Chapter Forty-Eight: Parley
The problem with cities is their complexity.
Reliable sight is blocked except at the very closest ranges or if battle occurs on the road arteries. So are other senses, sound being blocked or distorted, dogs less able to track by smell. These things can also be said of the most dense of forests, but what is unique to cities is that battle also takes place in a truly three dimensional way.
Fighting from rooftops, through the buildings, along streets and even underground in basements, sewers and tunnels. Worse, soldiers can fight their opponents on other levels, often to devastating effect. An ambush from above, or charges set below. Add to this the possibility of building collapse and rapidly spreading fires, and a city is the deadliest possible environment in a modern conflict.
Yet it is also the place where soldiers must have the most restraint, because a city is not only a battlefield but both home and workplace, to people who can't afford to lose either in the vast majority of cases. And concentration of people also means concentration of politics. The combat would not only be for streets, alleys and buildings, but for hearts and minds.
Amaranthine was no different.
The facts would prove Warden-Commander Sidona Andras to be a woman of her word, but even without her warnings, it would have been clear to me that the possibility of resistance needed to be crushed. There were parts of the city we simply could not garrison. The Alienage Quarter including the brothel district simply had too many people already. Certain parts of the Artisan Quarter were too dedicated to the process of manufacture to make good liveable residencies, even temporarily. The Outer district beyond the walls was unsuitable. Which meant our presence would be reduced in those places.
This was unacceptable. Where we were absent, others would assert their authority. Resistance sheltered from our view would grow.
I had seen just that happen on Earth. In Iraq, in Afghanistan. I wasn't about to let it happen to us.
The first infantry column of the Free Army marched into Amaranthine proper through the south gate to the tune of Waltzing Matilda, the 3rd Rifles, weapons shouldered and bayonets fixed, their flag flapping hard in the wind. Behind them, the rest were waiting, the camp outside broken up.
I watched from the side in the company of Andras and Bann Howe, protected by some of Isewen's lancers.
The officer of the regiment greeted me with a salute, as I had summoned him, and requested orders. I assigned the the 3rd to the Artisan district, Andras provided a guide from the city guard and Lady Howe handed off a letter bearing her seal. Off the 3rd went, the guide reluctantly leading the officer and the entirety of the regiment behind him. They were to find space to sleep, secure a headquarters in the largest smithy and a perimeter around it, and use Lady Howe's seal if anyone objected to the point of riot. If that didn't work, non-lethal force was authorised.
For the moment, I didn't see the point in shooting people. There would be plenty of that later.
The rest came in the same manner. A unit or group of refugees escorted by a unit would enter. Their officer would report to me. I would give them their assigned place, according to our need or the best fit for the destination.
All the civilian refugees, wagons and horses, for instance, went to the docklands to occupy the warehouses. Tents to be set up inside them. It was the only place in the city we could secure separate to the rest. Despite the stevedores, it was by far the safest place for that reason. It also lacked the tangled mess of streets, meaning that any resistance from the docks could be crushed and our troops moved about with ease.
By contrast, I sent the crack 10th Pike Regiment to the sector of the Merchant Quarter just across the main avenue from Doxy Row. Veterans of Sahrnia, Lydes, Vindargent and the Hafter, equipped with full Templar-designed plate armour, the largest men outside of the Grenadiers. In the sector of the Chantry Quarter also facing the brothel district, I placed the 11th Skirmisher Regiment. The all-female crossbow unit that had fought at the Hafter. As mentioned before, no small number of them were former whores.
That boxed in the pimps on two sides, with the other two being the city wall and the Alienage itself. I almost wanted the criminals to try something, the 10th and 11th would've gladly tear them to pieces alone. Criminals aren't that brave however, even if they are that stupid.
It took most of the rest of the day to move the Army inside like this, but it was the only practical way to do it. By the time the sun began hanging low, the people of Amaranthine had ceased to predict a sack, and stood by the roadside watching with more curiosity than fear. Under the watchful eyes of Louise's chevaliers and Isewen's Lancers, whom patrolled the main routes regularly.
Once all the regular units had come through, it left only the rearguard. The Peacekeepers.
The possibility of the army being attacked from outside as we entered was minimal, but not zero, so I had left our best to last.
The Templars and Hospitallers went to the Chantry, with our wounded. There was no better place for a hospital. Grand-Cleric Brandon went off with her escort of Templars in good spirits, having given the Warden-Commander and Lady Howe a perfunctory greeting. Markham reported that several of our wounded had died in the night as a result of their injuries.
The mages came next. I assigned them to the docklands. I had no way of predicting how the Fereldans would react to having mages quartered in their homes. Amell might have been a national hero, their Arlessa might have been a mage too, but that was no means of predicting opinion on the matter. Same with the Highlanders. There were Avvars in the low mountains of the coastlands, albeit more akin to bandits than proper tribes by this era, so Amund's people weren't going to mix well with the locals in large doses.
The artillery was assigned to Anora's Watch, at least until I could get the city mapped out properly for deployment of the cannon to defend the key installations.
Finally, the Rangers and Grenadiers rode in together, ahead of the King's retinue. The latter halted in the middle of 'Gate Square' as it was called, surrounded by mounted firelancers on all sides.
McNulty and Soprano both approached us on horseback, round helmets on their heads.
"Marquis," McNulty said as he saluted, "I am glad to report that we are the last. The entire Free Army is now within Amaranthine."
A formal occasion to be marked as much.
"Excellent," I said, saluting back, "General, you are to take your Grenadiers to Anora's Watch, escorting His Majesty, Lady Howe and the other prisoners to the Marquise. At the double."
McNulty saluted again, backed his horse off and rode to the troops nearby Alistair, relaying the orders both to them and to the King's retinue. Lady Howe said her goodbyes to Andras, and nothing to me, and joined the King. A minute later, they all set off at a fast trot down the road, a platoon of chevaliers falling in behind. I noted Andras' eyes following the column as it left, a frown on her face.
"Don't worry," I said to her, "We'll release him as promised."
"Oh, that's not what I'm worried about," Andras said, not clarifying further.
Not wanting to delve into that topic on the street and with a more important task ahead of us, I said nothing more about it and turned to Soprano, who was waiting intently, tattooed face directed at me.
"General, did you receive my message?" I asked.
"I did, my lord," she replied.
"Can you do what I ask?" I said.
"I believe I can," Soprano said, clutching the reins of her horse a little more tightly, "Though I can't say the other side will stick to the plan." She didn't appreciate the responsibility falling on her head alone.
"A risk we're all going to have to take," Andras said flatly, "Though you'll reduce the likelihood of treachery on the Alienage's part if you do that what I have suggested already." Meaning to heed her warnings.
"We'll get to that," I said, "In the meantime... General, the Rangers shall follow my banner."
"Yes, sir!"
I gave my regards to the company defending the gate, and nudged Bellona. She took that mean I wanted her to move off at a decent gallop, and complied. It surprised me as much as it did the Lancers following, but I held on for dear life with my legs and kept her in the middle of the road. Startled civilians watched us pass, the standard-bearer behind no doubt giving them the first good look at an UN flag they ever saw. The sound of the Rangers matching my speed was thunderous, and it sounded a little like I was being chased by a storm.
One that followed my commands, no less.
Bellona eased off as we came to the main crossroads, no doubt due to the cheval-de-frise that had been set up to serve as checkpoint barriers. The wooden spiked-obstacles we had originally constructed on the Hafter had been dragged aside already, to allow the passage of the Grenadiers, whose backs I could still see riding through the other side.
McNulty was being far more careful as he moved through the city, and I reminded myself to give him a lecture later about acting too cautiously. The psychology of occupation cannot allow wilful displays of weakness or worry. By comparison, the sight of a thousand or so mounted firelancers riding down the avenue at high speed like we owned the place was much more suitable.
I held up my hand to call a halt. The Lancers had little choice, being arranged directly behind me. The Rangers drew up to either side, Soprano looking flushed with effort. She wasn't a natural horse rider either, having only learned to do so as recently as I had. We all came to a stop in the middle of the crossroads, having made a grand impression on the locals.
"Rangers, dismount combat teams and form marching column," I ordered, before turning to the sergeant in charge of my detail, "Lancers, direct the horseboys to the warehouses on the docks where the horses are going to be kept. I'll be outside the Alienage when you've finished with that."
"Rangers!" Soprano called, "Dismount combat teams!"
The lieutenants and sergeants repeated the orders, the latter drawing out every syllable in the manner I had originally taught to Mike. The troops swung their legs off their horses and got onto their feet. They handed the reins to the youngest soldiers in their platoons, whom acted as teamsters. The Lancers consulted with the master of horses for the Rangers, a thin but tall sergeant-major by the name of Sable, before beginning the march towards the docks.
The horses trotted away, leaving the combat teams and ourselves, still mounted.
"Marching formations!" Soprano said loudly, "By the fours, four abreast!"
Again, her commands were repeated, sending the troops moving quickly. The companies immediately formed up into four columns, four soldiers wide. Those in the rear moved to do the same down the western avenue as they had run out of space in the crossroads itself. Their firelances were hoisted from position slung over chests onto shoulders, ready to bring into hand if required.
The lines formed were picture perfect. The troops awaited orders quietly, the fur tucked under their round helmets flapping in the strong wind.
The Rangers and the Grenadiers were the only regiments capable of such precision of course, though the other firelance regiments were getting close. Which was why Soprano and McNulty, their commanders, only ever commanded a few thousand firelancers. They were capable of much more due to both their weapons and discipline. Whereas Mike commanded as many as twenty thousand at a time, despite holding the same rank. But her pike and crossbow troops simply weren't as flexible, weren't as capable of independent initiative.
I found myself astounded suddenly, as Soprano rode down the space left in the middle, inspecting her troops. Here was a woman who had been a gangbanger and a prostitute, reviled and looked down upon. Now she was a general in command of perhaps the deadliest single collection of non-magical beings on Thedas, with the respect of her people for the most part. It reminded me much of how I felt about Julie and her own meteoric rise, once upon a time. Whatever you might say about the effects of Earth ideas, Soprano had seized every opportunity they brought.
As I was stirring the thought in my head, Andras finally rejoined me.
"Did you have to make that little charge?" the Warden-Commander said, only barely raised her tone to make it a question.
"Yes," I replied, hiding the fact that it had been an accident. More or less.
Andras scoffed, not with hostility but mild amusement. "Could have broken your neck," she said, "It's plain as day to me that you are no chevalier."
I gave her a tilt of my head and a wink. "Infantry, through and through," I said, "Cavalry guys tend to be small guys who like concussions." That's what you get for hanging around in a cramped metal box with a large cannon right beside your head.
Andras raised an eyebrow, not having any clue what I meant. How could she? She hadn't seen a panzer in her life, and the peculiarities of their use were a mystery to her. Yet my answer explained exactly why I wasn't a chevalier. My world didn't use horses for shock combat any longer.
Soprano rode back through the ranks. "Regiment ready, my lord," she reported, "Orders?"
I turned to Andras, with a wave towards the Alienage. "Lead on," I said.
The Warden-Commander bowed at the hip in the saddle, without any sarcastic undertone as far as I could tell, and pulled her horse around until it faced east. She whistled once, and the horse walked away in that direction. I waved the columns to begin marching, and together, we led them onwards at a slow march, so we wouldn't look like we were going to attack anyone.
The Warden-Commander stopped occasionally to chat to locals, perhaps some of her local contacts in the brothel district, which we passed soon after starting.
"I like her," I said to Soprano, "I don't know why."
"She has seen things we can only dream of," Soprano replied immediately, "Delved into the very heart of the Deep Roads. Grey Wardens don't rise to become commanders by sitting on their arses.."
I gave a single laugh, unable to find that statement anything other than funny. I had seen the Fade. Once from the air, once in a dream. Makes underground tunnels pale by comparison. Soprano seemed reminded of that fact by my laughter, and rolled her eyes.
"I forget sometimes your origin, my lord," she said, "Grey Wardens must seem boring to you."
"I wouldn't go that far," I smirked, "There's one particular Grey Warden I'm very interested in."
It was Soprano's turn to have a chuckle, which bubbled out of her in resonant tones. "It is a good thing Lady Tam has become a Warden," she said, "She needs all the stamina she can get, living with the Marquise. Maybe you will consider the Joining yourself, my lord? Sometimes you too just disappear at night. It happens often enough that I'm afraid you might die of exhaustion one day."
I laughed loud at that, earning a glance from the Warden-Commander ahead. "Tam could always handle Julie," I said, "Even from the beginning, I was just along for the ride."
"I don't understand how," she said, "But you three seem happy. Incomplete without each other. Bound by the Maker." Bound by someone else actually, and even I was starting to get a hint of that by then. Damned eagles.
Soprano shook her head, becoming serious for a moment. "Yet you will have to marry a magister," she said, "I find that tragic." The historical reputation of our neighbours to the north being what it is.
"The only chance we've got," I said, still in good cheer, "Considering the price the Tevinters could have asked for our help and the price we would almost certainly have to pay to stay in Ferelden, the magisters chose to ask for something I can give without surrendering my soul." Or at least, not all of it.
We quieted as we finally reached the deserted Alienage square, the time for idle chat at an end.
Soprano let the front of the column march the entire length of the square along the road before the halt, sending a runner to the rear companies to turn and do the same onto the road that branched off dividing the Alienage from the brothel district. This made two lines of troops perpendicular to each other, with the corner directly opposite the gates. We were inside the corner. It was all ideal to face down any sally or attempt to shower us with arrows from the rooftops.
The rooftops were clear of archers though, a fact that boded well to my mind.
The Warden-Commander looked on with approval for a minute, before turning her attention to us once more. "Ready?" Andras asked, "For your big moment?"
Soprano narrowed her eyes, scanning her troops. Looking for something out of place, I thought. "Soldiers," she called, "Remove your helmets and hats!"
The troops looked at one another for a moment, wondering why she could possibly want that. So did I, although I wasn't about to undo her command. The winter cold was already chewing on my nose, I was glad for my helmet and furs. But I got her intent as soon as soldiers started to do as they had been told. It started with the sergeants, and that got the whole regiment taking off their head coverings.
Out of the thousand or so Rangers at that time, seven in ten were elves.
Soprano herself took off her Earth-origin kevlar helmet, the thing that marked her out as a general along with the accompanying vest, revealing her own dirty blonde hair to the cold. And her own ears.
"Now I am, Warden-Commander," she said, "Stay here. I will not require your introduction." Andras inclined her head, allowing it.
The order was a masterstroke, and one I wouldn't have thought of myself. The city elves would be far more willing to trust us if they saw their cousins both under arms and in high command. It was so perfectly fitted to the occasion, it also gave me a wild idea of my own. I stopped Soprano just before she moved.
"Wait," I said, "I have something..."
I rummaged under my furs for the item in question, and pulled it out. My blue beret, with the gold emblem on its front.
"Wear that," I said.
Soprano looked at me like I had just offered her my child to hold, and took the beret in her hand like it was a holy relic. Not because it was something from another world, she was covered in artefacts like that already. But she knew how important to me it was. I had almost never let the thing out of my sight. I like to think she was appreciating my open display of trust. She put it on carefully, making sure the emblem was at the front. I gave her an a-okay sign with my hand when she had finished.
She set her horse, a tall black destrier like Fritz was, into a soft canter towards the gate. The square was as silent as a crypt, the soldiers watching every movement in front of her intrigued. They had some idea of the significance of what we were trying to do too. She stopped half way.
"I am General Lydia Moreau of the Free Army!" she shouted at the Alienage gate, "Open up, I want to talk!"
Slowly, the gates began to open outwards, the green wood creaking on its large hinges as they moved. It revealed a crowd of elves, most unarmed, others with clubs and bows. In front was the same red-haired elf that Andras had talked to earlier the same day, except she was wearing long flowing green robes, embroidered with curling tree designs in deep red.
"And there's Shianni," Andras said under her breath, "As stubborn a hahren as any that has existed."
I curled my lips, sure we could call Soprano stubborn too. One might think this means it was going to be a disaster, but considering we held all the cards and weren't asking for much, it was probably not too great an advantage.
Shianni stepped forwards, outside of the Alienage boundary, the mass of people behind her following slowly. They didn't spread out, menace anyone with their clubs or nock arrows to their bows. They just followed, clearly afraid but also intrigued by the sight of our soldiers. Of course, our own soldiers didn't think much of them. The mob was little threat. One fusillade would have dispersed them. Bayonets would have done the rest. But the troops also kept an impassive demeanour, content to watch rather than participate in events.
Soprano dismounted her horse, and fearing nothing of the mob herself, met Shianni before the mass could cross the middle of the square. She was a little taller. Shianni's long red hair was tied up, Soprano's cut short like all of the Free Army's soldiers since the surrender of Hearth. Hygiene standards being the excuse, less hair meant less use of soap and less chance of lice, but it took on an aspect of mourning too. It made the tattoos on her neck all the more visible.
The General held out her hand to the hahren, which was accepted, albeit begrudgingly. They squared off for a moment as they shook hands, as if inspecting each other. The Fereldan elf finally relented, her forehead creasing with the exasperation of someone who knew she'd bear the consequences if she kept up the resistance.
They began to talk.
The meeting was as brief as you'd expect, but it went well, perhaps aided by the blistering cold breeze.
The Alienage agreed to a garrison in its gatehouse and regular patrols, but by elves only. They didn't want anything to do with humans, our revolution, or anything else we might offer. In this, the deal was as much a proclamation of independence from Fereldan jurisdiction as it was about ours.
It didn't give us absolute control of the place, but it did give a foothold from which we could stamp down hard on any resistance. Not that there would be any. Soprano, living up to the moniker I had given her, gave the hahren an offer she couldn't refuse. But she also made it clear that our interest wasn't in the city itself. She delivered notice of my intentions towards keeping the civic peace while we were there, which would endear the elves towards us.
So, mission accomplished.
After that, I issued orders for the night by radio, two hour watches and no one on the streets. There could be drinking and socialising in town in later days, when our presence looked more secure. For now, it was batten down the hatches. We sealed the city up, and prepared to rest in beds for the first time in weeks. Not that I was adverse to the furs. In some ways, they were better.
The Rangers left a company in the Alienage gatehouse, one with a captain that spoke the Common tongue. Its human soldiers were banned, so they'd stay just across the square. The rest marched with me back down the east-west avenue, through the crossroads and the Merchant's Quarter to Anora's Watch. It was sunset by the time we arrived, the long shadows cast by the walls and buildings had turned the place entirely dark. We approached the shadowy forms, the wall to our left and shopfronts to our right. I yawned repeatedly, utterly exhausted.
"Careful, my lord," Soprano said with faux-seriousness, "Open your mouth that wide for that long, something's going to fly in and nest."
"Good," I replied, "Maybe then I could eat it. I'm starving. Maybe then I could sleep some too."
"I'm sure the bann is being a good host, getting something suitable ready to eat," said Soprano hopefully, "She doesn't seem as stupid as her brother."
"Not sure he was stupid," I said, "Just... broken."
"He acts the fool at every opportunity, my lord," Soprano said slowly, "The arrogance is something I'd expect from a chevalier."
"You're being unkind," came Andras' voice from behind, "Delilah Howe owes everything to the modesty of her brother. She even renounced her family name, until Alistair gave it back to her with the title of bann. That only happened because Nathaniel refused it. Bethany wasn't lying when she said he was a good man."
"Not sure I care," I admitted, "My teeth still chatter remembering that kick he gave me. Between that and his refusal to cooperate, I just can't see past the crazy."
Andras said nothing more on the subject, knowing it was a loser for her. She wasn't about to annoy us to the point that we'd be less likely to pursue actions in support of her own agenda. Not for one man's honour. It actually endeared her further to me, that she saw the bigger picture.
Soprano detected the awkward silence however, and decided to do something about it. "Warden-Commander," she said, "Your treasurer is Bethany Hawke. I've heard that one of the people responsible for the beginning of the Mage Rebellion is also called Hawke. Your Hawke is a mage. Are they the same person?"
I could almost hear the smile on Andras' face when she replied, even without seeing it. "I doubt even the Grey Wardens could protect the Champion of Kirkwall from the Templars," she said, "Marion Hawke is who you are speaking of. Bethany is her younger sister. Though Bethany herself was at Kirkwall too, when that all happened."
"So she saw the explosion?" Soprano further inquired, "And the fighting in the streets?"
"She participated in the fighting," Andras said, "Helped her sister get the mages out of the city and stop Knight-Commander Meredith."
"I take it she wasn't welcome after that," I said, "I've got reports somewhere about the Templars leaving, but that only happened a few months ago. Only heard what happened through Armen. He was stuck in the White Spire at the time, nose deep in books no doubt, not exactly a first hand source."
Andras seized on my words. "Perhaps you would like to speak with Bethany?" she said, "We can join you for dinner, and she can talk about what she saw at Kirkwall. Considering your wish to free mages, I'm sure it would be interesting."
I didn't really understand her motivations. Doing something just because it was nice didn't seem like her, so Andras had to have some agenda. "I'm not sure she would want to," I said, "Bethany didn't like my treatment of Constable Howe. And I can't speak for the others. I think we were planning on having a private dinner." The first one we had the opportunity for since Hearth.
"I will of course ask the Marquise," Andras said. I winced. Asking the person most willing to turn dinner into a political event was likely to produce results. To the displeasure of others.
"Actually, Tam is who you need to convince," I shot back, "Julie would let it happen just because you asked." Sharing dinner being a costless concession to a defeated opponent, just as having dinner cooked was more or less a costless concession to a victor.
"Will the General be joining us?" Andras asked, turning to Soprano.
"She will not," she replied, "I have made arrangements with others."
"Pity," Andras lamented, "The five of us can dine in the Royal Lounge, Marquis. Only part of the castle worthy of the event. Your dear wife, your mistress, yourself and I, listening to Bethany's tales. I'm sure you'll learn all sorts of things you wouldn't from any other source."
And I was sure that Andras was angling for information gathering herself.
"Oh no, more," I said, "You'll get to meet the whole... family. I'll make sure of it."
Andras' eyebrows arched upwards, surprised. She'd be even more surprised if she knew what the term encompassed for me. Though she'd soon understand. But if our relationship with Ferelden, as fractious as it has always been, was ever going to be something other than searing hostility, I needed an ally.
"Have fun," Soprano smirked at Andras, "Piece of advice. Don't bring the King."
Andras' surprise turned on the General, flushing red. Or more red than she had been. Apparently, that imposition was one she had been planning. "Why's that?" she asked.
"Have you read the Marquise's writings?" Soprano said, "You want the King slapped around with words?"
The General was gravely underestimating the lessons that Julie had drawn from our defeat in Orlais, but perhaps that only became apparent to others later. When we had to deal with the Vinters and Marchers.
It was the Warden-Commander's turn to be amused. "The King has a thick hide," Andras replied, "He can take it."
Soprano merely shrugged, taking Andras' word for it. I wasn't so certain.
Lady Howe did indeed instruct that a meal be prepared for us.
None of my companions Tam had no objections to either the Wardens or the King joining except for Leha, but she considered herself outvoted, and so we all made for the Royal Lounge after washing ourselves and changing into fresh clothes.
The room reminded me much of Pierre Des Arbes' own lounge, minus the bookstacks. Padded leather chairs, small coffee tables, tapestries in abundance. A fireplace stood in one wall, opposite large double-glazed windows overlooking the docks. The windows also had large shutters for keeping out storm winds, which I had no doubt we would be needing at some point. The room doubled as a ballista room in the event of invasion from the sea, the grooves for aiming the then-absent weapons in the floor giving that away.
No Orlesian would have dared make their lounge double in that role.
The initial occupants of the room were Tam, Julie, Armen, Ciara, Leha, little Lana and myself.
Tam in her usual revealing Qunari garb, which the light of the fire exacerbated by throwing shadows across her curves. As if to cool any lustful thoughts I might have, Lana was sitting on her lap dressed in Chantry sister's robes, playing with Tam's strands of electric blonde hair and humming a tune to herself. Tam seemed to be enjoying it.
Julie in a noble's dress for once, deeming it a necessity, the blue fabric unfortunately doing its best to hide her curves. Her long red-brown hair was well brushed and tied back in braids, again reflecting status. She had refrained from putting on her half-mask though. Fereldans didn't think much of masks. She was biting her lip, staring at the fire, deep in thought.
Armen was in his mage's robes, a fur cloak around his shoulders. A small necklace with an icon of the Libertarian faction hung around his neck. Staff propped up against the back of his chair, within easy reach. He was listening to Lana's humming too, taking generous sips from a tankard of ale and enjoying himself capitally.
Ciara kept it simple, a well made linen tunic, her hunting trousers and another fur cloak, although a much lighter one than the beast across Armen. She was busy reading something in the dwarven script, which didn't really interest me. She too would take ale between turning pages, not looking away from the book while reaching out for the tankard.
Leha was in a set of cloth and leather armour I had never seen before, but would have been familiar to anyone else in Amaranthine. Carta garb. She had brought a small stack of paper with her, as well as a notepad with a candle and an inkwell atop it, a popular device among administrators and diplomats in those days. A quartermaster never sleeps, though she proceeded with her work in good humour for once. Money does that to her.
You can spot the odd one out there. Grand-Cleric Brandon had insisted that Lana Duquense quarter with us for a few days, rather than at the Chantry or in the town. Two motives sprang to mind for this. One was that Brandon wasn't satisfied with my level of adherence to the Chant of Light, the other was that she was afraid that the environment of the Chantry Quarter for a young girl. If Lana's parents wanted her, she would have been with them at the docklands. But she wasn't wanted, which was why she was in Brandon's care in the first place.
Either way, I was delighted to accept the request. Lana was always good fun to have around, and she would help blunt the overtly political nature of certain conversations I knew would have been had otherwise.
We were all standing or sitting in range of the fireplace, as castles or fortifications generally are not great for keeping out the cold and are not easy to heat. Three chairs had been left empty in the direction of the main doorway.
Their would-be occupants walked in ahead of the servants.
Alistair Theirin, in a warm-red kingly tunic and breeches. He had let his beard grow out, which was the same red-blonde colour as his hair.
Sidona Andras, in blue and grey mage robes with enough material to make it as warm as Armen's fur. She didn't have her staff.
Bethany Hawke, in identical robes to that of Andras save for the differing cut to account for her bigger stature, both in terms of height and bounty. Minus the hood. The Warden-Constable most certainly did have her staff.
The servants, almost all of them elves, came in waves after them, setting down silver platters of meat and vegetables on the tables around us. Fried nug cutlets to large gruffulo steaks, with potatoes, peas, scones for soaking up the gravy and grease. I saw Ciara and Julie's eyes watch the servants intently, not paying heed to the food just yet. Whereas Armen looked like he might actually drool.
I wasn't far behind the mage.
The servants stood, each taking a fork and used them to take a small portion of everything served. They ate what they had speared or scooped up, and stood back from the chairs and tables, waiting. I was very close to being audibly confused by this behaviour, until it struck me that they were tasting the food for poison. Whether it was for the benefit of the King or a sign from Lady Howe that she wasn't trying to kill us, I don't know.
We stared at the servants, until Andras waved them away when it became apparent that no fast acting poisons were about to kill any. They looked visibly relieved. The Warden-Commander thanked them by name as they passed by her, and finally, we were alone.
I wanted to begin eating right then and there, but unfortunately, there were niceties to be observed.
"Your Majesty," Julie said in Common, getting up from her seat, "I'm glad you could join us."
"Seemed polite," Alistair joked cheekily, "Bit rude to deny your captors some dinner company."
"It's not like you would have been punished for saying no," I replied, "Wouldn't have blamed you at all."
"Especially since I have been cruel to you," Julie added, "When we spoke, I insulted your Queen and implied you weren't doing your duty to your kingdom in getting an heir... I needed to spell out in plain words the danger by pointing out sensitive matters. For reasons of state. I apologise."
Julie curtsied gently, and watched Alistair with her big green eyes for a response. How Machiavelli would be proud, I thought.
The King for his part started rubbing the back of his neck, at a loss for a moment.
"I can't take offence for myself," Alistair said at last, "But your words about Anora were entirely unfair. I'm a Grey Warden regardless of my crown. If anyone is at fault for our... situation, it is me."
How true that actually was, given King Cailan's proclivities, I don't think we'll ever know.
"They were unfair," Julie agreed, "And I do not wish them to create a permanent division between our two realms."
"Your invasion has already done that," Alistair said, truthfully enough, "But I guess I can forgive you the insult."
Julie inclined her head in thanks, and gestured to the seats reserved, so that we could begin eating. Alistair and Andras moved to sit, but the third Warden conspicuously did not move. But it was only when I noticed this that the person in question acted further.
"Will you apologise to Nathaniel?" Bethany piped up, "For mistreating him, setting your Qunari on him and leaving him to shiver in the rain?"
Julie's eyes went to me, which really made me feel the pressure. She had no intention of doing my dirty work on this matter. She hadn't been the one to order Constable Howe's punishment, after all. I sighed, and gave her a nod to let her know that I didn't expect her to.
"When he apologises for saying we work for the Orlesian crown," I replied, not looking , "And if he has calmed down, I will be happy to."
The Warden-Constable crossed her arms, one hand still gripping her staff, clearly unsatisfied by my answer. There wasn't a chance in hell I was going to apologise to the Howe maniac before he retracted his own insult. I crossed my arms right back in parody, which did not please the young woman.
But it did get Julie into the fray. "I understand that you are not here of your own will," she said, "If you wish, you can return to your quarters."
I'm not sure if that was intended as reverse psychology, but that's the effect it had. "No," Bethany replied defiantly, "I feel the need to stay and support my Warden-Commander and King."
"Then sit down and shut up," Tam intoned from her own chair, her accent in Common being more harsh than Orlesian, "Your posturing does you no credit, saarebas. The food is getting cold." My Qunari lover leaning forwards, grabbed a plate of nug cutlets and two forks, all the while keeping an intrigued Lana balanced on her thigh.
Bethany Hawke sat down like a shot, seemingly embarrassed at last. Whatever her relationship to Howe, we never did find out if she was his lover or just a respectful subordinate, she was not immune from Tam's effortless ability to command greater social grace.
Julie sat down at the same time, and finally, we were able to eat and talk without the airs required of a formal meeting. The others got moving sharply towards the former, piling plates high but still thankfully using cutlery. Even Ciara, who was fond of finger food. I got stuck into some of the steak with glee. Fereldan food is far more simple than Orlesian fare, but as I had been eating Army rations for months, my stomach probably wouldn't have taken anything more sophisticated.
Andras in particular was eager to stoke the more casual conversation, preferring the wine to the food. She had a fine Serault glass cup to drink it out of too, a strange piece of luxury to my mind.
"So, what do you think of Amaranthine, Marquis?" she asked, "As a man from another world, how does it measure up to the cities of your world?"
A safe topic to start with, if ever there was one, while still being of great curiosity to listeners.
"Actually," I said between bites, "It's not the worst place I've seen even accounting for the cities of Earth. Even the Alienage isn't the worst I've seen." Try Sadr City on for size, ladies and gents. Before my time, but still a god damned safari.
"I would certainly hope so!" Andras asked, "After all the work I've put in."
"And all the blood our fellow Wardens have spilled to protect it," Bethany added, without venom.
"Indeed," Andras sighed, "No small amount of blood."
Alistair's gaze peered at me as he chewed on cheese, yet again, as he awaited the answer.
"Where I'm from is not uniform," I replied, "No more than Thedas is. There are cities in my own country that are more dangerous to live in, I think. Amaranthine is cleaner than many settlements in... other places. "
"So you are from another world," Alistair said, "You don't deny it?"
I shrugged, not deeming to answer and gulping down some ale instead. "How can I?" I said. Everything about me was alien in some fashion, no matter how subtle.
"He doesn't like talking about it," Ciara replied, sympathetically, "He gets homesick." That actually put a pang of just that very emotion through me, that I suppressed with another wash of ale.
"The Marquis has a holy task here," Lana agreed, still chewing her food, "He shouldn't be distracted from it. That's what Mother Brandon says."
Alistair smiled at the child. "And who are you?"
"Lana," she replied, as if that was more than sufficient.
The kid seemed to realise something, her eyes widening for a second. She grabbed a napkin and rubbed her face, before hopping down off of Tam's knee. She went before the King and curtsied as Julie had, as is appropriate when being introduced to a King.
That lightened the mood considerably, all of us unable to contain our smiles at her sudden manners.
"A very polite young woman," Alistair grinned, "What is your relationship to the Marquis?" As obviously she wasn't related by blood to me. Though her dark hair might have suggested it, her pointed ears certainly blew away that chance.
"Teacher," Lana said, seemingly getting embarrassed by the attention, "I teach him the Chant of Light."
"At Grand-Cleric Brandon's insistence," I added, waving Lana over to sit on my knee instead, "In which she has been very helpful." She climbed up and and put one arm around my neck to steady herself, while the other stretched out and grabbed a piece of steak for her to chew on, eliciting more amusement. Even Bethany Hawke's demeanour lightened.
Of course, Lana was more like an adopted daughter even then. An arrangement that became more and more real from that point onwards.
"I would have thought you might be more interested in my … immunity," I said, "Rather than my origin."
"That would be my interest, yes," Hawke said, managing to keep the hostility out of her voice, "I struck you with an Arcane Warrior's spirit blade, and it just shattered."
"Yes," I said wistfully, "You're the third person to try that trick. The first was General Velarana, His Majesty's captor. The second was Vivienne, the Madame de Fer, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais. Though she tried it on my horse."
I took another sip of ale. "It didn't work out for either of them either."
"Velarana's attack is what made Brandon throw her weight behind us," Armen said, eyes raised as he remembered, "Those days seem like they happened a lifetime ago."
"Little more than a year ago," Leha corrected, having put down her work.
"Can we not talk about Hearth?" Julie asked, "You'll make me homesick."
Armen agreed in place of the entire group, and resumed eating. Julie breathed out with relief, glad not to be entering that territory. She still felt huge guilt for what happened to her home town, and I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, cheered up a bit.
I looked back at the Fereldan corner, and saw the King looking troubled. He had observed my exchange with Julie, and I thought he might want to ask about our … situation.
"What is it, your Majesty?" I asked, "You have something else you want to know?"
Alistair cleared his throat, and scratched his chin for a little while. Wondering if he should ask, given what he eventually did ask.
"Did you have family back on... your world?" he said.
I raised an eyebrow. That was not what I expected.
"Of course," I said, "Parents, brother and sister, nieces and nephews, friends."
"And you'll never see them again?" Bethany asked, pity entering her tone. Pity I hadn't thought her capable of giving towards me.
"Not that I know of," I said, "I have it on good authority that it is impossible." As some of you are probably aware, I would see one of them again. Though they would be near unrecognisable to me, at first.
"No wife or children?" Andras asked, getting into the game.
"None," I replied, "I had lovers, but..."
"And now you have a wife and a mistress," Alistair said, eyeing the wife and mistress in question, "Does that make up for the loss of your family?" It seemed we had struck a personal nerve with him, I thought.
"Tam is Julie's mistress," I joked back, not wanting to confront that mess directly, "But everyone you see in this room is my family now."
I turned to our dwarven companion. "Yes, even you Leha," I said.
"I'm going to start crying if you keep that up," Leha said back, all sarcasm and pointing her fork at me, "But you keep bringing me chests of gold and silver, by the Stone, I'll marry you myself."
"Don't tempt me," I chuckled, making a kissy face back at her that got a tremendous laugh out of Lana and decent ones out of everyone else. The kid whispered in my ear and asked if she was part of my family too. I nodded. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and hugged me, managing to smear a little gruffulo grease onto me. I didn't mind.
"Awww," Ciara called, "So cute."
"Of course, there are others I consider my extended family," I continued, Lana still attached to my neck, "My officers are like close cousins by now. Julie has a sister, a niece and a nephew, they're family too."
"All three of whom are fast asleep, safe and sound, in this very castle," said Julie, raising her glass, "Maker bless them." Something she considered to be an accomplishment in itself.
"So, to answer your question, your Majesty" I concluded, "I lost one family and gained another."
Alistair nodded to himself, rather sadly I thought. I had some idea of his own family troubles, but as they were fraught with pitfalls and Julie had already used them for political purposes, I wasn't going to delve into that subject with him. But there was someone whose family was of interest to us, and it was the entire purpose of her presence to talk about it with us. The moment wasn't right yet, though. Andras sensed it too.
"What will you do once you leave Ferelden?" Andras asked, "Where will you go?"
"The Free Marches," Armen declared, "We're going to found a new city."
The Constable seemed troubled by that. Which was something I paid close attention to, as she was the person with the most experience of the region in question.
"Most of the Marches are already claimed," Bethany said, "The parts that aren't are all very dangerous. The whole region is threaded with tunnels to the Deep Roads, made during the Fourth Blight. We Wardens don't lack for work, that's for sure. And that's just one threat... Raiders, pirates... I wouldn't go anywhere near Kirkwall."
"Good thing we have Grey Wardens ourselves," Tam said, before looking at me, "Along with an army, gaatlok weapons, all led by one of the most capable generals alive."
"You exaggerate on one thing, at least," I replied, "I have the best officers in the world helping me."
"Not at all, Arishok," she said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. And was suggestive of other feelings. Leha groaned at the display. I suspected the King wanted to as well, to be honest. What interested me was that the King knew what an Arishok was. There's a story behind that too, but we'll get to that in due course.
"The Marches have a lot of unrest at the moment," Alistair thought aloud, "Antiva's still Antiva, Racial tension in Wycome, Ostwick's got a succession crisis... Kirkwall is looking like it might get taken by Starkhaven."
"We can help stop the unrest," Julie said, "Or at least, provide safe haven to those fleeing it."
The Revolution continues while the Marquise lives.
Andras waved a hand at Tam. "Shall you be Warden-Commander of... what do you plan the city to be called?" she asked.
"Not sure yet," Tam said, "I am a Warden now whether I like it or not, but should I command? I guess that will be decided after the election." The answer to both questions.
"Well, I have an idea," Julie said, "About the name of the city, I mean. I've been thinking about it for some time."
"Oh?" I said, "And you've been keeping this a secret?"
"Not at all," she said, "We've just been too busy to consider the question."
"And we're not so busy anymore," Ciara agreed, "So, what is it?"
"It better not be America," I frowned, "Or Rome."
"No!" Julie objected, "I don't like those. They don't sound right in Orlesian." Nor did they sound right in the Common tongue when spoken in an Orlesian accent. Something off about the way the vowels are said.
Of course, that was the invitation for everyone to pitch in with their ideas.
"La Fayette?" Leha proffered. The lands I claimed to be Marquis of, and an alternative moniker. I saw one particular problem with that.
"We're the Marquise and Marquis de la Fayette. In the Marches, that would make us the monarchs," I replied, "Don't think that's what people want." Not yet, at any rate.
"Perhaps something elvish with something Orlesian?" Ciara suggested, "Citéde Revas?"
"I like that," Andras cut in.
"Far too Orlesian," Alistair joked, earning a scowl from the Warden-Commander.
"City of freedom?" Armen asked, raising his tankard in experimental salute, "Free City? It's succinct, I'll give it that merit."
"I think people might think I named the city after my horse," Julie smirked, "If I called it anything with Revas in the name. Though Alexander did do the same thing.."
"Who's Alexander?" Bethany asked.
"A famous general," I replied, "From Earth. My world." The answer satisfied Bethany to some degree, though she would later ask for more information. I'm not sure if it was because she thought I was making it all up, or if she wanted to know about the sort of person who would name a city after a horse.
Good thing I didn't feel the need to inform her about Caligula.
"Perhaps you should just tell us," said Tam, "Unless you would like something suitable in qunlat?"
Julie curled her lip, displaying exactly what she thought of that idea. "Only if it didn't require me to hurt my throat saying it."
"A pity," Tam said, "I would like to hear you speak qunlat." She hadn't inflected it like a joke, but she knew full well that it would be far too difficult, and the wide grin that split her face betrayed her intent. Teasing Julie with something she couldn't learn always got a rise out of her, and our lover shook her head, before grabbing Tam's palm and giving it a kiss.
"Lana, do you have any ideas?" Alistair asked, "These adults don't have any clue what they're doing."
Lana's nose wrinkled, as she literally chewed on the problem, growing progressively more red. Eventually, she gave up. "No," she said, "No good ideas." She put another piece of my steak in her mouth and looked away from Alistair. Someone had a little crush, I think. The King was a handsome guy, after all.
"But that's where you're wrong, petite fleur," Julie said to Lana, "You already have come up with the name yourself."
"Huh?" Lana replied, "I have?"
"Yes," Julie continued, "What is your favourite story?"
Lana looked at me in confusion, before answering.
"The story with Queen Dido," she replied.
"And Aeneas, yes?" Julie asked. Lana nodded.
Suddenly, as had happened when that story had come up the first time in the course of our exile, when it had provided the idea to create a new city in the first place, everything fell into place in my head.
"Don't tell me you want to call our city Carthage?" I asked.
"That's even worse," Alistair said, "Never mind Orlesian. It doesn't roll off of my tongue." Nor mine. It was good that the King had fallen completely into the spirit of the occasion, though.
Julie closed her eyes and shook her head. "I thought about it," she said, "But no."
That ruled out another of the possibilities from the story of the Aeneid, and with Rome already eliminated on the basis of its pronunciation, it left only one other possibility. Which our glorious leader articulated forthwith.
"Troy," said Julie, opening her eyes again, "Our city will be called Troy."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another little chapter, with a decent reveal (I think).
Next chapter has a little more action in it.
Enjoy!
Thepkrmgc: Shianni was the bann of the Denerim Alienage, but as I've said in this story, a lot of the Denerim elves fled to Amaranthine after the Hero of Ferelden's reforms in the Alienage there failed.
Viper: Here's another chapter, reasonably quickly.
5 Coloured Walker: Merci
Katkiller-V: Decent amount of set up is required.
I think it was just time for a character who understood the ideals of the movement the main characters have created, yet doesn't simply oppose them but rather exploits them. That the default Warden-Commander of Ferelden from Awakening is an Orlesian elf mage fit the bill nicely, I think.
Halo is bad ass: Does this chapter answer you?
Natzi Sumbitch: Why an American? Because an American would feel a greater urge to push changes, revolutionary changes. I could have made Sam French too, I guess, but I wanted that solid republican tradition of nationhood in my main character's background either way. I've lived in the US too, so it's not like I'm unfamiliar with Americans. I'm Irish, I couldn't have made him Irish because then it would be a self insert more than I would like.
Though I might make an Irish character for a Witcher story I've had floating around my head. Don't know if I should write *another* 'Earth guy goes to another world' story though.
Twinbuster: Cheers!
Guest: Thanks!
Makuraymi: Just as long as you're still reading!
I was actually unaware there were Tal Vashoth on the northern coast of Ferelden, in those sorts of numbers anyway. But it's not something plot destroying, I can write that in with great ease. Though, minor spoiler, the real big Vashoth moment is coming at the start of the next volume.