Chapter 50
Village of Crestwood, Ferelden
Lead Scout Harding had established the Inquisition base camp in a secluded corner close to the crossroads where the Imperial Highway running north alongside Lake Calenhad met the King's Road connecting Denerim and Val Royeaux. The smile was bright on her face as she welcomed the Inquisitor and his group into the campsite, despite the fact that Harding's group of Inquisition spies had been stuck in a perennial downpour for the entire day they had spent near Crestwood, scouting around the camp and in the village itself.
"What have you learned, Scout Harding?" Inquisitor Maxime Trevelyan demanded, running his hand through his damp hair as he stared at the dwarven scout.
"Nothing about the rogue Warden, I'm afraid," Harding admitted with a disappointed frown. "But we've seen as many as six other Grey Wardens in and around the village, making inquiries about this fugitive. We overheard them referring to their prey as Warden-Constable Blackwall."
"Blackwall, hmm? Doesn't give us much, but at least we'll know how to address him if we find the man," Maxime shrugged. "Hopefully we can beat the other Wardens to their prize."
"Let's hope so, Inquisitor," Harding nodded. "However... we could be facing an even more serious problem here. The village is under constant attack from the undead, and some have wandered unnervingly close to our camp as well. And it seems like a problem that only you could solve, Inquisitor."
"Why would you say that, Harding?" Maxime asked. In response, the dwarven woman led him and the others to the edge of the camp to look over a low drystone wall at the spectacular view that opened before them. The dark waters of the large lake below were rocked with frantic ripples, but the most disturbing part of the view was the subtle green glow of a Fade rift, a long way into the lake and well under the water. "Oh," the Inquisitor immediately acknowledged the issue at hand with a deep sigh.
"Hope you're a good swimmer, Your Inquisitorness," Varric chuckled, though nobody really laughed at the comment.
"Perhaps the villagers can loan us a boat," Cassandra mused. "But even then... it seems like the rift is fairly deep under the water. Will you even be able to seal it from the boat?"
"I very much doubt that," Maxime shrugged. "I'm not really sure what to do about this rift. Perhaps we should simply focus on finding the Warden."
"These people have suffered a great deal... it would be a shame to just abandon them to their fate," Harding sighed. "Down there, by the edge of the lake, you can still see road signs pointing to Old Crestwood... which is now at the bottom of that lake," the dwarven woman explained, pointing at the coastline directly under the ledge upon which the Inquisition camp had been erected. "The survivors all moved further up into the hills and built the new Crestwood next to the ruins of their old chantry. Crestwood was the site of massive floods ten years ago, during the Blight. And this isn't the only rift in the area, either, but it's the one that has caused corpses to start walking out of the lake."
"But of course it would do that, darling," Vivienne joined in. "Demons are pouring through the rift and possessing the undoubtedly many corpses at the bottom of the lake. It is no wonder that the villagers are struggling to survive against such a siege."
"Hmm, what's that to the left?" Maxime suddenly asked, pointing at a massive dark wall rising above the waters of the lake, partly obscured by the heavy rain. "That looks a lot like a dam, right?"
"I think so, Inquisitor," Harding nodded.
"In that case, there's something I don't understand," Maxime scratched the top of his head. "Clearly it has been there for a long time, surely before the flood. But dams are built to suppress floods, so why didn't it work? Did they forget to raise the floodgates or..."
"That must have been it, Inquisitor," Harding agreed, though she did appear a little uncertain.
"Perhaps the floodgates have been raised as far as they go?" Dorian guessed. "Of course, I don't know a single thing about dams. Frankly, they don't make a fascinating subject for study."
"The problem with that explanation is that floods don't persist for ten years, Dorian," Maxime shook his head. "The very existence of the dam implies that there was no lake here to begin with. My father once funded a construction of a dam on a river near Ansburg, so I know a few things about building these things. Basically, you trap the water in order to create a reservoir, which you can then use for whatever purpose you want. But once the flood was over, the level of water should have gone down again. Unless..."
"Unless what, Maxime?" Cassandra asked impatiently.
"Well, the only reason I can think of is that the floodgates have been stuck in a lowered position," Maxime shrugged. "For ten years. Very strange."
"Perhaps someone in the village will be able to shed light on the situation?" Harding asked hopefully.
"They better," Maxime nodded. "Anything else, Harding?"
"Well, one of the villagers mentioned some strangely dressed men lurking up in the hills and staying out of sight," Harding explained. "The descriptions matched those of the Venatori cultists, though."
"I'd be delighted to help you get rid of them, Inquisitor," Dorian spoke up eagerly.
"Well, they're close to Corypheus, so we should definitely look into their activities," Maxime agreed, then looking at their lead scout again. "Want to join us, Harding? I feel like the village itself should be our first stop. You can play guide for us."
"Sure thing," Harding happily accepted, then exchanging a brief smile with Varric when she thought that nobody was looking.
Since Maxime clearly saw no reason for the group to remain at the Inquisition base camp any longer, Harding quickly picked up her gear and joined the others as they walked down the drystone wall encased road leading up to the village itself. Typical Fereldan landscape of rolling hills and green pastures spreading everywhere accompanied them on this brief walk, but the dismal downpour did not truly allow them to enjoy the sights. As the first buildings of the village of Crestwood came into their view, so did a scene of battle, two heavily armed men in Grey Warden armor together with a lithe elven woman fighting off a group of undead, and appearing to have things well in hand. Still, Maxime ordered his group to rush in and help with mopping up the annoying risen corpses, hoping to learn a thing or two from the Wardens in gratitude for their aid.
"The Herald of Andraste lives yet?" one of the Wardens appeared to recognize Maxime once the battle was over, his fellow gallantly helping the elven village guard get up to her feet. "The villagers will be glad to hear of your arrival, if you truly are the only one who can close the rifts in the Veil."
"Yes, that's why we are here, to seal the rifts," Maxime replied, lying with consummate ease. "What brings you here, Gray Wardens?"
"A fellow Warden named Blackwall is wanted for questioning," the Warden replied, his fellow still busy flirting with the elven woman. "We heard he'd passed through here, but the villagers know nothing. They have troubles enough."
"What did this Blackwall do?" Maxime inquired innocently.
"Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture," the senior Warden shrugged. "More than that I cannot say. I do hope that Blackwall comes with us peacefully. The veterans of the Order remember him fondly. If you happen to come across Blackwall, Herald, please do let us know how and where to find him. You will have the eternal gratitude of the Grey Wardens, and in these times... what could be more useful?"
"I shall keep that in mind," Maxime nodded at the two Wardens as they bade them farewell and walked down the road, away from the village and towards the Inquisition base camp, the elven woman remaining behind and giving the retreating Wardens blatantly hero-worshipping stares.
"The Wardens are simply amazing... I wonder if they're looking for recruits, because I would surely join them without much thought," the woman gushed, only then remembering that she was facing a group of seven new arrivals to her village. "Oh! Where are my manners... my name is Jana, and I am part of the village militia. Welcome to Crestwood, Herald of Andraste... the villagers will be relieved to hear that you have come to help."
"That we have, yes," Maxime replied. "I would not recommend joining the Grey Wardens, however. It just isn't a good idea, Jana."
"What... why not? The Wardens are heroes!" the woman protested.
"Grey Wardens will do anything to stop the Blight. There's much to admire in that commitment... but much to be wary of as well," Solas spoke up, stepping forward. "The people of this village are more in need of your commitment than the Wardens. Do not disappoint them."
"I... yes, you're probably right," Jana offered Solas a slightly embarrassed smile. "I apologize for allowing my obsession with Wardens to overwhelm my good sense. It won't happen again, I promise," the elven woman nodded before thanking them again as they walked past the militia guardswoman and proceeded further into the village itself.
"So, what do you think about those Wardens?" Varric spoke up as they walked along some of the unimpressive log buildings, a couple of the houses looking to have been razed recently, perhaps during an attack of the risen corpses. "The good thing is that they don't seem to know where to look for this Blackwall, so we still have a chance to get to him first."
"Unless they have spooked him into withdrawing further away from Crestwood," Cassandra mused.
"It seemed as if they did not even know the reasons for which they are hunting this Blackwall," Dorian remarked with a frown. "It does not speak well for them to follow their orders so blindly."
"The Grey Wardens are a military order," Maxime shrugged. "In a military order, a leader does not always have to explain their commands to their underlings. Often there simply is not the luxury of time to do so. And frankly, that's why there are leaders, to make the hard choices and bear the heavy responsibility for these decisions. Anyway, that is irrelevant," the Inquisitor shook his head, looking over at Scout Harding, chatting quietly with Varric. "Harding, is there some authority figure in this village? A mayor or something?"
"Yes, Mayor Gregory Dedrick," Harding nodded. "Here, let me show you the way."
"No need, Harding," Herald shook his head. "We'll just look for the largest log cabin in the entire village. I'll take Cassandra and Vivienne with me to meet the mayor, and in the meantime I want the rest of you to scour the village and try to learn as much as possible about anything and everything."
"Fair enough, Inquisitor," Harding replied with a smile, then pointing ahead towards a wide square by the main gates of the village, the local militiamen heavily besieged by shades and corpse archers. "But perhaps we should first help out the guards, yes?"
Maxime wasted no time in answering that question, simply withdrawing his twin swords and charging ahead, side by side with Cassandra. With a strong support of magic and ranged weapons, the demonic horde was swiftly dispatched without any harm coming to the relieved village guards, Maxime, Cassandra and Vivienne then continuing through the gates and up the hillside upon which the new village of Crestwood had been built, not stopping until they reached the cabin furthest up the hill, the house belonging to Mayor Dedrick.
The mayor, a man with graying hair and well past his fifties, invited them into his slightly more respectable dwelling, shaking their hands, and appearing both very grateful but also a little nervous from the way he spoke to them. "The Herald of Andraste? We heard rumors that you perished at Haven... I am glad to see that the rumors were just that, rumors," Mayor Dedrick greeted the group. "The village of Crestwood stands at your service, despite everything."
"The title is now the Inquisitor, Mayor Dedrick," Maxime smiled curtly.
"Oh... my apologies, news barely reach us these days," the mayor apologized. "Have you come to stop the undead?"
"If we can get to the source of the trouble then we'll help," Maxime nodded. "The undead are attacking because of a Fade rift that has spawned in the lake. Is there a way for us to get to it?"
"I don't think the rift is actually in the lake, Her-... Inquisitor," the mayor spoke hastily. "I suspect it's down in the caves below Old Crestwood. Darkspawn flooded it ten years ago, during the Blight. It wiped out the village, killing the refugees we had taken in."
"The darkspawn flooded the village?" Cassandra spoke up, looking surprised. "Just how did they manage to do that? All we heard was that there was a flood..."
"Well... they damaged the dam controls, you see," Mayor Dedrick replied. "I didn't think those bastards were clever enough to do that, so perhaps it was by accident... the darkspawn destroy everything in their path, don't they?"
"But that was ten years ago, darling," Vivienne remarked sweetly. "You had plenty of time to repair the broken controls and drain part of the lake. Why have you not done that, my dear?"
"We... we have discussed this, but... by this time, the lake has become like a resting site to all those who perished in the flood," Dedrick managed weakly. "To drain the lake just because some villagers wanted to recover their family valuables, well, it simply felt disrespectful."
"Well, we have to drain the lake now in order to get to the rift," Maxime shrugged. "Let's hope we can fix the broken controls and lower the floodgates."
"But... there must be some other way!" Dedrick protested.
"We are trying to help your village, mayor," Cassandra reminded the man sternly. "Don't forget that the Inquisitor is the only one who can close the rifts."
"You'd have to evict the bandits from the old fort to even get to the dam," the mayor sighed, still looking doubtful. "I can't ask you to risk your life."
"Are you saying that you don't want our aid?" Maxime challenged. "You'd leave people under your protection to the mercy of demons? Or is someone else coming to help?"
"No... nobody else is coming," Mayor Dedrick hung his head, looking defeated. He turned around and retrieved a ring with keys hanging from a nail in the wall, passing it over to Maxime while pointing at the largest of the keys. "This one will unlock the gate to the dam controls past the fort. And if you can clear the fort from the highwaymen, raiding caravans on the King's Road... well, that might bring back the merchants and make life easier for the villagers. When the trouble with the undead started, the bandits used the confusion to kill the old gamekeeper in the fort and took the place for themselves. We would have lost less people to the walking dead if we had been able to hide in the fort."
"When you say fort, you mean Caer Bronach, don't you, mayor?" Cassandra inquired, Mayor Dedrick nodding silently.
"What do you know of this fort, Cassandra?" Maxime asked.
"I only just remembered of its existence, so not too much, I'm afraid," the Seeker shrugged. "I think it was built early in the Blessed Age as a sort of... stopover garrison for Fereldan soldiers traveling to fight the Orlesians. Considering that it is a relatively new building, I would not expect it to have structural or strategic weaknesses that we could exploit. However, simple highwaymen might have poor understanding of how to defend a fortress."
"Besides, we have three mages, while they probably have none," Maxime chuckled as they left the mayor's home. "Yes, I think we'll be just fine."
Following the conversation with the mayor, Maxime and the two women left the village, passing through the gate and then waiting for their companions on the Old Market Road that led from the new village of Crestwood to the nearby Caer Bronach. It did not take long for the four others to catch up with them, the reunited group taking a few moments to discuss their observations in the village, not that there were many exciting discoveries to address.
"I'm still rather confused about the way the mayor was acting," Maxime remarked, shaking his head as he looked at Vivienne and Cassandra to offer their opinion.
"Obviously, he was not telling us the whole truth, darling," Vivienne commented with a knowing nod of the head. "His story has more holes than a wheel of Antivan cheese. The question remains what exactly is he hiding?"
"He was very conflicted about even accepting our help or not," Cassandra agreed. "I am starting to doubt whether he has even sent to Denerim for aid."
"Well, I spoke to a rather charming Chantry sister in the old ruins at the hilltop," Dorian piped up, casually twirling his moustache. "Sister Vaughn, I believe. She was convinced that the mayor has not sent for help against the undead."
"But why wouldn't he do that?" Maxime groaned in frustration. "Perhaps we should head back and shake the truth out of that little weasel?"
"I would rather see us first deal with the highwaymen in the fort," Cassandra objected, the Inquisitor acceding after a brief pause.
"At the same time, the good mayor has dispatched a plea for help from Denerim regarding a dragon that has been terrorizing the outlaying farms," Solas spoke up suddenly. "I read that on the village message board," he added helpfully.
"It gets even better," Dorian continued. "The Chantry sister told me that she and the other villagers have repeatedly demanded that the mayor fixes the dam controls and drains the lake, because they want Sister Vaughn to perform last rites for their dead loved ones. And yet, the mayor has always stubbornly refused."
"It almost feels as if there's something at the bottom of the lake that he doesn't want us to find," Maxime mused, then looking at the two dwarves standing a little aside from the others. "So, did you two find something as well, or did you just spend all that time rolling in the hay?"
"We met a man by the name of Gauld who asked us to check up on a woman living outside the village," Harding replied, clearly becoming much better at ignoring the Inquisitor's jibes. "I believe her name is Judith."
"And while you might think such task beneath us, Your Inquisitorness, consider one thing," Varric added. "This Judith is the only one who has refused to abandon her farmstead, and she has not joined with the others in relative safety behind the village gates. She is also a naturalist... you know, the type that obsess with weird plants and nug droppings. She probably spends a lot of time wandering the surrounding hills. If anyone has seen this Warden-Constable Blackwall, it might be her."
"Actually... that is a very good point, Varric," Maxime nodded in approval. "Caer Bronach is our first priority right now, but once we deal with that rift under the lake, we should absolutely visit this Judith. Well done, both of you, but now we really should make haste for the fort," he looked up at the heavens, the sky starting to darken and creating the perfect natural cover for the attack on the keep.
As they traveled the Old Market Road, Maxime and his group spotted a secluded cave off the road a little to their left, the cave's mouth boarded up by a wooden facade, people sitting around a campfire just outside the cavern and looking wary of the well-armed group traveling down the road. It seemed as if some of the locals considered the cave to be a safer place to stay than their homes in village of Crestwood, and Maxime decided against bothering these men and women, figuring that they still lived far too close to the village to have any knowledge about Warden Blackwall's movements.
"There's the keep," Solas spoke up, the first to spot the stone fortress standing proud at the side of the King's Road. It looked well-maintained, but a little on the small side, especially compared to their new base in Skyhold. "How do you plan to take it, Inquisitor?"
Maxime peered at the entrance of the fortress of Caer Bronach, then laughing out loud when he noticed something. "Wait... the front gate is made of wood?" he snickered, unable to stop himself.
"It would appear so, yes," Cassandra commented dryly.
"Well, we have brought with us the means that let us laugh about such obstacles," Maxime smiled, looking at Vivienne, Dorian and Solas in turn. "Well, my friends, go ahead and bring that door down. Introduce these pathetic highwaymen to the power of magic!"
Skyhold
Ambassador Josephine Montilyet sat in her brand new Skyhold office, desperately trying to block out the dull thuds and other irritating noises as a crew of dwarven masons worked in the hallway stretching from her office to the War Room, working hastily to seal the dangerously large hole in the wall. While Josephine usually never consumed alcohol while working, she had made an exception this one time, idly sipping from a glass of red wine as she stared at the stack of letters in front of her, as if hoping that it would shrink down in size if she glared at them harshly enough.
With a deep sigh, Josephine reached out and picked up the first of the letters, her curiosity immediately perked when she saw that the raven had already delivered a very prompt response from the University of Orlais and its grateful Chancellor Jϋrgen Haulis. Having used a paper knife to open the letter, Josephine removed the parchment and began to read the perfectly calligraphic handwriting.
'Esteemed Ambassador Montilyet,' read the letter.
'Upon examining the requirements for the vacancy at Skyhold, and discussing the matter with my colleagues, we have come to a conclusion that the Inquisition would benefit far more from an arcanist, instead of a simple Formari enchanter. An arcanist is more than simply someone specializing in runecrafting, they are also skilled in mastercraft smithing, and the candidate we have in mind for the Inquisition has a particularly gifted mind capable of creating unique and inspired inventions that the Tranquil enchanters would be unable to conceive.
If you are interested in acquiring the most talented arcanist known to the University of Orlais, please attempt to contact one Lady Dagna, formerly of Orzammar. Her last known address was the Howe Estate in Denerim.'
With a creased brow, Josephine placed the letter back on the table, feeling a little confused. She had expected the university to offer one of their Tranquil crafters, but instead they were suggesting some dwarven woman who was making her living in Denerim... an unusual turn of events, to say the least. Well... perhaps that's a sign of just how skilled this Dagna is. The Chancellor was very grateful for the help I provided in dealing with the grand clerics, so he would not be making a suggestion he was not certain of, the comely Antivan thought, picking up her quill and attaching a clean sheet of parchment to her writing board as she began to compose a letter to one Dagna of Denerim.
Unfortunately, Josephine never made much progress before she was interrupted again, this time not by the crew of dwarven builders, but rather a hesitant knock on the doors leading to her office. This surprised her, because the corridor connecting the throne room and the War Room ran through her office, and so nobody ever seemed to knock before they simply marched through, for example when heading to the War Council. "Come in?" she called out, her eyebrows rising a little in further surprise when she saw the elven mage, Merrill, timidly parting the doors and then awkwardly squeezing through the gap.
"I'm not interrupting horribly, am I?" the elf asked, fidgeting a little.
"I'll make time," Josephine replied politely, pointing at the empty seat on the other side of her desk, opposite to the Antivan. "Please sit down, Merrill."
"Umm, thank you," the elf returned, gingerly perching down on the very edge of the proffered seat, as if readying herself for bolting out of the office, for whatever reason. "I'm sorry, perhaps I should not ask, but... it's been bothering me for two days now. It's making me into a bundle of nerves. Well, more so than usually," she added with an uneasy smile.
"Relax, Merrill," Josephine made an attempt at returning the smile. "I bear you no ill will, as I'm sure you have realized by now."
"Yes, but... why not?" Merrill blinked. "You have a good reason for wanting to get rid of me. Two good reasons, actually."
"And what would those reasons be?" Josephine asked.
"Well... you suspect me of having betrayed the Inquisition to Corypheus," Merrill sighed. "And, well... you have feelings for Bethany. I know that."
Josephine felt a brief pain of anger and her first instinct was to lash out, to deny her feelings, but before she could act on this defensive reaction, a wave of weakness washed over her, forcing her to lean back in her seat with a resigned sigh. "I... wanted to think that you might be an agent of the enemy, yes," Josephine admitted. "But the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous the idea of you being allied with Corypheus became. And yet, I was prepared to use this information against you anyway... only to find out that I simply couldn't." The Antivan hesitated for a moment before continuing. "As for your second assertion... I will not discuss it."
"Oh... oh, I'm sorry," Merrill apologized hastily. "I feel like I owe you a great deal, Josephine. I could... I could tell you the name of the friend I sent that letter to, back in Haven. But only if you promise not to reveal their name to anyone."
"I... appreciate the intent, Merrill, but I can't make that promise if I don't know who your friend is," Josephine replied. "I'm sorry."
"Well... maybe I'm a fool, but I feel like I can trust you anyway, so I'll give you the name," Merrill shrugged. "When I came to Val Royeaux many months ago with the intentions of finding Bethany, I had no idea where to start. I felt very confused in the capital, and I probably would have ended up robbed blind and dead in the gutter, if not for this very helpful elven woman who took care of me, and in the end helped me find Bethany in Haven. Her name is Briala."
"Briala?" Josephine's eyes widened from surprise. "You're friends with Spymistress Briala?"
"Well... she didn't call herself 'spymistress', but I knew she was big with the elven resistance movement," Merrill explained. "All I wanted to do was to help my people and to express my gratitude to Briala."
"I can understand that," Josephine nodded, a plan already starting to form in her head. A link to Briala herself! This could be very beneficial for us! "I promise to keep your secret safe, Merrill, but under one condition." Merrill faced her with a questioning stare. "If you ever want to send another letter to Briala, I would ask you to run it past me first. You do not wish to disclose the secrets of the Inquisition, yes? I would like to make sure that it doesn't happen by accident."
"I can do that, sure," Merrill smiled happily. "You're... very sweet, Josephine. I'm sorry that I... well... I better be going now, I see you have a lot to do," the elf chirped, quickly rising and then bolting for the doors and running away.
Josephine smiled and shook her head at the elven woman's antics. Everything felt so very strange now, she had expected herself to hate Merrill's guts for having come to stand between her and Bethany, but now that she had actually come to know the shy and awkward elf, she found it near impossible to feel hatred towards someone so... trusting and innocent in so many ways.
Having spent a few more minutes musing about the situation with Bethany and Merrill, Josephine felt yet another wave of self-pity and melancholy approaching, so she poured herself more of the wine and finally returned to finishing the letter to Dagna. With her thoughts constantly getting sidetracked following Merrill's visit, it took Josephine three attempts and almost half an hour to actually complete a letter that did not make her cringe upon re-reading. Since it had by now become clear that she would struggle to complete any other tasks and noticing that the sky outside had already darkened, Josephine decided to head up to the rookery and dispatch the letter to Dagna before retreating to her quarters for some much needed shuteye.
With Bethany absent from the rookery, Josephine coaxed one of the three remaining ravens out of its cage, attaching the letter and then setting the bird loose to deliver the message by following the whispered directions. Hoping that Bethany did not have plans for all three ravens, and would not be very angry at her the next morning, Josephine climbed down the stairs to the atrium, crossed the throne room and then walked over to her quarters, with surprise noticing a gap in the doors and hearing some hasty shuffling noises from the inside.
"Who's in there?" she exclaimed loudly, angry at the intrusion upon her privacy as she charged into her quarters to confront the culprit. Much to her surprise, the intruder was none other than Bethany Hawke, standing next to an open drawer of her desk, wide-eyed at being caught in the act. "What in the Maker's name are you doing, Bethany?" Josie demanded, her fury diminishing only slightly.
"I... uh, I just wanted to..." Bethany tried to explain, but Josephine would have none of it.
"You can't just break into my quarters and start going through my things!" the Antivan exclaimed, clenching her fists and glaring at the other woman. "What were you even doing, thinking that this would be acceptable?"
"I'm sorry, I was only..." Bethany managed, looking crestfallen as she quickly left the room, passing by the ambassador who accompanied her exit with a withering stare, Josephine then walking over to the opened desk drawer to see what Bethany had been searching for. Much to her surprise, instead of finding something missing, Josephine discovered that a package wrapped in white paper with purple lilies had been left for her.
With trembling fingers, Josephine quickly unwrapped the package, frowning a little when she tore the wrapping paper in her clumsy haste, eventually uncovering the contents of the package, a miniature elven warrior lady wearing a beautiful ironbark armor and carrying a sword and shield on her back, the perfect addition to her collection of dolls... that Bethany wasn't even supposed to know about... but then again, she is the spymistress. She must have brought the doll with her from Halamshiral... that was so very touching of her, Josephine thought, sighing deeply when she recalled the harsh words with which she had chased Bethany out of her room.
Only a while later did Josephine notice that there was something else in the package, a small note that had been attached to the doll, and reading it was the ultimate dagger to the Antivan's breaking heart. The message was very simple, and yet it cut her to the very bone when she read the words 'Josie, I'm sorry I hurt you.'
Pressing the beautiful elven doll against her chest, Josephine Montilyet slumped down on her bed and started to rock back and forth as she valiantly struggled to hold back a flood of tears.
