitation. She, of course, was concerned for elvish souls; and was distressed that she had not been asked back into the alienage since the day of the "unfortunate affair." She feared that the elves, out of foolish secrecy, were reverting to some primitive, pagan marriage rite.

Further inquiries revealed that no one had seen or heard from Brother Genetivi since he had left Denerim so many months before. His house was locked, and no one answered the door. "But," as one elderly sister told Bronwyn, "the Maker sees all, and will gather the good brother to him, if that is his plan for him. We must trust in the Maker's wisdom."

Bronwyn nodded, not agreeing at all, but too sensible to argue. So. Brother Genetivi had vanished into the blue. She would go over the notes and map tonight. It seemed a mad plan to look for an mythical ancient relic, but it was possible that someone would be called on to do it, in order to save Ferelden's Queen.

She gave her people a smile and gestured at a sign nearby. "Let us visit Wade, Master Armorer of Denerim."

Not only Wade, but his partner Herrer recognized her armor the moment she entered the shop, even covered as it was with a Grey Warden tunic.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Wade dithered. "The Girl Warden! I suspected it from the first. Didn't I say so, Herren?"

"I suspected it before you did," Herren shot back. "She wouldn't remove that tacky helmet, so it was obvious that she was concealing her identity. I must say what she's wearing now is an improvement, though a bit," he paused delicately, "old-fashioned."" The salesman turned to Bronwyn and asked pleasantly, "You were on a secret mission, I assume."

Her friends burst out laughing. Zevran slapped Jowan on the back, shaking his head. Even Danith smirked. Bronwyn smiled graciously. "I was indeed, and I would appreciate your continued discretion. My friend Tara here needs some light armor, and I would like to discuss the possible of some custom weapons."

"Customized for what?' Herren asked warily. Wade bounced on the balls of his feet, hoping for something really interesting at last.

"For dragonslaying," Bronwyn said briskly, secretly amused at their expressions. "We killed a dragon down by Ostagar, but it was a messy, inefficient business. We're trying to find out more about how the old Nevarran dragonhunters worked, but until then we need to move beyond swords and daggers. I was thinking of very sharp spears that would pierce the hide more effectively. I climbed up on the creature's back to get at the brain, but I nearly slipped off. Perhaps spiked boots or some sort of hooks to anchor oneself with? We might need some unusual materials..."

Herren appeared horrified at the time and work that would distract Wade from his usual tasks. Wade was looking ecstatic.

"Unusual materials! Custom weapons! We can test them on my stock of dragonbone! This is wonderful! Tell me, do you have any diamonds?"

"Diamonds?" Bronwyn faltered. How much was this going to cost? Wade wanted to be paid in diamonds?

"For the tips, of course!" Wade raved on joyously. "Diamond-tipped lances might be just the thing... I suppose sapphires or rubies would do... Oh, at last something worthy of my talents..."

Bronwyn managed to calm Wade a little, and get him back to the issue of armor for Tara now. Armor in elven sizes was not produced in great quantity, but in his storeroom, he did have a striking gambeson of studded russet leather that, with some alterations, would fit a small and slender elf woman. It was expensive, of course, and Bronwyn was relieved that Tara already had sturdy boots and gloves, purchased at Ostagar. With visions of amazing, never-before-seen weapons dancing in his imagination, Wade promised to have Tara's armor ready by the following afternoon.

"We'll talk more," Bronwyn told the armorer. "I'd like to see some sketches, perhaps, and talk it over. The Wardens, alas, do not have an unlimited treasury."

Herren's face fell a bit, but Wade was too excited to care about mere coin. As they left the shop, he was muttering about "lyrium-silverite alloys."

"Next, we're going to The Wonders of Thedas," Bronwyn told them. "I want to see what can be done about disguising a mage's staff."

So they walked to the other side of the Market, and turned down a narrow street leading off it. Tara pointed out the Gnawed Noble Tavern to Danith and Astrid.

"It's very elegant," she informed them. "And they make baked apples to die for!" She was bubbling with delight, eager to find out what Wonders Thedas had for her.

Bronwyn had not been in the shop since she was twelve years old, and was relieved to see that it was as large as she remembered: a huge, dim interior, filled with books and rarities and whimsical objects. It had an odd, not unpleasant smell that reminded her of the Circle of Magi.

Scout sniffed the air. He knew what that odor meant. It could be good or bad, depending on the person.

"It's the lyrium," Jowan murmured, sniffing the air, too. He looked at the counter across the room and flinched. The forehead of the man on duty there was glittering with a distinctive lyrium brand. He was one of the Tranquil. Jowan glanced over at Tara, who caught his eye, understanding.

This was the fate that Jowan had feared above all: this was what he had turned to Blood Magic to escape. To be forcibly cut off from the Fade, to be stripped of feeling and independent will, to be made a mere puppet of the Chantry— it was a fate worse than death. It was also a fate very profitable for the Chantry, who used the Tranquil for unpaid labor, crafting precious items for sale. Any money spent here would go directly into the Chantry's coffers. Some Circle apprentices did indeed choose to be made Tranquil: terrified by the unknown terrors of the Harrowing. More were forcibly made Tranquil: unharrowed mages who were deemed to be "trouble" for one reason or another. Tara and Anders had passed their Harrowing, and so were free of this one fear, at least.

"Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas..." said the proprietor in a smooth monotone. Bronwyn allowed her people to browse, while she quizzed the former mage about the possibility of making a staff not appear to be a staff.

"It would be easy to accomplish," the Tranquil informed her calmly. "The Chantry, however, prefers that mages be distinguishable by large and ornate staffs."

"Could you make a sword work as a staff?" Bronwyn pressed. "Or a dagger? Could a mage cast with it instead of something made of wood?"

"Wood is hardly the only substance to be used for a mage's staff," the Tranquil pointed out serenely. "A staff can be made of wood, metal or bone. It needs to be inscribed with the appropriate runes, but a sword-shaped staff is not inconceivable. I have heard of actual swords that could be used for limited casting. However, no one in our workshop is skilled in weapon-crafting."

Jowan was trying not to look at the Tranquil. He did not know the man. From his age, Jowan guessed he must have become Tranquil at least ten years ago. Still, simply knowing what he had been, and what he was now made Jowan's flesh crawl. He muttered, "And I know nothing of weapons-using. I'd rather have a sword-shaped staff than a real sword, Bronwyn. I wouldn't know what to do with a sword."

"And I wouldn't want to try to carry a shield around," agreed Tara. "I'd do better defending myself with magic. A sword-shaped staff! That's...sort of funny when you think about it, but I don't know why it wouldn't work. A staff is simply a focus, after all. Mainly, you have to believe in it."

"I like the idea, thought," Jowan said slowly. "If I had a scabbard, I wouldn't have to carry my staff in my hand all the time. It would feel...powerful...to draw a sword and cast with it. Even a fake sword."

Zevran nodded, "And you could put in all in a harness with a real dagger. My friends, I suggest that you have a non-magical weapon with you as well. Something that would not set off certain...alarms, shall we say? A standard double-harness, shall we say, with a dagger and your "sword-shaped staff." "

Prices and specifications, based on the mages' preferred Schools of Magic, were then discussed. Bronwyn groaned inwardly, shuddering at the expense. It was for the best, and she should really order a staff for Anders and Morrigan as well...

Luckily, Tara could give the Tranquil very specific information about the type of staff that each of the absent mages would find useful. The Tranquil required no leisure, and the staffs would be ready the following day. Bronwyn herself needed some leisure rather desperately after hearing the total cost, and decided to visit the Gnawed Noble for a drink.

"Zevran, you're with me," she said. "Tara, take the other Wardens to the cache. Bring back all of Brother Genetivi's notes, along with whatever suits your fancy there."

Tara felt deliciously important, leading the other junior Wardens to the cache, showing them the tricky way in, then displaying their hoard of emergency supplies.

"A lot of these books are copies of the ones in the study," Jowan said, closing one, and moving on the crates of clothing. Sometimes he missed robes, but Bronwyn insisted that he stay in the light armor she had bought for him. If he was going to be visiting the Queen regularly, however, he would need something less martial. There was always his Grey Warden tunic, but Mistress Rannelly had overheard, and assured the Commander that there were all sorts of fine garments for men in the storage rooms. She would find a "proper" doublet for Warden Jowan to wear when he visited the Queen. Jowan sighed, thinking about it. His life had certainly changed.

"Some of the victuals need to be replaced," Astrid said, wrinkling her nose. "When time permits, this place should be thoroughly cleaned and inventoried." If one was going to be a Grey Warden, one should do it thoroughly.

Danith had found some Dalish arrows. There was dust on the quiver, but it was from a Northern clan. It was comforting to know that she was not the first Dalish Warden. She slung the quiver over her shoulder and tightened the strap.

It was rather shocking for a human lady to sit down with an elf for a drink in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. If the lady had been anything less than a Cousland and the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, it would have been too scandalous to be permitted.

Edwina, the landlady, being told by a serving maid of the odd behavior by the tall lady with the winged helmet and the griffon tunic, took a look, understood immediately who the lady was, and said, "That's the Girl Warden, that is: Lady Bronwyn Cousland herself. Great nobles will have their little eccentricities, Dilys. Address her ladyship as "Warden-Commander" and give her what she wants. If she wants to stand a drink for an elf, that's her business. I've heard that some elves have been Grey Wardens, so it's likely that fellow with her is one of them. That's all right, I suppose. They're heroes, after all."

Dilys brought the drinks as instructed. It seemed odd to be serving an elf, but he was a handsome fellow, to be sure, and his armor was high-class. For an elf to be strutting about town in armor meant he had to have permission, so she smiled back when he smiled at her. He really was very handsome.

More elves came in after a bit, and one of them was a mage: a real mage with a staff. She was wearing one the Grey Warden tunics, too. There was a nice-looking human warrior and a dwarf in good armor, so that made the group a little more respectable. There weren't a lot of customers so early in the day, and no one was complaining about the elves, so Edwina gave strict orders to offer the Girl Warden and her party every courtesy, short of drinks on the house.

Oblivious to the stir she had created, Bronwyn went over their plans for the rest of the day.

"Mistress Rannelly will serve a middday meal for us at the Hall, so I suppose we should go there soon. Buy what you have a fancy for, and then let's head back to the Compound. This afternoon, I must go pay that visit to my cousins. Arl Bryland is well-disposed to the Wardens, and I want him to remain so."

"He's a nice man," Tara agreed. "He speaks to me nicely, without smirking in that way."

"You will speak to his wife...the...Arlessa? Is that the correct title?" asked Astrid.

"Cousin Leonas is a widower," Bronwyn told them. "His wife died in childbirth with his second son, Lothar. Lothar must be—let me see—ten years old now! Corbus is a little older, maybe twelve or thirteen. The only one of those children I know well is my cousin Habren. She's a year younger than I, and when we were children we visited back in forth in an effort to make us become friendly."

"Your unenthusiastic tone suggests that it was not a success," Astrid remarked.

"I have to be polite to Habren," Bronwyn said, obliquely answering Astrid. "She is my cousin's eldest child, and she is..." she blew out a breath..."betrothed to Bann Vaughan, and thus will very likely someday be Arlessa of Denerim."

Danith looked utterly repulsed. "Should you not warn your kinswoman about that vile man?" she asked Bronwyn.

Tara seconded her. "He might hurt her!"

"I don't know..." Bronwyn hesitated. She was unsure how much she should tell them about her relatives. It would hardly be tactful to explain that Vaughan would very likely treat the noble daughter of a powerful father entirely differently than he treated other women—especially elves. Even less did she want to admit that Vaughan's cruelty to others would probably not be in the least offensive to Habren. She said, "...Habren dislikes me, and I have no influence with her. If I told her one thing, she would do another to spite me. The person I could speak to would be her aunt Werberga, Arl Leonas' older sister. She raised Habren, and is very fond of her."

Her companions nodded sagely at that, even Danith. Bronwyn changed the subject. "While I am visiting Bryland House, I know that Tara wants to go to the Alienage. Do I understand that Danith and Zevran are going with you?"

"Yes! I'm so excited!"

"Very well. Please return to the Compound before sunset. I will be back long before that, for we must conclude things with the traitor. Jowan, I'd like you to seek out the Royal Library and start researching the Nevarrans. Anything you can find out about the old dragon hunters would help. We need to visit the Queen late in the afternoon, both to report and for her healing. I'm sorry to do this to you, Astrid, but I would like you to keep an eye on the prisoner while the rest of us are out visiting."

Astrid shrugged. "I shall take a book with me. I only ask..." she smiled slowly. "That you take me with you when you visit the Queen this afternoon. I wish to see her with my own eyes."

"Of course. We'll report and I'll present you. Jowan will do his spells. I'll be dining with the Queen tonight, so I'll be sure to tell Mistress Rannelly not to wait supper for me."

Zevran considered the matter. "Do not be too hasty with little Erlina. I will speak to her when I return, and see if there are not some last gems of intelligence to be coaxed from her."

It had to be done, so Bronwyn did it. In the privacy of her room at the Compound, she changed into her grey velvet gown, smoothed her hair, and set off on foot to the Bryland House with Scout at her side. It was not far from the Palace—on the same side of the river, luckily, and she need not fear soiling her only finery.

She wondered how she could possibly care about looking well for that irritating old cow Werberga, or for horrible, horrible Habren. Scout paced beside her, and she had daggers concealed in her boots. She was more than sufficiently armed for any threat likely to befall her at Cousin Leonas' house.

She gave her name at the door, which opened for her instantly. The upper servant showing her to the ladies' sitting room looked askance at Scout, and was evidently within an inch of telling Bronwyn that he would have to stay outside. Then he caught her eye, and looked away.

"My dear Bronwyn!" exclaimed Lady Werberga, coming forward to meet her, hands outstretched. Though fulsome and rather insincere, she was at least more polite than Habren, who did not bother to rise to greet a guest.

"I'd get up," said the young lady, with an impudent titter, "but you can see I'm busy."

In her lap was a mabari puppy. It was a handsome little fellow, perhaps a month old. It was squirming and crying, trying to escape Habren's clutches.

Scout lowered his head and growled softly. "He doesn't look very happy," Bronwyn said. Was Habren trying deliberately to provoke her?

"I'm imprinting on him," Habren declared. "It takes time. This is definitely the right one. I have a feeling about him."

"Habren is so fond of animals. Won't you be seated, Bronwyn dear?" Werberga asked. "We've heard so much about you. Such heroics! Your dear mother and father would be so proud."

Bronwyn forced herself to smile, hating Werberga for bringing up her parents. She did not want to discuss them in the presence of Habren.

"Cousin Leonas asked me to bring all of you letters," Bronwyn said, forcing her voice to its most mellow tones. Was Habren going to strangle that puppy in front of her? If she did, Bronwyn had a dagger in her boot with Habren's name on it. She pulled out the folded and sealed parchments. "For you, Cousin Werberga," she said, handing the older woman her letter. "And for Habren…"

"Put it on the table. How nice of you to run errands for people. Didn't Father send any coin?" she asked, in a peevish whine. "I need some." The breeder had refused to sell her any more puppies until she paid something down on her account. This one had better imprint, and soon, if he knew what was good for him.

"He sent his best love, and these letters. I have letters for Corbus and Lothar as well. May I see them?"

Werberga hated to have the boys in the sitting room. They made such a noise… Still, Leonas had wished it…

"Of course, my dear." She summoned a servant. "Fetch Lords Corbus and Lothar to me at once. Their cousin, the Girl—I mean— the Grey Warden, is here." She gave a little embarrassed laugh. "Such an odd nickname, Bronwyn. It seems almost disrepectful."

"I'm used to it, now," Bronwyn smiled.

"You must be," Habren said carelessly. "It's clear you've been doing nothing but fighting. Is that a scar on your face, or did you forget to wash today?"

"Habren!" her aunt reproved her. She said to Bronwyn, "I hardly noticed it, my dear. I have a very good formula for face cream. You see how it has taken my wrinkles quite away. I'm sure it would help."

Habren smirked at her. Bronwyn smiled back mildly, imagining Habren in the Deep Roads.

"Yes, Habren," she said sweetly. "It's a scar. I got it fighting darkspawn. And my eyes are green because of darkspawn poison. There now, that takes care of me. And what about you? Are you happy with your betrothal?"

Lady Werberga leaned forward, triumphant. "Bann Vaughan," she confided, "has given my dear Habren a diamond!"

Habren kept a firm grip on the poor puppy, while waving her left hand in Bronwyn's direction. On it was a massive, sparkling boulder.

"See my ring?" Habren demanded. "Vaughan gave it to me before he left for Ostagar. I heard that Grey Wardens were practically like priests and could never marry. I am so sorry for you."

"It is certainly true," Bronwyn said pleasantly, "that Grey Wardens are generally too busy in the middle of a Blight to plan a large wedding. I do hope Bann Vaughan's military obligations do not interfere with yours."

Habren's eyes glittered, but before she could say what was on her mind, the door opened and Arl Bryland's two sons bounded in, with their tutor bringing up the rear. They were nice-looking lads, even though they resembled their sister with their dark hair and grey eyes.

"Bronwyn, here are Corbus and Lothar," their aunt introduced them. As an afterthought, she added, "and their tutor, Master Cletus. "My dear boys, meet your cousin, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden!"

Lothar narrowed his eyes. "If you're the Girl Warden, where's your sword?" The tutor winced.

His brother elbowed him. "Don't be rude. Where is your sword?" he asked Bronwyn himself. "Don't Girl Wardens fight?"

"Quite often," Bronwyn admitted, "but I come to you in peace, hence the gown. My armor and weapons are back at the Warden Compound. Except for the daggers in my boots, of course."

The boys were entranced. "No way do you have daggers in your boots!" Corbus challenged her.

"Yes, way," Bronwyn contradicted him, and drew them at once, the boys' everlasting delight. She twirled them briefly, not as expertly as Zevran could, but well enough for the boys' edification. She then resheathed them emphatically, grinning at them.

"Wicked!" they breathed.

She pulled out the boys' letters. "Your father sent these to you, along with his love," she told them seriously. "He misses you very much, and talks about you all the time. He's a very brave man, and thinking about how you're learning and growing into fine young men yourselves helps him do his duty in the war."

Habren sulked. Bronwyn had not said anything nice about Father missing her; and he had not sent more coin, or any jewels either. He favored the boys scandalously: anybody could see it.

Corbus said, "I wish I could be with him. I'm nearly old enough to squire for him. I've heard there are boys at Ostagar younger than me!"

"And me!" Lothar agreed stoutly.

There were, of course, but Bronwyn thought it was a horrible thing to exploit children in such a way. Very few of them were officially soldiers, but they were in the baggage train and in the bomb workshop, or running errands. They were often in considerable danger. Most were orphans, and very poor, and were glad to be earning their bread. There was certainly no reason for the sons of the Arl of South Reach to emulate them.

"You'll be old enough in few years," Bronwyn said calmly, "and meanwhile you need to prepare yourselves for leadership. Study your lessons and get your exercise. Your time will come soon enough. You never know what you'll need to know. I hated learning accounts, but it was very useful when I had to take charge of the Grey Wardens and make sure I could keep my warriors supplied and paid!"

"I suppose," Corbus granted dolefully. "Did your tutor make you learn Orlesian?"

She ruffled his hair, laughing. "Of course he did!"

"Are you going to stay for dinner?" asked Lothar. His aunt turned red.

"Of course I meant to ask you, my dear. It was right on the tip of my tongue. Would you do us the honor of dining with us tonight?"

"Thank you so much," Bronwyn purred, "but I am dining with the Queen." A mischievous thought struck her, seeing the boys' disappointment. "Perhaps you would care to take your midday meal with me at the Wardens' Compound tomorrow? I fear I shall not be in Denerim any longer than that."

Habren sneered, "I am quite sure that no matter how long you are in Denerim, I have a prior engagement."

"We don't!" Corbus beamed. "Might we go, Aunt? Seeing the Grey Warden is like having a lesson…sort of."

"Yes," Lothar said loyally. "Like an ancient history lesson. Master Cletus, isn't visiting Grey Wardens like a lesson?"

"I suppose…" ventured the scholar.

"Of course you may go," Werberga said generously, glad to get the boys out of the house. "But be back by mid-afternoon, mind."

There was much cheering and capering about. Habren looked away in disgust, so annoyed that her long and manicured nails dug into the puppy's skin. The poor thing squealed in pain. Instantly, Scout charged at Habren, baying like a Hound of Hell.

The shocked young woman cringed away. Taking advantage of an enemy's weakness, Scout snatched up the puppy by the scruff of the neck, and ran him over to Corbus, dropping him in the delighted boy's hands. The relieved puppy, glad of the change, wagged his tail nearly off.

"How lovely!" Bronwyn exclaimed. "I believe that Corbus has imprinted on the puppy. It is so kind of you, Habren, to give Corbus such a generous gift. There is no friend so true as a mabari! What do you think you shall name him, Corbus?"

"He's mine, and his name is Fluff!" Habren leaped to her feet, eyes blazing. Scout growled at her, and she sat down hastily. "And take your vicious monster away from me!"

"Scout, sit!" Bronwyn commanded, amused that Scout obeyed immediately, sitting in front of Habren and watching her, not blinking, just exactly as he watched poisonous snakes. Werberga smiled weakly.

Corbus flopped onto a settee, admiring the happy puppy, allowing his younger brother to tentatively scratch a small ear. "His name is Killer. That's a good name for a mabari, isn't it?"

Scout barked: a cheerful agreement. A very suitable name for a true warrior. Killer squeaked adorably.

"Do bring Killer with you tomorrow," Bronwyn advised. "You need to keep him with you as much as possible to help the imprinting along. The little fellow is too small to walk that far, so put him in a basket." She turned to Habren, her smile menacing. "Your father will be so happy to hear that Corbus has imprinted on a mabari. I shall certainly tell him all about it. If anything were to happy to little Killer, I think he'd be very displeased."

Thanks to my reviewers: Enaid Aderyn, Zute, Juliafied, ZarosKnight, Thomas Blaine, Jyggilag, cloud1004, dyslecksec, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Josie Lange, Samara-Draven, derko5, mille libri, Judy, RayneEthelwulf, The Moidart, Gene Dark, Shakespira, almostinsane, Costin, JackOfBladesX, Herebedragons66, Kira Kiyu, chocolatebrownie12, JtheClivaz, mutive, euromellows, Jenna53, Have Socks Will Travel, Tyanilth, Lehni, delilahmedea, xJanelex, and Valmothg. Please keep them coming! They make me so happy.

King Henry VIII was very much afraid of being poisoned, and did indeed institute the punishment of boiling alive for poisoners.

Next chapter: Tara, Zevran, and Danith in the Alienage, the fate of Erlina, Fergus at Vigil's Keep, and Loghain and Alistair at Ostagar!