Reports of a lover's tryst were neither clear nor descript,
We kept it safe and slow,
The quiet things that no one ever knows
- Brand New
Anders stares at her with hollow eyes, his hands clenched into tight fists. Rhyanon finds herself staring at his chest, which rises and falls in ragged patterns. Anything to keep from looking at the circle of bodies surrounding him.
"I didn't do it," he insists, in a raw whimpering mewl that is enough to tear Rhyanon's heart out. "Rhyanon, please. You have to believe me."
She wants to. Maker, she wants to. It would make this so much easier. But she shakes her head, because she can't pretend there aren't a handful of dead templars there on the ground. Their armor is still shiny, beneath the dirt and blood. It smells like ozone. Like lyrium. Like magic. She can feel the residue of it in the air, and if she weren't here looking at the evidence, she'd have no idea Anders was strong enough to get off a shot like this. She's the war mage, not him. He has always been a healer.
"I don't care, Anders. It doesn't matter." She reaches out for his hand, waiting for him to reach back. He doesn't, but when her fingers twine with his, he doesn't resist either. His skin feels clammy and cold. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe, okay?"
"I didn't do it," he repeats, as he follows her with heavy footsteps up the narrow back passageways of Vigil's Keep.
"I know," Rhyanon insists. "Anders, I swear it doesn't matter. You're safe here." She pushes open a heavy wooden door that leads to an old library. As far as she knows, none of the darkspawn assaulting the Keep have made it this far. "Sit down," she orders, and to her utter shock, Anders obeys instantly. It sets alarm bells ringing in her head, but she doesn't have the time to deal with them now. Honestly, his compliance will make things easier. If she can trust it to last. "Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can." Anders says nothing; he barely seems to move. Rhyanon takes a deep breath and holds it until it starts to hurt, deep in her chest. She somehow manages to keep from looking over her shoulder as she makes her way back down the spiraling staircase to the ground floor of the Keep. Her head rings with the heavy pressure that she's learned to associate with the presence of nearby darkspawn. She draws her sword, taking comfort in the feel of the steel in her hand. Loud shouts and the sounds of battle propel her forward. She'd come here expecting dozens of Grey Wardens and found little more than a meager handful. But even a handful can hold its own, in desperate times.
"Rhyanon!" a deep booming voice calls. "Watch out!"
She barely ducks in time to get out from under the arcing swing of a huge battle axe, wielded in the meaty hands of an ogre. Before she has time to think, she's reacting. She pushes out with her left hand, into which a ball of flame suddenly coalesces. The ball goes flying forward at her mental command, and it crashes into the ogre, who roars a high-pitched howl of pain. He lumbers forward toward Rhyanon, intent on getting revenge. This time, Rhyanon lashes out with her sword. The steel bites into the darkspawn's unprotected flesh, drawing thick black blood in its wake. The ogre has a longer reach than Rhyanon does, though, and the axe he carries hacks into her armor. Rhyanon clenches her teeth against the pain, and the momentum of the blow nearly sends her sprawling. She manages to catch herself on one knee and right herself before the axe swings down again, and she parries the incoming attack as well as she can with her sword. She manages to drive the axe away from her, at least for long enough to get a breath. From behind the ogre, the ally who had called out the warning earlier steps in to help – in the form of neatly decapitating the darkspawn with an axe of his own.
Rhyanon grins. "Thanks, Oghren."
The dwarf grunts, then shakes his head in amazement. "They sure do make a mess of things, these darkspawn."
"How many are left?"
Oghren shrugs. "Not near as many as their used to be; still too many to count."
"Fair enough. I suppose we'd best get on with it, then."
"The Wardens – what few of us there are – are still massing up in the courtyard. Seems to be where the thick of the action is."
Rhyanon nods acknowledgment and starts heading in that direction.
To her very great surprise, the battle seems to be progressing well even without her. As she strides into the open space, sword in hand, none of the nearby darkspawn approach. As she looks around for one close enough to her position to enter combat with, she realizes there aren't any. There are a few darkspawn being easily mopped up by her fellow Wardens, but within minutes, they are all in pieces on the ground.
The dark-haired guardswoman who had met Rhyanon on the road from Amaranthine grins at her and offers something like a salute. In response, Rhyanon crosses her arms over her chest and nods. Despite living through the Blight, she does not yet feel used to commanding other soldiers. "What's the status?" she asks carefully.
"I think we've stemmed this particular invasion. There could always be more darkspawn coming up from below. Or from elsewhere. You know how they are."
"We'll look for potential entry points as soon as possible," Rhyanon agrees. "And we'll need to get you and the other recruits made official."
The woman – Mhairi – looks up with wild-eyed excitement at that, and Rhyanon doesn't have the heart to tell her what she's truly getting into.
"Get everyone inside," she says instead. "See that the wounded get the attention they need. I'll have food prepared. The main hall will be our command headquarters until further notice."
"Where are you going?" Mhairi asks, as Rhyanon begins walking away.
"I have something I need to see to."
"Anders?" Rhyanon whispers softly, into the heavy quiet. No response. She pushes the door the rest of the way open and steps into the library. At first, she thinks he's gone off somewhere, a response that wouldn't surprise her at all given her explicit instructions not to. But then she sees him, and despite herself, the vision takes her breath away.
Her first thought is that he looks old. Ancient. He sits perched on the end of a stuffed armchair, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He shifts only slightly as she approaches, and when he looks up at her, he looks dazed. "Rhyanon?" he says, so softly she has to strain to hear him.
"Yeah, Anders. It's me." She stands there, afraid to move too suddenly, or even breathe, while he looks at her with such open conflict on his face. "It's me," she repeats, a little more forcefully. "Anders, you can trust me."
The last time she'd seen him, it was in a dungeon cell, when she'd freed him from Redcliffe Castle and said what she thought at the time was their final goodbye. So much has happened since then. So much has changed.
She sits down, carefully, in a straight-backed wooden chair across from Anders' armchair. "What happened?" she asks. "How did you get here?"
Anders laughs, then, bitter and without humor. But when he looks at Rhyanon, searching her face, there is a hint of life there. It fills Rhyanon with hope. "Where do you want me to start?" her old friend asks, and all Rhyanon can do is shrug.
"Wherever you want." There are a thousand things that she should do; people who will kick in the door looking for her if she takes too long here. But none of them matter. Anders matters. "You came here for help, didn't you?"
"I... don't know. It was kind of an accident."
He tells her, with plenty of stops and starts, about how the templars had tracked him to
Amaranthine, how they'd ended up near the Keep, and the shelter it would offer when night fell. The templars had agreed to ask for sanctuary, and they'd dragged Anders behind with them. And then, the darkspawn attacked.
He doesn't talk about what had happened to the templars she'd seen lying dead at his feet. They'd been killed by magic, though. And Rhyanon knows what templars had done to Anders. She couldn't blame him if he did kill them.
"I didn't even know you were here, Rhyanon. I mean... how could I have known?"
He looks at her like she's someone different from the best friend he used to know. Maybe she is. She's a Grey Warden now. And a lot of other things besides, not all of which Anders would find acceptable. For one thing, she's grieving the death of the man she thinks she'd loved. A templar.
"I'll keep you safe. I can do that, you know."
He looks at her with open disbelief, and Rhyanon doesn't bother explaining everything, not yet. For now, she just needs Anders to believe her that the templars can't hurt him here. She doesn't know the specifics of what he's been through recently, but they both grew up in the Circle and can't forget it. She's watched him shut down like this dozens of times before, and each time, when he came back to himself, one of the first things he did was thank her for being his lifeline. It's a role she can continue to play. It's an easy role to fall into, when she doesn't have much of anything else left to cling to.
A week later, the templars have still not yet come. Rhyanon has no idea how fast a message could travel alerting anyone as to what happened here, or what the response will be when that message is inevitably sent. Anders fears that whoever the Chantry sends will be able to find him using his phylactery. Rhyanon is shocked to find that she had nearly forgotten about the existence of those little vials of blood. But she has one somewhere too, another leash that pulls her back to the place she comes from.
Anders looks a little more like his old self, sitting at a bench watched over by Oghren. Both human and dwarf are shoveling their mouths full of sausages, eggs, and toast. Rhyanon plops down across from them and starts filling her own plate. Alistair had warned her that becoming a Grey Warden would change her appetite, and even after all this time, she's not quite used to how much food it takes to make her feel full. She's packing away enough at every meal to make Anders look at her quizzically.
"Mistress Amell!"
Rhyanon sighs, and just barely manages not to flinch. "What do you want, Seneschal?"
"I've gone over those assignments you requested, but, well, we really will require your aid for sealing up any darkspawn entry points. And for recruiting new Wardens, come to that. But most importantly, the Queen will be arriving soon and-"
"The Queen?" Rhyanon splutters.
"Of course. Queen Anora is understandably concerned. She was led to believe – because you led her to believe it, Mistress Amell – that the Blight in Ferelden had ended."
"The Blight is ended."
"And yet there was a major incursion of darkspawn just days ago."
"That wasn't a major incursion and you know it."
"I do," Varel concedes. "But the Queen will require reassurances."
"Fine." Rhyanon loathes the newly crowned Queen Anora of Ferelden – she doesn't know how else to feel about a woman who had had her imprisoned and tortured. But being a Grey Warden – in fact, leader of all Grey Wardens in the nation, at the moment – has as much to do with politics as with battle. This had never been the kind of thing she'd imagined she'd be any good at, but her education, while entirely theoretical, had been thorough. Politics is something she can figure out, if she has the time to think it through. She just doesn't want to.
She dismisses Varel and turns back to the table, where Anders stares at her open-mouthed.
"What?"
"You've grown up," he says simply.
"Yeah? So've you."
She expects him to argue the point, but he just stares at her for a long moment, and then nods.
That afternoon, Rhyanon pushes her way through the dark passageways that lead sharply down into the tunnels and crypts beneath the Keep. They are far from comfortable, but she feels more comfortable in them than she does the twisted spiderwebs of politics that await her up above. Seneschal Varel was right – no one else can be responsible for protecting them all from the darkspawn. It has to be her.
Because there are fewer Wardens remaining after the latest attack than she can count using all of the fingers of one hand, she bolsters her scouting party with more common soldiers. After a moment's consideration, she takes Mhairi and Anders with her as well.
Anders hovers near her, casting a simple spell to light their way and chattering cheerfully as they move deeper into the tunnels. She watches him carefully, but he doesn't visibly falter. She is likely the only one who knows that his constant jokes and long-winded stories are his way of distracting himself from a deep-seated fear of the dark. She reaches out lightly with her mana, trying to get a sense of him. But she doesn't feel anything off, not really. Maybe he really is just as fine as he appears to be. She hopes so.
Then she feels it: a low pressure building more and more, spiking inside her skull: the Grey Warden sense that tells her that darkspawn are near. "Get ready," she orders.
And just like that, they appear. It isn't a large group of them, perhaps only four or five. But they are led by one of the emissaries: the mages. Their magic feels foul and corrupt to her senses, black and slimy. This one locks its gaze onto her and Anders instantly, sensing its own kind. It clicks and chatters in the approximation of language that the darkspawn share.
And then the creatures swarm onto Rhyanon's small group. One of them lunges at her, but Mhairi jumps into the darkspawn's path, protecting Rhyanon the same way she had during the initial assault on the Keep. Rhyanon grunts her thanks, and the two of them attack together. Mhairi's swordwork is impeccable, continuous slashes that while away at even a darkspawn's resistance. The creature's black blood wells up in deep lines that trace over its grey skin. Some of it pools onto the rocky ground.
Rhyanon trusts Mhairi's effort and turns to take in the rest of the battle. While she'd been tied up by one of his lackeys, the emissary had focused its full attention on Anders. Once again, Rhyanon finds herself shocked by her friend's unexpected battle prowess. Anders blasts the darkspawn mage with a wall of ice; Rhyanon watches as snowflakes crystallize on his skin, blasting outward to encompass the darkspawn's looming form. It's a complex maneuver, requiring the caster to have enough control over their mana to let it loose in waves of power and precision both at the same time. And Anders doesn't even appear to be breaking a sweat.
The darkspawn emissary, for its part, seems to be using most of its concentration just to break free of the spell, but it is managing to do so, inching forward toward Anders one step at a time. And, as Mhairi had protected her, Rhyanon jumps forward to protect Anders. She doesn't literally throw herself between her friend and the darkspawn – not this time – but she distracts the emissary in the simplest and least subtle way possible: she throws a ball of fire directly at its head. The heat and light blossoms to life in the underground cavern and illuminates the rest of the fight. Oghren's grunts and shouts seem a little bit louder and more hearty. The rest of the soldiers attack their respective darkspawn opponents with renewed vigor. And the emissary howls with rage and pain.
Between Anders' ice and Rhyanon's fire, the emissary is eventually whittled down. After that, their scouting party mops up the rest of the darkspawn. They're exhausted, mentally and physically, and Rhyanon is nearly drained of mana. It's a long walk back to the surface, and harder work to close off the access point that will allow the darkspawn entrance to the Keep. Even then, all they manage is a makeshift barricade – a more permanent solution will take days if not weeks to construct, and materials that they do not have on hand. But they didn't lose anyone. The venture was a success.
Four days later, after Rhyanon and the rest of the Wardens have spent much of their time sealing up every entrance to the Deep Roads they can find, the gates of Vigil's Keep are flung open wide to welcome the Queen. Anora and her retinue come sailing down the road with banners flying, their colors crisp and clear against the bright blue sky.
Rhyanon watches their approach from the ramparts, although she knows that down below, Seneschal Varel will be pacing the halls, searching for her. There will be politics, Maker help her, and rituals he'll expect her to know, and dozens of people all watching her manners and looking to her for leadership. She managed these things during the Blight. But she'd had help, then. She wasn't alone.
She nearly sinks to her knees, has to hold on to the rocky wall in front of her to keep herself standing. Even after nearly a year, there are moments like this when her grief for Alistair overwhelms her. Her breath catches in her throat and pain constricts inside her body. Mana wells up inside her, responding to her distress. And as much as she'd like to respond, and lash out at anything nearby, she forces it down.
Far below, the Queen gets nearer and nearer, appearing to grow physically larger, from Rhyanon's vantage point.
Rhyanon begins making her way down the spiraling towers toward ground level. Unlike the Queen, who is attended by at least two dozen people, most of whom are armored and carrying weapons, Rhyanon walks out alone. She is not defenseless, of course, there are soldiers and Wardens inside, and even without a weapon she can still fight. But there's no reason to call attention to that fact. The Queen will be guarded enough around her even without her flaunting her combat experience or the magic that too many already fear.
Rhyanon takes a few more long strides, until she stands just a few paces away from the Queen, who still sits atop her horse. Rhyanon bows. "Your Majesty," she says smoothly. "You do us a great honor."
Queen Anora appears to sneer down at Rhyanon. "This visit is not a pleasant one. But it is necessary."
"As you say."
There is so much bad history between them. Anora had had Rhyanon imprisoned, for the Maker's sake. And then there's Alistair. His absence is a gaping wound. But it's a wound that Rhyanon can't afford to let destabilize her now. She searches Anora's face, wondering if she'll see any sign of
grief or pain there. But the Queen's political mask seems to be well and truly in place. If she's bothered at all by seeing Rhyanon again, she isn't showing any visible sign of it. Rhyanon wishes she could school her own features so well. She takes a careful breath, and plunges ahead, the best she can.
"The grooms would be happy to take care of your horse, Your Majesty."
Anora stares at her again, for several long seconds that seem to stretch on for far longer than necessary, before she dismounts and hands the reigns to the young man who steps forward at Rhyanon's nod. He takes the beast carefully, afraid to awaken the Queen's displeasure. Anora's followers all see to their own mounts, although Rhyanon knows full well that the staff of Vigil's Keep will help with them as soon as they cross through the gate. That isn't her concern. She trusts her people. And it will take her full attention to contend with Queen Anora.
"Perhaps if you could tell me why you're here?" she begins. She keeps her voice pitched low, soft and unassuming. Queen Anora might well assume that she is weak, but the woman should know better.
The Queen gives Rhyanon a sideways glance. "This fortress holds all that remains of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."
"It does."
"And yet, I have heard even in Denerim of darkspawn incursions upon this land."
"'All that remains of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden' is hardly a large force, Your Majesty."
"So make it larger!"
"I plan to. It's not a simple task. If you'll pardon me for saying so, this doesn't seem to be an errand that requires a queen to take it on personally."
"What I choose to do with my time is hardly any business of yours."
What is she running from? Rhyanon wonders. What she says is "It becomes my business when it brings you to my arling."
"You wonder if I am here to check up on you, is that it?"
Rhyanon simply shrugs. "Are you?"
"Perhaps. Though you may rest assured that it is not my primary goal."
"What is your primary goal?"
"The safety of my people."
"Well, we share that in common, then."
"May the Maker see it done."
Rhyanon gives a polite nod. Anora's dismissal is implied, and Rhyanon accepts it easily, although Vigil's Keep is her territory and she feels like she should be slightly more affronted that the Queen steps into power here so easily. The truth is that she doesn't want to spend any more time than she has to in the same room with the woman.
Hours later, Seneschal Varel practically falls over himself attending to Queen Anora, seeing to it that every inch of the private dining room is perfect before serving her meal. Rhyanon sits across the table from the woman and tries not to let on how bored she is, how much she'd rather be doing almost anything else. Finally, she can bear it no longer. She has finished her plate, as daintily as possible given her ravenous Grey Warden appetite. And now, the day seems to be rapidly dying while she's trapped in here. "If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty. If you truly mean to see the people of this Keep safe, I must patrol with the other Wardens to be sure no other darkspawn approach."
Varel's eyes grow so large that Rhyanon fears they may actually fall out of the man's head. Queen Anora, for her part, pretends not to notice. She stares at Rhyanon instead, until the mage Warden feels like a child caught doing something wrong. As though the Queen blames her personally for the existence of the darkspawn. And maybe for many other sins besides.
"Go," Anora says, and the single word is imbued with command. Anora is a woman used to her every word being obeyed. Why shouldn't she be?
Rhyanon goes. She realizes that Varel had feared the Queen's reaction should she believe the Keep to still be under threat. But Anora had shown as much fear as she had any other emotion: none at all.
Rhyanon does indeed patrol the grounds around the Keep's walls, keeping her eyes open for darkspawn or any other threats. She checks in with the guards along the way, but they haven't seen anything either. The quiet should be calming, but Rhyanon is determined never to be caught by surprise here again.
She turns back, under the light of a nearly full moon. She retreats toward her room, hoping as she does every night that she might be able to get some sleep, but she isn't alone in the halls of the Keep. She turns around, to find Anders following her. Conflicting emotions war inside her. They haven't talked – really talked – since... before. Before she left the Circle. Before he didn't. The last time she'd seen him there, in Kinloch Hold, he'd just been sentenced to a year in solitary confinement.
And now he's here, standing in front of her, and it brings it all back, and she can't distract herself anymore with other things: Queen Anora's visit, or the darkspawn, or anything. And Anders knows it too. This isn't a confrontation, but it feels like one.
"You'd better come in," Rhyanon says softly.
She leads him into her room, and the thing that surprises her the most is how natural it feels. They'd spent most of their childhood sleeping in the same bunkroom, and even after they'd grown old enough to be separated, first by gender and then by status, they hadn't ever fully drifted apart. So when Anders sits down next to her on the bed, without waiting for her to ask him to, she doesn't fault him for it. Instead, she turns to him. There are so many things she wants to ask. She hardly knows where to begin. What she says is "I saw those spells you cast against the darkspawn. I didn't know you could fight like that."
Anders shrugs. "I've never had to." He leans back against the headboard of the bed. He looks at Rhyanon for a long time, studying her. She wonders what he's looking for, if he finds it or not. "Is it true?" he finally asks.
"Is what true?"
"That you're the one who stopped the Blight."
Rhyanon nods. "Yes," she says softly. "It's true." But then, immediately, she's backing up. Clarifying. Downplaying her own role. "I mean, it wasn't just me. I had help. You've met Oghren. He can tell you."
"I know. But..." he shakes his head, furiously, an attempt to ward off a nightmare. "Rhyanon, I... I met people, fleeing from the Blight. From the darkspawn. The things I saw... how could you have fought them?"
"You fought them," Rhyanon points out. He'd done it like he wasn't even scared.
"Because I had to."
"So did I."
Anders nods slowly, as if she's said something that makes sense. He's still staring at her as though she'll disappear at any moment. "I'm not going anywhere," she says. Again. To hell with Anora and Seneschal Varel and anyone else that may try to tear her away from Anders. He needs her now. She needs him.
"Anders," she says, finally deciding to point-blank ask him. "Do you want to stay here?"
It takes a long time for him to reply. "I don't know."
Rhyanon nods. It's not the answer she wanted, but it's hardly surprising. "But it's better than the Circle, isn't it?"
A flash of terror crosses his face at just the mention of the prison that had trapped them both, and Rhyanon winces, seeing it. "I can't go back there," Anders insists. "Rhyanon, I can't."
"Okay," Rhyanon soothes, holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, meant to calm him. "Okay," she repeats. "No one's saying you have to."
But he still shakes his head, wild as an animal trapped. "But the Queen is here," he whines desperately. "And the templars..."
"There aren't any templars, Anders."
"But they're coming."
"So if they do, we'll be ready. We'll fight them."
Those words finally seem to get through to him. He says nothing, but Rhyanon can see that he's listening, really listening. He watches her still. Unsure. But willing to trust her, for Maker knows what reason. There are so many things he doesn't know about her. So many things he can't know.
She stays with him until he falls into a restless sleep, one she tries to soothe as much as she can with magic. Then she goes to try to deal with everything that she's been putting off. She knows she won't sleep tonight, anyway.
Rhyanon had expected to find Queen Anora surrounded by a retinue of servants and sycophants, but when the Warden steps into the small study, it's to find the Queen sitting alone in a stuffed armchair, sipping at a glass of dark red wine and staring into the fire that dances cheerfully in the fireplace. She looks up as soon as Rhyanon enters the room, then beckons her inside. Rhyanon shuts the door carefully behind her and stands just inside the doorway.
"Sit down," Queen Anora says, an invitation that comes out sounding like a command. Rhyanon hesitates, but after a moment she sits, in the empty armchair that stands a pace or so away from its twin. "Wine?" the Queen asks. Rhyanon shakes her head. "Suit yourself." Another few moments of uncomfortable silence. Rhyanon has to work hard not to squirm in her seat. She stares around the dimly lit room, wondering if she has permission to speak. Wondering if she wants to. "I go back to Denerim soon," Queen Anora announces.
Rhyanon nods. She'd known that already, of course. But why is this woman spending her limited time here sitting alone in the dark? "Did you find what you were looking for, coming here?" she asks.
Queen Anora looks up at her. Her eyes are slightly red, and her gaze seems a little out of focus. Rhyanon finds herself wondering just how much of that wine she's had. But her voice sounds clear enough, as she answers. "I'm still worried. But I have confidence in you."
"I'm surprised to hear that."
"You shouldn't be. You did stop the Blight, after all."
No thanks to you, Rhyanon wants to retort, but she doesn't. Instead, she just nods. "I will do what I can to keep the people here safe. You don't have to worry about that."
"No. That's not what I'm worried about."
Rhyanon frowns. "What is it, then?"
"Ferelden is tough but fragile, Warden Commander. Not unlike this little Keep. You may be able to keep the darkspawn threat contained in this area, and I hope that you can, but there will be other threats in other areas."
It sounds like the Queen is in over her head, and Rhyanon knows how that feels. She surprises herself by sympathizing with Anora, just a little bit. She doesn't know the first thing about governing an entire nation, and she isn't at all envious of the Queen's position. Some nameless emotion – some mix of guilt and jealousy - punches her in the gut as she remembers yet again that it was Alistair who was supposed to hold the throne.
"I'm sure you'll be fine," Rhyanon forces herself to say.
Anora smiles weakly. "It's kind of you to say so."
More uncomfortable silence. Rhyanon decides to turn to business, if only to fill the quiet. "I've reached out to Orlais to see if they can provide more Wardens. I know that Ferelden's relationship with Orlais is... tumultuous, but..."
"But these are desperate times. Yes, of course."
"I'm glad you agree."
"I do not wish to be your enemy."
"You're not." The words come out before Rhyanon can think about them, or take them back.
"I'm glad." Anora finishes off her wine, and sets the glass down on the low table next to her chair, beside the nearly empty bottle.
"Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?" Rhyanon asks. She has had the feeling ever since the Queen arrived that the Wardens' base of operations was under inspection. She thinks, now, that they passed whatever test Anora was here to administer, and that should make it easier to relax, but she's still holding her breath.
Queen Anora shakes her head in answer to Rhyanon's question. "No, thank you. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. And I'm sure you have much to do."
Rhyanon leaves the room smoothly. She is happy to do so.
Before she even makes it halfway down the corridor that leads to the main hall, Varel has appeared, in the middle of her path. He is frowning disapprovingly.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" Rhyanon protests. "We just had a conversation."
"She's the Queen."
"And she's spending the evening drinking alone. I swear, Seneschal, she doesn't want a babysitter checking up on her. Even if it's you."
Varel stares at her, mouth slightly agape, for several long seconds. He squints, as if trying to see through Rhyanon's story. "Very well," he finally concedes. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
He follows her back down the corridor, unwilling to invite the Queen's anger by intruding on her solitude uninvited. Rhyanon braces herself for a lecture from the man, but he remains quiet. As they approach the main hall, he turns off toward the side room where he keeps his office. "I should go," he announces. "There are preparations to make, for tomorrow."
Rhyanon nods. Tomorrow will be the ceremony that initiates the new Warden recruits. She isn't looking forward to it.