Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon

Varel did not accompany Petrus and Fiona when they set out for the Dalish camp again two days later, but he did insist they take an escort. He was twitchy enough about both of his guests being away from the safety of the Vigil - and out from under his eye - that he wanted very much to accompany them, but there was work for him to do. Rullens and Garevel needed him to hold down the fort, so that they could be free for duties that would take them away from the castle, such as recruiting and training more soldiers. His job, among others, was to figure out how to pay for their upkeep, because they still had to be fed and outfitted, even if they received no actual pay as recruits.

He also needed to turn his attention to preparing the fortress to host the Orlesian Wardens, who would be arriving at some point this month. Unlike the occupiers, they would be here to stay. The thought of it unsettled him, before he shook it off, annoyed with himself. As long as they fought the darkspawn that seemed to be plaguing Amaranthine, their nationality was irrelevant - or, at least, it should be. He suspected it would not be as neat as all that. It never was.

As Varel walked past one of the doors to the great hall, he realized he still needed to have the old banners taken down, and replace them with new ones. The Grey Wardens favored silver and blue, as he recalled from the pennant in front of their Denerim compound, and while the latter color was not too expensive, silver thread was. Could they get away with clever use of gray and white thread?

After checking the inventory ledger, which was not as descriptive as Varel liked, he and Jacob spent much of that day rummaging through the fortress's many storerooms, but though he found many bolts of brown, green, and gold cloth - the arling's colors - they were not appropriate. He came to the unpleasant conclusion that they might have to part with some of their precious store of coin in order to purchase some.

Jacob emerged from under a pile of fabric and fur hides, his rumpled clothes and hair covered with dust. "Sorry, ser, no blue cloth. This is the best I could come up with." He held up a bolt of blue-gray cloth he had taken out of a chest.

Varel sighed and shook his head over the find, which was not the right color at all. "I figured as much. Thank you for helping me today. Now, it's almost time for your lessons, so run along now and clean yourself up."

The boy made a face at the reminder of lessons, but handed over the bolt and left, needing to move sideways in the narrow space between piles. Varel put it back into the chest, and sneezed as he disturbed pungent satchets of moth-repelling herbs. Then it was his turn to try to navigate his way through the teetering heaps without knocking anything over, and sneezed again as his passage disturbed the dust that covered everything in the stuffy little storeroom.

He relocked the door and climbed up the steps, emerging into late afternoon. Spring might be just around the corner, but what remained of the day was still brisk and chill. As he looked at the sinking sun to gauge the time, a flapping cloth up on the battlements caught his attention. It could not be a sentry, for soldiers did not wear cloaks on duty. Curious, he crossed the inner courtyard and went into the keep, glad of the breeze even if it was cold, for the stuffy storeroom lacked windows.

The flapping cloth did indeed turn out to be a cloak, but Varel could not tell who was wearing it from behind. At the sound of his footsteps, the figure - who turned out to be Hadrian - whirled around, a look of abject misery on his face before he hid it away.

"Warden Hadrian," Varel said, giving the other man a polite nod.

Ever since the darkspawn ambush, Hadrian had held himself apart, so Varel had not had much to do with him, busy as he was with his own duties. It was not easy to talk to the man, for Hadrian had lost none of the wariness he had displayed since he became a Grey Warden. Varel understood why he had that particular attitude, considering the awkward circumstances which had led to him joining the order - not to mention the near disaster when he had tried to escape his fate - but it was also getting a tad tiresome.

"Seneschal." Hadrian gave him a nod back. "Still not used to being called that."

"I suppose you would be more comfortable being referred to as 'Captain Hadrian'?" Varel could not keep all of the dryness out of his voice.

The other man grimaced and looked even more glum than before. "Well, that's all behind me now, isn't it? And once we reach the Anderfels, there's nothing but landlocked Weisshaupt Fortress and plenty of darkspawn to look forward to." He gave the sea such a longing look that Varel wondered if he intended to give the Grey Wardens the slip once they boarded a ship to the Free Marches.

Varel would feel more sorry for the man had he not seen what had happened to the people the slavers had captured. "It's more than your employer is likely to get."

Hadrian opened a hand, conceding the point without actually saying so. It struck Varel as odd that Hadrian did not show more feeling for his lover, who would doubtless hang for his crimes.

"You don't seem too, er, affected by his probable fate."

Hadrian turned a very cynical look at him. "Why? It was just business. Besides, it's never wise to turn down a magister's son, even if he was born on the wrong side of the sheets." His expression suggested it had been a long, tiresome journey to Ferelden.

"Yet I'm told you defended him quite vigorously against a mage and two experienced warriors, despite being taken by surprise."

Hadrian's expression grew scornful. "Wouldn't you fight if armed strangers suddenly barged into your bedroom?" His lips twisted in remembered bitterness. "Fool that I am, I thought he was going to stay and help, but he ran like a coward. If he hadn't sent the guards I always post at my door away... but that's all blood over the dam, isn't it?"

At the sudden light of challenge in Hadrian's eyes, Varel had to concede that it was. Satisfied, Hadrian snorted, then they both had to bend their heads and huddle into their cloaks as a brisk sea breeze blew over them hard enough to rattle their clothes. Hadrian straightened when the wind died down, and winced.

"Are you in pain?" Varel said in concern. If Hadrian had run into bandits or darkspawn while out on patrol, or taken some sort of injury, surely someone would have informed him.

"Just saddlesore," Hadrian said, and grimaced. "I've never ridden before, and now I have to do so much of it. I hate it."

Varel found himself having a bit of sympathy for the other man. "It is not my most favorite activity, either, but I would have thought you'd know how to ride."

Hadrian snorted. "Only the rich can afford to. Surely it is the same in Ferelden?"

"It is. But you have - you had - your own ship, did you not?"

"Ugh. Who in their right mind would ride when they can sail?" Hadrian said, scoffing. Then he sighed. "I'm a commoner, and I worked my arse off for years to get my ship." The Grey Warden brooded over that loss for a moment, then turned on Varel a look of grim amusement. "Do you think everyone in the Tevinter Imperium is rich? Most of the wealth is in the hands of a few: the magisters, of course, the top leaders of the army and navy, and the most prosperous merchant houses."

It was Varel's turn to give the other man a challenging look. "And the slavers, I would imagine."

"Well, yes."

Varel decided he had baited Hadrian enough, and he still had work to do. "The herbalist has a salve that can help with your soreness."

Hadrian bristled and stared at him, as if expecting mockery. On seeing none, he hesitated, then ducked his head. "Thank you. I think I will go ask her now. Excuse me." He gave the sea one last longing look, and turned to leave.

Varel gave the door that Hadrian closed behind him a thoughtful look, then went inside to his office. Without Hadrian to distract him, his disgruntlement returned. He grumbled under his breath, for he had spent an entire day on this fruitless task, and with nothing to show for it.

"Muttering to yourself, Varel? A sure sign of developing madness."

Varel turned to glower at Rullens, who had come up behind him. With the captain was the housekeeper, who stared at Varel in curiosity. "You would be going mad, too, if you were responsible for getting the castle ready for the Grey Wardens."

The captain looked startled. "What? Aren't Fiona and Petrus - oh! You mean the Orlesians arriving at some point this month."

"The Grey Wardens," Varel said, frowning at the other man. He opened the door to his office and gestured the other two inside. "Not Orlesians."

Rullens dismissed the distinction with an irritable wave of his hand. "You know what I mean. But why do you need to make special preparations? We didn't do anything fancy for Fiona or Petrus."

"Ser Cauthrien told us they were just observers sent from Weisshaupt Fortress, remember? And they told me from the outset that they would be leaving once spring arrives and ships can safely cross the sea. The Grey Wardens from Orlais, on the other hand, will be staying."

Clara scowled at that, for she had her own bitter memories of the occupation, but she was too practical to waste time dwelling on the past. "Then that means t' throne room needs a thorough cleanin'. They gonna stay in t' barracks or up here in t' castle? So's I know ta get t' rooms ready. How many are comin', anyway?"

"They're sending a dozen," Varel said. Considering the scope of the problem, if the darkspawn ambush was anything to go by, a dozen seemed a meager number.

Rullens and Clara sported identical expressions of dismay. "That's all they're sending?" the captain said.

"And it took how many Wardens to stop the civil war and the Blight?" Varel reminded them. "Just four." Though two of them had died in the course of accomplishing such impressive feats.

The housekeeper made a derisive noise. "They're our Wardens. I ain't gonna expect Orlesian Wardens ta be as good."

"Well..." Varel closed his mouth, unable to muster any energy to argue the point. It was not as if he had any liking for Orlesians, either. "In any case, there's nothing we can do about it. A dozen is all we're getting. I don't know where they should lodge yet, Clara, because that's something I need to discuss first with the commander, or the nominal leader of the Orlesian Wardens - I mean, the Grey Wardens." Blast, now she had him doing it.

"I'll get 'em ready anyways," Clara said. "T' queen - I mean, t' king and t' queen - might send people ta watch 'em, ye know."

"Hm, they might, at that," Rullens said, rubbing his chin in thought. "Even if the king is - or was - a Grey Warden, the other nobles aren't going to be happy about Orlesians coming to rule again."

Clara frowned. "But Varel'll still be in charge, right? Whoever they send ta keep an eye on t'Orlesians, they won't try ta push us 'round, will they?"

"I don't know, Clara," Varel said. "Depending on how much authority the Crown gives them, that could happen, and we would have no choice in the matter." Rullens and Clara both made faces at that. "But let us leave that discussion for another day. Were you looking for me?"

Rullens gestured for Clara to go first. "Well, with t'Orlesians comin', I gotta git t' great hall cleaned and all, and t'old banners are still hangin' up there. Do we keep 'em or get new ones?"

Varel grunted. "We must get rid of them, of course. I wasted much of the day looking through the storerooms for cloth in the appropriate colors, but I didn't find any."

"Appropriate colors?" Rullens said. "What are they?"

"Well, the Grey Warden colors are blue and silver," Varel said. "So of course we should use the same. You must have seen the banner in front of their compound when you visited Denerim before?"

"Now that you mention it, yes, though I heard Loghain ordered it to be taken down after that disaster at Ostagar." The captain's brow furrowed. "But are you sure we should be using the actual Grey Warden banners? I know the Crown gave Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, but the majority of us aren't actually part of the order - I don't think I would be entitled to wear their colors."

Varel scratched his head. "You make a good point. Nothing like this has ever happened, so there is simply no precedent for me to fall back on."

Rullens took off his helmet and cap and rumpled his hair, as if that would help him gather his thoughts. "Then you'll have to talk to whoever is in charge of such things, though I have no idea who they are."

"Oh, that would be the royal marshal in Denerim," Varel said. "Remember that trouble some years back, when one of Lord Bensley's cousins wanted to use something or other on his crest - I forget what - and Lady Packton took offense to it? Arl Howe finally had to call on the marshal to make a ruling in order to shut the both of them up."

"Was that what it was about?" The captain shook his head. "I think I was deployed to the southern border at the time, so I missed it, and when I returned, it grew so garbled in the telling that I couldn't make sense of it. I do regret missing the insults the nobles were hurling at each other."

"What 'bout Petrus?" Clara said. "Wouldn't he know 'bout this sorta thing? Mebbe ye kin ask him."

Varel shook his head. "I think not. He has so little patience for politics that the question would just baffle him. In any case, the royal marshal is the one in charge of all matters pertaining to heraldry."

"Then ye're gonna have ta go ta Denerim and git this all sorted out 'fore t'Orlesians arrive," Clara said. "Ye know, ye oughta check t' markets in Denerim. They just had t' royal betrothal at Wintersend, so they mighta had banners made up fer t' ceremony and t' celebrations."

"What a splendid idea! Thank you, Clara." Varel gave the housekeeper a small bow entirely devoid of mockery. "I think I will do just that."

"Couldn't you send a messenger?" Rullens frowned. "You only just came back after spending three weeks going around to the nobles. I'll have my hands full with training the newest batch of recruits."

"I doubt anyone else can get in to see the royal marshal," Varel said. "She's sure to be fully occupied with the preparations for the wedding in the summer. I hope she's not too busy to see me." He could not afford to cool his heels in Denerim when there was still so much to do.

"If ye must go, then go, and come back quick. Oh, and we're gonna need some other things, too," the housekeeper said as she strode to the door. "I'll git ye a list."

"What? But, Clara -" Varel began, but the door closed before he could protest any further, leaving him glaring at the innocent wood. "Blast it, how does she expect me to pay for it?"

Rullens grinned. "Well, if you're going to Denerim, maybe you can beg the commander for money."

"You make it sound so easy," Varel said, putting his fingers in his mouth without realizing it. He was not sure he was prepared to face the commander in person, though he knew his fears were surely groundless. Surely.

The captain's grin grew wry. "It must not be, if you're biting your fingernails."

Varel snatched his hand away from his mouth, cursing the fact that he did not have his gauntlets on. Just wearing them was usually enough to discourage that bad habit. He cleared his throat and said, "There is no guarantee she will be at the palace, you know. She might well be in Highever."

"Huh, I suppose that's true." Rullens peered at him. "You're hoping she won't be in Denerim, aren't you?"

In actual fact, Varel was praying she would not be, but he was hardly going to admit it. "Well, it seems I have no choice but to go to the capital. At least I will only be gone a few days, instead of a few weeks."

"We haven't been idle in your absence," Rullens said, taking a wax tablet out of his belt pouch. "Garevel and I have brought our numbers up to about half strength, and the first batch of recruits we brought in last year are about done with training. Sandis and her assistants have spent the past few days fitting them with armor. It would have gone faster with a blacksmith, but..."

"That's wonderful news!"

Rullens grimaced. "I also turned out the soldiers who participated in the attack on Highever. I advised them to seek service somewhere far from Amaranthine, and to keep their heads down. They should have no trouble finding posts - many nobles - well, the surviving ones - must be trying to rebuild their forces. I just hope the commander will be satisfied with their dismissal and leave it at that."

"Losing experienced soldiers is always a blow, but it had to be done. I don't think the commander will waste time hunting them down." Varel prayed the commander would not make a liar of him.

The captain did not look very reassured, but went on. "We still have a long way to go. Half strength isn't full strength by a long shot, but we can't hurry them through training, either." His expression grew embarrassed as he extended the tablet towards Varel. "I hate to add to your burdens, but we really do desperately need certain supplies. Sandis is doing her best, but without a smith, we have to do our own repairs, and to do them properly we need things we can't make ourselves."

Varel eyed the proffered tablet with resignation, then took it. "I'll see what I can do."

"When are you planning to go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Rullens sighed. "You're getting back at me for giving you that list, aren't you?"

"Actually, it is because I want to return as soon as possible, but there's no reason why it can't be both."

Rullens shot him a wry look. "Very funny."

The sentry horn blew outside, then Varel thought he could discern the dull beat of hooves in the distance. He and Rullens crowded around the arrow slit to see what the commotion was about. "Oh, I didn't expect the Grey Wardens to return so soon," Varel said, catching a glimpse of blue.

"Are you sure it's the Grey Wardens, and not someone else?" Rullens said as he put his arming cap and helmet back on and followed Varel out of his office.

"Who else could it be? The commander's courier came only a few days ago, so I'm not expecting anyone else."

Varel caught a servant on the way to the entrance and had him get some meals ready for their guests, then they met Hadrian of all people in the courtyard; from the scent of something pungent hanging about the Grey Warden, he had indeed availed himself of the herbalist's expertise.

"Feeling better?" Varel said, as Hadrian paused to wait for them to catch up.

"Somewhat," Hadrian said. Perhaps the pain had turned him sour, for he seemed to be in better humor. "The herbalist volunteered to apply the paste herself."

"And did you let her?" Varel said, raising a brow. Rullens looked blank, until Varel explained Hadrian's problem to him in a whisper; the captain had to look away, cover his mouth, and smother a snicker.

Hadrian smirked. "Yes. Why not? It's difficult for me to reach back there, after all. She said I could come by at any time if I needed her help."

Rullens could not contain a bark of laughter. "I'll just bet she did."

Further jesting had to wait, for Fiona had entered the inner courtyard; a groom, carrying her bags, trailed behind her. Petrus was nowhere to be seen, but he was no doubt still taking care of his horse himself.

Varel approached and gave her a bow. "Welcome back, Fiona. May I ask if you were able to help the Dalish with their halla?"

"You may, and yes, I was," Fiona said, giving Rullens a nod. She raised her brows in mild surprise when Hadrian also greeted her.

"You were able to cure their Blight sickness?" Varel was impressed as he walked with the mage into the keep. "What did you use? Can it be adapted to work for other animals? Humans? Elves?"

"Oh, it wasn't Blight sickness at all," Fiona said, making a wry grimace at the disappointment she saw in his face. "It was a fungus, and they sickened when they breathed in the spores while they grazed near an abandoned quarry. The Keeper's First had already done much to relieve their distress when I arrived, which is why we are back so soon. They should make a full recovery."

"Odd that they have never encountered this problem before," Varel said, glad the Dalish would not have to put down their halla. It would have been a terrible shame to have to kill such magnificent beasts. "They must know every inch of the woods."

"The halla are intelligent enough to avoid it," Fiona said. "I suspect traces of the darkspawn stench from the nearby quarry overwhelmed the scent of the fungus enough that they didn't realize what they were eating. And it is so hard to find greens in winter that they couldn't resist. Hunger tends to overwhelm caution."

"Hm, I may have to warn the swineherds and shepherds to avoid that area," Varel said. "But I'm keeping you from your bath and rest. Someone should bring a hot meal to your room soon." Fiona's face was pinched with cold, the bottoms of her robes and legs were splashed with mud, and he doubted the Dalish camp had provided any of the amenities she was used to.

Fiona gave him a tired but grateful smile. "Thank you." The groom, who had been waiting patiently all this time, trotted after her.

Petrus, burdened with his saddlebags, arrived just as Fiona disappeared around the corner towards the bathhouse, just as splattered with mud as she was, but not looking as tired. Then again, their brief journey to the Wending Wood probably qualified as a mere jaunt compared to his usual patrols in the Anderfels.

"Welcome back, Petrus," Varel said with a bow.

"Thank you," Petrus said, nodding at Rullens and Hadrian, though he, too, raised his brows at Hadrian's presence.

"I'd better take a look at the roster and make sure I can get an escort together for you when you leave, Varel," Rullens said. He gave the Grey Wardens a bow. "Please excuse me."

"You are leaving?" Petrus said, gesturing for both Hadrian and Varel to follow. "Where are you going?"

"Denerim, ser. I have some business there."

Petrus blinked. "I know you are shorthanded, but must you go yourself?"

"I must consult the royal marshal on a matter of protocol," Varel said as he walked with Petrus to his room. "As the matter is somewhat urgent, I must go myself, or they might leave any messenger I send cooling her heels." He explained his dilemma with the banners. "Unless you know what we should do?"

"Er, no," Petrus said, his eloquent expression suggesting the thought had never crossed his mind, and that he thought Varel was a little mad for worrying about such a frivolous thing.

Varel tried to explain. "The Grey Wardens from Orlais will be arriving this month. They must be used to the splendors of Empress Celene's court, and while we have no hope of matching it, still I would not want Amaranthine to be shamed. Besides, the old banners, at least, must be taken down and replaced."

"It seems a waste of money you can ill afford to waste on such fripperies, not to mention time, but I defer to your judgement of these things," Petrus said as he opened the door to his quarters and waved them inside. He set down his saddlebags on a table and took off his cloak, hanging it on a peg. "Hadrian, why don't you go with him?"

Hadrian looked as surprised as Varel felt at the suggestion. "What?"

"Though your flight was, hm, not well thought out, you fought quite well," Petrus said, leaning against the table and folding his arms. "In the weeks since the darkspawn ambush, you've done all that I have asked without complaint, even when I was not there to watch, so you are due a short leave before we take ship to the Free Marches."

"Thank you," Hadrian said, then his expression grew wry. "It would be more meaningful if I had any actual money to spend."

"I think you mean 'waste'. But I'm sure you'll manage," was Petrus's dry reply. "You will receive a stipend once we reach Weisshaupt Fortress; I have no authority to draw on funds here. Perhaps if you ask nicely, Seneschal Varel will tell you where to find free entertainment."

"We'll leave you to your rest, then," Varel said, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one.

"I know Petrus suggested it, but you don't have to come with me if you don't want to," Varel said to Hadrian as he closed the door behind them.

Hadrian shrugged. "Why not? It's not as if I have anything better to do. I can't go back to the city here, my crew might still be around."

"Then we'll go to Denerim, first thing tomorrow. But you'll want to ask the herbalist for more ointment."

"Oh, no." Hadrian halted and stared at him, horrified. "You mean we have to ride?"