The morning dawned bright and cold at the Circle tower; water lapped choppily at the base of the ancient structure, shimmering alternately gray and blue in the weak sunlight of winter. Kester's boat was moored on the shore by The Spoiled Princess, gently rocking with Lake Calenhad's waves. No one was yet outdoors, still rousing themselves from the warmth of their beds. Across the lake, Redcliffe emerged from a heavy mist, its castle turrets as dark as storm clouds against the shock of white sky. Inside the tower, apprentices stirred to life for their daily lessons. Above them, Enchanters prepared to teach, while those Harrowed mages less experienced applied themselves to higher levels of learning. And further up the Senior Enchanters dressed for an important conference with the First Enchanter and Knight Commander, who would meet with them that day to decide upon training rotas for those fit to fight in the coming war against the Archdemon.
Bethany Hawke woke with a start, jolted from her pleasant dreaming by one of the younger apprentices chucking his shoe in agitation. Some classmates of his ran off giggling, clearly amused by some joke at their friend's expense. Although the girls and boys were separated, the boys were rambunctious enough at times to be heard even through the thick stone walls that divided their quarters. Each wall connected the rooms with wooden doors; if one were left open as friends mixed back and forth to greet each other or walk to classes, it was not long before one's sleep could easily be disturbed.
Bethany lay back, studying the high arched ceilings with a stone in her heart. Although part of her was relieved, finally, to have breached that great unknown which had been her fate should she be revealed to the templars, she deeply regretted being separated from her family. There had been times in her life when she had fantasized about living in a Circle; in her imagination, it had been a center of learning and scholarship, where she could use her talents openly in peace. In many ways, the Circle fulfilled her expectations; the lessons were extremely enjoyable, especially those concerning healing. The library here was second only to that in the palace at Denerim, and Bethany was allowed free time every day to immerse herself in the literature there. She had already distinguished herself in her courses, earning approval from some of the Enchanters, but she would not be allowed to see the sky again until she was Harrowed, which could take years. The other apprentices and Harrowed mages who were not teachers gave her a wide berth, whispering 'apostate' and 'maleficar' where only she could hear. Despite her best efforts, Bethany had not yet made a single friend. Her eyes welled up at the thought of Adelaide, whom she missed more than anyone, and the fevered whispers of encouragement she had offered as the First Enchanter bore Bethany away from her family.
"You'll be fine," Adelaide had muttered, clinging to her in one last embrace. "We'll come visit you as we promised; you're going to be a great mage, Bethany. Study hard."
Sniffing back her tears, Bethany threw her legs over the edge of her bed, careful not to look anyone directly in the eye. She suffered their fear of her in silence, determined not to make trouble as she had for Bann Grifon. He was a great man who had chosen to help her instead of condemn her to death for hurting his men. She would not see his kindness wasted.
After she was dressed, Bethany ate her breakfast alone, only occasionally looking about her as she caught pieces of conversation that piqued her interest. When she was done, she returned her dirty dishes to the Tranquil; for many of the mages in the tower, these silent, flat-faced workers served as a disturbing reminder of what they could become with a single misstep. For Bethany, they were a welcome relief from the various emotions of others. The Tranquil never stared at her curiously, or scurried from her in fear. They never glared at her with open hatred or laughed at her when she couldn't understand something. Although Bethany lacked some fundamental knowledge that felt like breathing to the other apprentices, her talent for magic was undeniable, and her quickness in the classroom had served thus far only to breed more suspicion and resentment.
"Did you enjoy it, apprentice Hawke?" this Tranquil's name was Mira; she often worked in the library and had conversed with Bethany about literature regarding Spirit magic the previous day. Bethany smiled warmly, relieved to have some human contact.
"Yes, thank you, Mira. How are you today?"
Mira placed the dirty dishes in a tray to be taken back to the kitchens, where more Tranquil would wash them. "I am fine, apprentice Hawke." She drifted away, expressionless as she collected more dishes. Bethany watched her go, sorry they could not talk more. As she turned to leave, three female apprentices around her age passed her by, laughing.
"She's even more of a freak than I realized!" One of them declared scornfully; Bethany paused, her face flushing scarlet behind her dark curtain of hair.
"Ugh! Who would make friends with a Tranquil?!"
"There must be something wrong with her," the ringleader agreed in disgust. As they swept passed her, the girls made a point of bumping into Bethany, shoving her slightly to one side. They giggled gleefully amongst themselves, casting disdainful looks over their shoulders. Bethany froze, torn between a desire to retaliate and a swell of hurt. How could they all be so cruel? She just didn't understand!
Overwhelmed and distraught, Bethany escaped to the library, ignoring the bell for her first class. She found the most remote corner possible and stayed there, curled into a ball with her head against her knees, wishing she could disappear from this place. She did not know or care if anyone would come to find her; she simply could not take anymore of this harassment.
"Mistress Bethany?" Enchanter Benedict, one of her teachers, had managed to find her. "We have missed you from your lessons; it is unwise for one such as yourself to be unaccounted for within the Circle, my girl. Especially after what happened last summer."
Bethany stared at the kindly enchanter and shook her head, overcome. "I can't go to lessons today, Enchanter Benedict. Please don't force me."
He raised his eyebrows, "Are you ill?"
Bethany considered lying, but knew she would be found out the moment she was examined by another healer. "No," she admitted with reluctance. Benedict's brows lowered again.
"Then I am afraid you must attend your lectures; please come with me."
Bethany shook her head, tears once again threatening her dignity. "Please! I can't!"
"What is this?" Benedict asked irritably, "What has so troubled you? You are normally an excellent student; you have, in fact, defied all of our expectations of you. Do not disappoint us now."
Unfortunately for him, Enchanter Benedict chose the wrong thing to say. "So you all think it!" Bethany accused in the manner of a teenager on the brink of an emotional outburst. Enchanter Benedict was a man well-versed in the behavior of young people and quickly recognized this accusation as an expression of fear. He sighed.
"Think what, my dear?"
"That I'm a dangerous maleficar!" she said tearfully, her lip trembling. Enchanter Benedict tilted his head.
"Whatever do you mean? If you were, you would not be here, I can assure you."
"But that's what everyone says!" she insisted, wiping at her eyes and sniffing. Benedict sighed again, resisting the temptation to be annoyed with these unintelligible generalizations. "Who, pray tell, is everyone?" he asked. Bethany worked to calm herself, embarrassed of her mild hysteria in the face of his unruffled demeanor.
"The other apprentices," she mumbled. Bethany looked away, tracing a pattern in her chair with one finger.
"What do they say, girl?" Benedict demanded, taking the prospect of bullying very seriously.
Bethany gulped, uncomfortable as she remembered. "They call me apostate and… m-maleficar. No one will sit with me at meals or speak to me unless it is to say something cruel." After a moment's silence, she whispered sadly, "I am all alone."
Bethany's eyes welled-up again and the tears fell, too heavy for her to carry anymore. She curled in on herself, burying her face out of sight so that this wise and learned man would not scorn her. She missed her mother; she wanted the safety of her older brother's embrace, where no one could dare to hurt her. She wanted to see Carver's outraged face as he demanded to know who had made her feel this way so he could go and slaughter them. Most of all, she wanted her sister's hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly as they went through life together. For the first time in her life, Bethany had no one to support her or save her from her hardships.
"Mistress Bethany, please dry your eyes."
Enchanter Benedict produced a handkerchief and offered it to her; Bethany accepted it after a moment's hesitation, barely allowing herself to meet his gaze. She was surprised to see kindness in his face, and understanding.
"Children are often cruel," he lamented, sitting at the small reading table with her. "And with recent events, a talented mage raised outside the influence of the Circle is unwelcome. Many of the apprentices here survived a grueling ordeal under Uldred and feared the Chantry's purge known as the Rite of Annulment. You are familiar with it?"
Bethany nodded, having only recently heard of the horrible practice. Benedict sighed.
"It is unfortunate you have come to us now, when so many still feel that fear. I myself was dubious when the First Enchanter told us you were coming, but having borne witness to your talents I cannot deny his wisdom. We are reduced significantly in number since Uldred's mutinous display and with the Blight upon us we cannot turn away able hands."
"Is that why they didn't turn me over to the Chantry?" Bethany asked him. Benedict shook his head.
"No, my dear, no. Had you posed any threat whatsoever, you would have been subdued by the Templars immediately. You proved yourself to First Enchanter Irving as one worthy of instruction. Of that, you should be proud."
A small measure of warmth blossomed in Bethany, but it was overshadowed by her need for friends. What Enchanter Benedict was sharing made sense, but it comforted her little when she considered what it meant. As long as others feared her, she would have no one to turn to in the Circle.
"But I miss my family," she confessed, fingering his handkerchief nervously. "And no one will speak to me except the Tranquil, but when I am friendly to them, the others seem to dislike me even more."
Enchanter Benedict winced, "Yes, well, the Tranquil represent a gruesome end for all of us. I cannot say that I would recommend you befriend them in your current position."
"Then what am I to do?" Bethany cried, exasperated. "Never speak to another living being again?"
"Of course not! How absurd," Enchanter Benedict shook his head, internally lamenting the unreason of adolescents. "It will simply take time for them to trust you. Remain steadfast in your scholarship and soon the rest will follow."
Bethany eyed him skeptically; Benedict grew irritable again. "You may dislike my answer but it is the truth! There is no magical potion or spell for overcoming prejudice; disappoint their expectations for you and someday you will win a friend to your side."
Bethany looked at his handkerchief again, feeling hot and angry as she relived the memory of those girls calling her a freak this morning. Seeing her frustration, Enchanter Benedict added one last piece of his wisdom.
"And, should you require a method of discouragement for those more incorrigible, I must recommend a Spirit spell that can prove rather useful when you desire vengeance without evidence."
Bethany's head snapped up, rapt with attention. Despite the sager part of him, Enchanter Benedict had lit up from within, like a small boy.
"Would you be interested in learning it?" he asked. Bethany nodded vigorously. Benedict clapped his hands together, delighted, "Very well, but then you must promise to return to your lectures." He raised an eyebrow at her; tears gone, Bethany swore on it and returned his handkerchief, her back straight as though she were already sitting at her desk.
"Good! Now, the incantation must be done silently, so you should practice. It goes like this…..."
On the North Road, dawn broke cold and sunny. Fergus packed his things for the final day of travel before they would arrive at Highever. He stared numbly at the proceedings around him; someone put out the fire, while another threw dirt over their latrine. Tents were deftly rolled and stacked on horses; the beasts of burden snorted as they fed upon oats, exhaling breath so warm it looked like their nostrils were smoking. Taking a deep breath himself, Fergus pulled the strings on his pack tight and went to his mount; he studiously ignored the pounding of his heart.
They departed with few words, all of them nervous for what was to come. It would be afternoon when they arrived at the castle, provided there were no mishaps. Fergus prayed silently the whole way, gripping his reigns close as he scanned the road for darkspawn and bandits. None were forthcoming and, before he knew it, a familiar line of turrets and towers inexorably drew his eyes.
Their standard was gone; the colors of Highever still flapped strongly against the wind. Fergus immediately felt ill. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Girding himself against his rage, he focused on directing his horse onto the path leading into the courtyard of Cousland castle. Without his asking, Auden and Adam came to Fergus' sides, nodding silently to him in encouragement. The sight of their eyes through their helms, bright and reassuring, gave him strength enough to sit up tall in spite of his nausea.
Watchmen called out and the portcullis was raised, admitting them. Bann Grifon took point with two of his guardsmen, nodding politely to Arl Howe's men as they rode in. Grooms immediately took charge of their horses while castle servants transported their bags to the appropriate sleeping quarters. As Fergus, Auden and Adam were posing as men of Bann Grifon, they were directed to the barracks in the castle. Grifon would be taken to the comfortable apartments connected to the family's private wing. As they separated, Grifon carelessly called over one shoulder, "Ah, Gerard, do get some rest. Seneschal, one of my men has fallen ill with a fever. Do you have healers available?"
Varel. Fergus recognized him immediately; he slumped forward automatically, torn between joy and pain that made him feel truly ill. Helpfully, Auden supported him, throwing one of Fergus' arms over his shoulders.
"My goodness," Varel murmured, seeing Fergus crumple. "Yes, we have a healer on staff at the moment. I shall send for her forthwith."
"Thank you," Grifon replied graciously. Without another glance, he entered the castle to recuperate from road travel before being introduced to the new Teyrn of Highever. At the thought of their meeting, Fergus' lip curled, a growl deep in his belly. He clutched it with one hand, reminding himself to stick to the plan.
"Let's get you into the barracks," Adam muttered, shielding Fergus from the other side. They shuffled through the castle towards their shared rooms; thankfully, rumors of Fergus fever spread quickly. Two of Howe's men had exited the room Fergus would occupy in the interest of avoiding illness. They were making their exit when the three friends arrived.
"Scuse us," one of them said, grinning. "Can't be too careful, what with rumors of Blight sickness in the south." The second nodded at them somberly; he was an older soldier and more grizzled in the jaw.
"Maker see him through," he grunted, indicating Fergus. The rightful Teyrn gritted his teeth, accepting this offering with difficulty. Did he kill them? He wondered, watching the older man go. His heart was racing as he struggled to control himself. Of the men present, he could not know who among them helped stage the coup. Auden waited until Howe's men were gone before plopping him onto the bed. Now, they had to fool the healer.
There was a common pest of the plant world Fergus intended to use for his ruse. The root of the Pokeweed, even in small quantities, caused nausea, profuse sweating, dehydration and vomiting. Knowing his time was limited, he pulled the root he had been carrying from his pocket and took a bite, swallowing it down quickly before he could doubt his choice.
"Ready?" Auden asked, turning back from the door. Fergus promptly vomited all over his shoes. "Andraste's sword!" Auden roared, unprepared. Adam shot up from his seat on one of the bunks, equally taken aback.
"Fer- Gerard!" Auden hissed, correcting himself just in time. Swift footsteps came from around the corner and suddenly the healer was there, her eyebrows almost to her hairline.
"Do you make a practice of shouting at the sick?" she demanded, outraged. Auden muttered something sheepish before stepping out of her way. When he thought himself out of the healer's line of sight, he glared at his old friend while retrieving a linen to wipe his feet. Fergus could not summon even a scrap of insolence in response. His forehead grew clammy as he began to perspire and his stomach cramped, making him lay back and moan. The healer dropped her bag on the floor, neatly stepping around his vomit as she felt his forehead with one hand.
"Well, if it's a fever, it has broken for now. He is ice-cold." She deftly opened her bag and took out some healing herbs, which she worked with a mortar and pestle before mixing them in a bottle with some oily-looking liquid. "Drink this," she commanded. Fergus took it carefully as his hands were now violently shaking.
The first sip was foul; Fergus gurgled, resisting the urge to spit it out. Summoning his willpower, he quickly sucked it down, praying he would not vomit again. The healer reclaimed her empty bottle before giving him another examination. After a few moments, Fergus felt the tincture begin to soothe his stomach. Slowly, the cramping subsided, and his heart rate eased.
"There now," the healer told them with satisfaction. "That is better. You must rest, good ser. You should feel much relieved come morning."
"Will he be alright?" Auden asked anxiously; this was the part of the plan he had disliked most, worried Fergus' illness would incapacitate him for the duration of their stay. Taking care not to step in the puddle of vomit, she went to the door, nodding.
"Aye, he should be back to himself in no time. I'll send someone to do the cleaning!"
"That was wretched," Fergus said when she was gone. He wiped his sweating brow, feeling the shivers of receding illness climb up and down his body.
"I warned you," Auden muttered irritably, trying to ignore the stench of puke. Funneling his annoyance into work, Auden unpacked his things, throwing them about with a bit more aggression than was necessary.
"I shan't rely upon it again, I can assure you," Fergus replied tiredly, feeling a spurt of pleasure that his friend cared for him so. He was able to lay back in fullness now that his cramps were gone. Within minutes, a maid arrived, and the floor was swept clean of Fergus' regurgitation.
"Thank you," Fergus muttered, keeping his face hidden from view. He could not know if this girl worked under him prior to Howe's betrayal. She did not remain long enough to worry him, however, evidently busy fulfilling other duties.
"Well, the hard part's over," Adam said cheerily, "So here comes the really hairy stuff!"
Fergus snorted; "Indeed."
The men subsided for a moment, all coming down from the heightened state of arousal they had been in since their first glance of castle Cousland. It would be but a brief respite before the next step of their plan. Fergus felt another wave of nausea; he thought it might be the result of nerves rather than poisoning. He had seen his home from the outside since the assault on his family, but not walked its halls since his departure for Ostagar. Now that he was here, he was terrified to see the evidence of his family's struggle or, even worse, to see no evidence of them at all.
"I should sleep," he muttered, turning away from the others so they would not read the fear in him. Auden lifted Fergus so that his breastplate could be removed and Adam assisted with his greaves and boots; both of them were careful not to make eye contact with him as he lay back with a sighed pledge of gratitude.
"It is no trouble," Adam assured him. "You need to recover, my friend. Do so swiftly."
Fergus turned over as the other two continued to unpack, talking quietly between them about what was to come. Though he was exhausted, Fergus' heart picked up speed again at the thought of the difficult tasks ahead of him. Now, he would discover not only whom Nathaniel truly aligned himself with, but also the loyalty of his Banns. He knew Esmerelda was a worthless snake who had been warming the bed of Arl Howe for years, but the others… Forcing his eyes closed, Fergus repeated a prayer in his mind, warding off a torrent of thoughts that could lead him nowhere but his most frightening nightmares.
Aneiren touched one of the eggs with a trembling hand; "Oh, Maker."
"What? What?" Morrigan snapped, irritable with tension. Snow was falling outside; were it not for their perpetual warming of the eggs and Kinnon's heat wards, the cave would be freezing.
"They're ready," he murmured, allowing that to sink in. He watched Morrigan's eyes widen and the paleness in her cheekbones become more pronounced.
"They are early," she accused. Aneiren swallowed hard, looking once again upon the egg before him. "By a few days," he conceded, "But not more."
Anouk and Jowan were closer to the back, warming the last of the eggs before supper. Kinnon, who had grown tired of fire spells, was frowning with concentration at the entrance. After a few intense moments, he yelped with surprise, leaping up from his seat. As he turned, it was revealed that he had grown a cat's tail and it swished to and fro, evidently shaking off the discomfort of being sat on.
"KINNON!" Morrigan's shout was near to a roar; she descended upon her pupil. "How much must I labor to make you understand? Your subject of study must be present when you first begin to transform!"
"I'm s-sorry, Morrigan!"
"Not nearly as so sorry as you shall be the next time you foolishly grow a body part not meant to be yours and I refuse to set it right!"
Kinnon gulped, hands raised defensively against her wrath. A moment later, his tail was gone, and Morrigan had stormed from the cave. Kinnon sighed with relief when she was gone.
"What got her into, well, more of a temper?" Kinnon asked Aneiren as he passed by. Aneiren glanced at him, his mind whirring as he calculated the number of hours left until the eggs would hatch.
"The eggs," he muttered, "We must prepare..." Aneiren wandered away, deep in thought. Confused, Kinnon frowned, wondering what he meant. A moment later, realization dawned and Kinnon ran after Aneiren, slipping and sliding in the snow.
"They're hatching?!" Kinnon squeaked once he caught up. Aneiren nodded, staring up at Redcliffe castle.
"Now?!"
"No, tomorrow morning, afternoon at the latest." Aneiren felt chagrined by his inaccurate predictions, but put that aside. Charlotte needed to know this was coming and prepare the others for imprinting. He realized belatedly that he had left Anouk and Jowan behind, but no matter. They knew how to set the wards before exiting the cave.
Once indoors, Aneiren made for the barracks, a spluttering Kinnon in his wake. Most of the other wardens were there, playing with the puppies. The hounds had grown quickly in the weeks since they were born; their little squeaks of delight echoed down the hall and Leliana's corresponding giggles were as audible. The lyrical tune she and the puppies made together was rudely interrupted by Oghren's roar and someone scolding, "Oghren!"
Aneiren marched in, curious what the fuss was about, but intent on finding Charlotte. She, Zevran, and Leliana had been working on taking groups of wardens out to scout for Darkspawn over the past two weeks. They were careful not to wander too far for fear of getting caught in bad weather, but were nonetheless vigilant. They stopped in local villages to ask if anyone had heard of activity on the roads in eastern Ferelden, but few had braved traveling this winter. Without clear information from their dreams, the Wardens felt as though they were operating blindly until they could march out for the Brecilian Forest. Even Signe had offered them little insight, noting in her correspondence that darkspawn activity in Orzammar's part of the Deep Roads had lessened since they began their campaign against them.
"Where's the Commander?" Aneiren asked Cullen, who was reading on the edge of the chaos that usually centered around their shared hearth. Cullen raised his golden head quizzically.
"Out with Zevran; why?"
Aneiren growled, frustrated. He was loathe to share this pivotal news with more of his comrades before Charlotte knew. "I need to speak to her."
"I'm sure she'll be back soon. Anything wrong?"
"No, nothing." Aneiren muttered, going to his bunk for some privacy and time to think. Leliana sensed his disquiet and watched him pass, tilting her head. She wondered if it was worth the trouble of questioning him; before she could pursue her line of thought, however, a furry mass jumped into her arms, demanding attention.
"Oui, mon petit!" She acquiesced, smiling. Butterbur, as they called him, licked her face eagerly.
"He is such a big boy," Cora declared approvingly, stroking Butterbur's hindquarters. The puppy was indeed the largest in the litter and promised to be a magnificent hound. His sister, Cecile, protested his lion's share of attention with a whine. Petra answered her call gladly, stroking her ears with affection.
The other three hounds were scattered on the floor, making the rounds between their admirers. Oghren, despite his best efforts to deny it, was a reluctant lover of dogs and was often caught giving them treats or tummy tickles when he thought no one was looking. At that moment, Puck, who was the smallest of his brothers and the only one apart from Cecile to inherit his mother's black fur, was attempting to get the dwarf's attention
"Eh? You deaf? I said go away!" Oghren crossed his arms and legs and turned away from the pup, who sat on his haunches and, in a move characteristic of his father, tilted his head with confusion.
Brick nudged Derick, drawing his eyes to the spectacle. Puck, determined as ever, decided it was a simple matter of going around to Oghren's other side. Oghren belatedly noticed this and, with a scornful chuff, turned away again, this time twisting with his eyes closed so as to shut out Puck completely. Puck panted and smiled, thinking it a game, and bounced off Oghren insistently with his paws, yelping his best imitation of a bark. When this did not work, Puck sat again, his head-tilt trembling a little more urgently with concern. He whined.
"No!" Oghren said stubbornly through his beard, eyes still closed. Brick and Derick grinned at each other, waiting.
Suddenly, Puck threw his head back and howled. Oghren started with such force he nearly fell over; without hesitation, he scooped up the pup into his meaty hands, growling in disapproval.
"None of that, now!" he scolded, stroking Puck into a satisfied silence. Muttering to himself so that no one would hear, Oghren told the dog, "If you're going to war you're gonna have to be harder than that, mutt! Pull it together!"
"Oy, Oghren!" Derick shouted, making Oghren start again. The dwarf hid Puck under his arm, not fully turning around. "Eh? What do you want?"
"What have you got there?" Derick asked; Brick attempted to keep a straight face as he too leaned forward, trying to see. Oghren hunched protectively, keeping the puppy out of sight.
"Only my flask!" he barked, "Don't want to share none of it with you ungrateful slops! Stay away!"
"But I've never tried dwarven ale!" Derick replied slyly. "Why not give me a little taste?" Derick reached out as if to wrest the flask from him; Oghren shot to his feet in alarm.
"Stay away!" he repeated, reddening. "A lightweight like you would be sick for a week!" Oghren hurried off to his quarters, trying to hide the fact that part of his shirt was squirming. Derick and Brick roared with laughter; the last two pups, Haider and Riley, watched them with curious expressions before pouncing on them, assuming laughter meant play was at hand.
The entry to the castle was laid to and Charlotte, Mastodon and Zevran hurried inside, shaking the cold from their shoulders. They had discovered little of the darkspawn's movements; Charlotte kicked snow from her boots, muttering to herself with frustration. Zevran watched her keenly, both himself occupied with the movements of their enemy and the adorable crinkle in her forehead as she worried. He saw that Mastodon stared irritably back at him and smiled at the hound, as unruffled as ever.
"It is most troublesome," she groused, taking off her cloak as they strode into the castle. "No sign! I cannot imagine what they are doing, but I know it isn't good." Mastodon fell into step beside her, obstinately blocking Zevran from being near to her side. Quietly, Zevran chuckled.
"That much we can be sure of, yes," Zevran agreed a moment later. "However, let us not obsess over what we cannot know, Principessa. You say your dreams have grown dark as of late?"
Charlotte glanced at him, her green gaze sharp. "Yes; it is as though the Archdemon blocks me from seeing its plans, or perhaps knows nothing of them itself."
"Well, then maybe it does not know what it shall do. It is biding its time and we should do the same, until we can know what must come next."
Charlotte harrumphed, but conceded the point. In just over three weeks' time, they would set off for the Brecilian Forest and she would get her taste of the damage then. She relaxed a little as she realized Zevran was right and that she should not be so ready to rush into danger. As they approached the warden common room, she heard the laughter of her comrades and smiled. It had, despite everything, been a much better winter than she could have hoped for. Her wardens were safe, well-trained, and rested enough to face the coming challenges. She threw her cloak over a chair as she entered, beaming down at the pups with delight. Mastodon went to greet his offspring with a wagging tail, sniffing each of them in turn. When he couldn't find Puck, Mastodon looked about him and whined.
"He's with Oghren," Derick explained; Mastodon's ears perked and he acknowledged the information with a whuff before going to Oghren's shared barrack, his nails clicking on stone. The pups followed him eagerly, with Haider gripping his father by the tail as he growled, challenging him to play. Only a moment after Mastodon entered his room, all heard Oghren cry, "Oh, for the love of my Ancestors!" The pups began yipping, and Oghren roared, causing Mastodon to bark a short warning.
Charlotte listened a moment to her hound's tone, only to realize he too was playing, and she let them be. She suspected Puck was already imprinting on the surly dwarf, with Oghren bonding to him in turn. She thought it might do the dwarf some good to have such a devoted companion; though he was included in their group without question, he still seemed to float on the edges of most gatherings, only offering himself fully to those he trusted. Charlotte counted herself among that small number; she repressed the thought of another, blonder friend he trusted, shaking herself as she went to check in with the others.
"How goes it?" she asked Leliana; Petra, who was near to her fellow warden, answered before the bard.
"We'll have enough supplies for the march, but we'll need to hunt along the way if we can. If all goes well, it will be a four week journey by foot, perhaps 3 if we ride most of the way."
Leliana nodded, "Yes, it will take some considerable time to reach the elves, but hopefully they will not have set out from the Forest yet due to the weather. The frost will reach its last hour when we arrive, if all goes according to plan."
"Has Wynne consented to stay?" Charlotte asked. This was essential; they needed someone who could bridge the gap between the mages, the Legion and Riordan through spring and summer training. Leliana smiled.
"Oui; she was disappointed to miss our adventure, but she was most gracious about it."
"Good," Charlotte replied, thinking secretly she didn't give a toss if Wynne was gracious or not, so long as she put her skills to work where they were needed. Riordan, who was sitting off to one side near the fire, gestured for her to come closer. Charlotte nodded and excused herself.
"Any news?" Riordan asked, clutching his mug of wine. Charlotte sighed heavily.
"None. It's maddening, Riordan. Have you seen anything in your dreams?"
He shook his head, his deeply blue gaze troubled. "I am afraid not. However, a thought has occurred to me, one that is most unpleasant."
Charlotte pulled up a footstool and sat on it, her attention only for him. "Go on."
Riordan looked down into his mug, clearly reluctant to voice his concerns. "Signe has said that the darkspawn are retreating, but the Legion cannot tell for sure which direction they are going in, correct?"
"Yes, that's right. She said in her last letter they thought for sure they would head south, but even though there were some larger bands headed that way, they didn't find the bulk of the horde."
The fire crackled merrily beside them, flickering in Riordan's eyes as he stared into the flames. "Did they scout north?"
"They did," Charlotte confirmed. "As far as they could safely, but the roads were nearly barren and much of the Deep Roads that way are sealed."
"Then it is as I feared," Riordan whispered, gripping his mug tightly. Charlotte's brow crinkled with confusion.
"Charlotte, I… I cannot say for certain," Riordan turned to her, his gaze almost imploring. "But I think the darkspawn are moving north."
"But Signe said-"
"I know," he interrupted, "But if I am right, the darkspawn, bloodthirsty though they may be, would not seek to fight the Legion when the Archdemon commands them to march. Little is known of the Deep Roads in the north. They were taken by the Darkspawn in the First Blight. If they were consumed with the task of finding their way through the sealed tunnels….."
Gulping, Charlotte finished his thought, "Then they might seem to go dormant for months." Riordan nodded, unable to speak more. Charlotte was flabbergasted.
If Riordan was right, then the Darkspawn might avoid Ferelden entirely. For a moment, she imagined only having to hear of the Archdemon's attack as it mounted an assault on some faraway land. She and her wardens could focus on clearing Ferelden of darkspawn and rebuilding from there. Jolted by raucous laughter on the other side of the room, Charlotte shook off the fantasy. No, even if the Archdemon didn't come for them first, that did not mean they could simply ignore it.
"We shall have to wait and see," Charlotte muttered, jumping up from her seat. She glanced at Riordan with irritation before controlling her expression; he had been instrumental in helping her build the armies Ferelden needed, but he was often a man of ill-tidings.
"Yes," Riordan agreed, drinking more wine. Charlotte turned away from him, deciding to go to her office and reexamine their plans for the march east. She needed to keep herself busy.
On the way, Aneiren waylaid her, looking harassed.
"There you are!" He threw his arms out as though she might try to escape at any moment. "The eggs are going to hatch!"
Charlotte halted, blinking at him in astonishment. "What? Aren't they early?"
"By a few days," Aneiren was rueful; his hair, normally smoothed back, had been let loose and fell about his shoulders, mussed from nervous hands. "We have to get ready."
Taking him by the arm, Charlotte led him back towards the common room. "Alright; we await your instructions."
Before he could argue, Charlotte had deposited Aneiren at the head of the room and whistled for everyone's attention.
"Aneiren has just informed me the dragonlings are getting ready to hatch, everyone! Those of you who have been selected for a dragon, come forward."
This had taken considerable thought; Charlotte had been left to ultimately make the decision, but she had carefully consulted with others throughout the process. With the mages learning shapeshifting, them becoming dragons themselves upon command was a real possibility. However, not all of them had mastered the art; Jowan, Anouk, Aneiren and Kinnon showed the most promise. Petra had been struggling to achieve her transformations, while Keili refused to learn. Morrigan had shared with Charlotte that she thought Petra would accomplish the transition to small forms, but not larger ones. In the meantime, Charlotte had written Gavin and Signe in Orzammar to see if they had any interest in imprinting. She had emphasized that once the imprinting was done, it would be a bond only breakable by death, and therefore their responsibility to care for and be a companion to their dragon. Signe had written back almost immediately that, while she was grateful for the opportunity, she did not relish the thought of getting even closer to the empty sky. Gavin had echoed this, stating his preference for solid ground. Surprisingly, Brick had expressed a great deal of interest; Charlotte had decided rather early he would be allowed a dragon as a result. She wanted to fairly distribute this privilege and was relieved to have one dwarf represented in the group. She did not think their dwarven allies would look kindly upon her leadership if she did not afford her dwarven wardens the same opportunities as humans and elves.
After Brick, Charlotte had selected Aneiren, Petra, Cullen, Derick, Cora, and Leliana. Aneiren made the most sense since he had raised the eggs himself; Charlotte had selected the others based on temperament and contribution to the group. Petra was a cool head who could use her increased mobility on the dragon to widen her range for healing. Cullen was steadily growing into his position as a Senior Warden, and Charlotte felt he deserved and would wisely use this resource. Derick was inexperienced, but he had a cheerful nature that brought the others together, as well as an open-mindedness she thought would be useful as she encouraged him to represent the wardens to outside parties. Finally, she had chosen Cora and Leliana for their battle prowess. Before she could select a final candidate, however, Aneiren had barreled up to her and announced she herself would also have to accept a dragon.
"Me?" Charlotte had asked, rather surprised. On the evening in question, she had been bent over a parchment covered with scribbles from her attempting to devise not only the plan for imprinting, but from her efforts to determine who would go to the Brecilian Forest. Zevran sighed and raised his eyebrows at her, as though indicating this outcome had been obvious.
"Of course," Aneiren replied, "You were the one who gave me permission to raise them. You have to take one!"
"Well, I don't know -"
"We've voted," Aneiren interrupted her, holding out little bits of paper. Charlotte took them slowly, astonished she was being so resolutely herded.
Each and every warden had voted that Charlotte should take one of the dragons. When she stared at Aneiren, unable to speak, he grinned.
"We knew it was the only way you'd accept one, so we've out-voted you, Commander. Now," he tapped her list with one finger, "Write your name down!"
Charlotte had done as she was told. She shook her head now at the memory, amazed once more that she was going to have a dragon. She had taken some time to discuss it with Mastodon, so he would understand he wasn't being subverted. Thankfully, the hound had found the idea of such a thing completely preposterous. He knew better than to think anyone could replace him as a companion for his Charlotte.
Her fellow wardens seemed equally amazed and somewhat hesitant, but they all stepped forward and listened attentively as Aneiren described the process a final time.
"Well, you all know how critical those first few moments are. Remember: do not, under any circumstances, break eye contact with your dragonling. If they reject your offering, they will do so within the first five minutes of birth, and then you'd better be ready."
Petra held her head high, but she paled slightly at this reminder. She was much more confident in battle and had vastly improved her combat skills, but they had not been tested against a baby dragon.
"Once the first stage of your bond is achieved, your dragonling will bow to you. You should reciprocate immediately, and then we need to feed them."
Leliana raised her hand, "Aneiren, how long until we can move into the second stage?"
"That's a good question; each dragon will be different. As their keeper, you will come to know them in a way no one else can. From what I've read, it can happen very quickly; over several months; or not at all. Those dragons that do not reach the second stage will become wild in their behavior and begin to treat all other humans as a threat, even to the point of ignoring your commands. Should that happen, the dragon in question would need to be put down."
"But how do we know they're in the second stage?" Cora asked.
"You'll learn the dragon's name," Aneiren explained. "It's not known how this process works or why their name is so important, but it will be clear when you reach that level of bonding with your dragon."
"Their name?" Cullen asked, confused. Aneiren nodded; as he struggled to explain further, Jowan stepped in, unable to contain his excitement from the sidelines.
"Dragons are very intelligent creatures," he said. "They are not sentient in the same way we are perhaps, but they are not dumb animals who operate only on instinct. That is one theory why the Archdemons were once worshipped as Gods; if they were not Gods, they may just have been extremely intelligent High Dragons who communicated clearly with the magisters of the time. They will name themselves and possess an identity, and you will be the first to know it."
"Can they… can they speak to us?" Brick asked. Aneiren grew frustrated, but not at his fellow wardens.
"I honestly don't know," he admitted. "From the notes I've read, keepers feel as though they can talk with their dragons, but I never saw anything that suggested they can speak as you or I do."
"It must be like Mastodon," Charlotte guessed, sensing everyone's trepidation. "He clearly tells us what he thinks, doesn't he? And he never says a word."
Everyone looked at the Mabari, who had joined his mistress for her lesson; he panted happily and wagged his tail at them all, reassuring them that sentience in an animal can be a blessing.
"Then, there's the third stage," Aneiren went on. "This was the most mysterious in the books; it seems few keepers ever reach this level of closeness with their dragon. It is marked by a profound emotional connection, one so strong the keepers said it was difficult to separate their consciousness from that of their companion when they worked together. I can only imagine this stage is accomplished with time and effort, and we cannot know when it will occur for each of you, if at all."
This was followed by awed silence as the Warden keepers imagined what it would be like to share a consciousness with a dragon. Aneiren snapped them all out of it by clapping his hands together.
"Now, they will likely hatch by tomorrow afternoon, so we must ready them at dawn and stay with them until it begins. We should let the kitchens know what we need in terms of food, both for them and for us, and get some rest. We could be waiting for hours."
"What about the cold?" Derick asked, "It's freezing outside!"
"That's why we'll use the heat wards," Charlotte interjected. "They'll keep us and the dragons warm."
The keepers nodded and murmured their assent, then scattered to get ready. Derick went to tell the kitchens what they needed, while Petra and Kinnon went with Jowan and Aneiren to prepare stands for the eggs in the training yard. They had deliberated for some time as to where would be best to hatch the dragonlings, and Charlotte had finally concluded they could conceal them no longer, and taken on the odious task of telling Arl Eamon about them.
She had dearly wished for Bann Teagan's soothing presence during that audience. He had left the week before to check on his holding, Rainsfere, and would return in the spring in time to accompany his brother to the Landsmeet. Arl Eamon and she had barely spoken since Alistair announced he would be king; when sending a messenger to him within the castle, she had thought it fitting that the distance between them might as well be miles rather than feet. Otherwise, she could have gone to his study and asked to speak with him. After their last encounter there, she thought she might never do that again.
To her dismay, Alistair had insisted on attending her audience in the grand hall. Arl Eamon had clearly taken pleasure in looking down upon her and Aneiren with Alistair at his side. Alistair had tried to be friendly, but even Aneiren had been short, merely nodding his respects when Alistair greeted him. Charlotte had not yet shared with them all that Alistair told her he was coming to the Brecilian Forest; she was worried Eamon might stop him and they would all be disappointed.
"To what do we owe the rare pleasure, Warden Commander?" Eamon took the first strike without hesitation. Charlotte gritted her teeth as she watched Alistair redden; how could he be surprised that his uncle would draw attention to their separation? She decided to ignore them both, as much as was possible.
"I have news, my lord. The wardens have been nurturing a resource for our forces for some months now, but were uncertain of its chances for success. Now that we know it shall come to fruition, we wish to share all details with you."
Eamon bowed his head briefly, indicating she should continue.
"When we sought the Sacred Ashes on your behalf," she began carefully, "We discovered the cultists in the mountains had learned the art of breeding domesticated dragons."
"Domesticated dragons?" he spluttered, "You cannot be serious!"
Alistair interjected before Charlotte had to; "It's true, Eamon. I saw them with my own eyes."
The Arl looked at his nephew with mild irritation; Charlotte suppressed a smile as she imagined Eamon's annoyance with Alistair for cutting short his game-play.
"It sounds too dangerous for any man," Eamon asserted, glowering at Charlotte with suspicion. Charlotte was measured in her reply.
"Yes, well, it was evidently effective. We had to go to a great deal of trouble to slay the animals; they were loyal to their keepers, you see, and very intelligent. Rather like scaly, fire-breathing Mabari."
Alistair snorted at some shared memory, but was quelled by Charlotte's severe look. She refused to acknowledge him more than that.
"As it was, we happened upon dragon eggs not yet hatched, and transported them through the mountains to Redcliffe in the hope of raising them as our allies. We feel obliged, now that we know they shall survive, to let you know it is thus. In a few day's time, eight dragons will be born, and will then accompany us to the Brecilian Forest."
Charlotte had dithered and argued with Aneiren on that last score for over a month. She simply could not imagine the trouble they would have to go to in order to take the dragonlings with them, but Aneiren insisted it was an important part of the bonding process and that the dragonlings would require too much care to leave behind. He had eventually worn her down and now she silently thanked him for it as she watched Eamon's eyes pop wide and then slightly recede as she explained that she would quickly remove eight dangerous animals she had hidden from him for months.
All things considered, Arl Eamon had taken the news in stride. He had demanded to know where the eggs had been kept, but once he realized they were well beyond the range of the village, he had calmed somewhat. Eamon made it clear he was displeased she lied about the eggs, making veiled remarks about her trustworthiness throughout the conversation, but Charlotte had kept her temper and explained patiently they were not sure the eggs would survive and did not want to alarm anyone unnecessarily. Arl Eamon had allowed this to pass and stated only that he expected her to keep the beasts from hurting his people and transport them away as soon as possible. Charlotte agreed with him, then asked his permission to hatch them within the training yard, where they could more easily be contained. Alistair watched them in silence, his eyes flickering between them as he clearly endeavored to read each of their reactions.
"Warden Commander, I cannot imagine a hospitality of mine you have not already availed yourself of; why should this be any different?"
And with that, he had dismissed her rudely, but she had permission and it was all she required.
Now, Charlotte watched her wardens scurry into action and felt torn between pride and trepidation. It seemed there were no hurdles she would not have to jump in her adventures as a warden, but at least she never jumped them alone.
