Big Trouble in Little Amaranthine
Part 1 – Damsel in Distress
Garavel regained consciousness, but he made no move to reveal he wasn't incapacitated as his captors believed. He listened while the Architect planned with his companions. Little made sense, but the captain understood the main point: these creatures intended to kill them.
"The soul has been joined to a human embryo. How ingenious," the Architect remarked with what sounded to Garavel like perverse admiration. "It was done with magic, and it will have to be undone with magic. This is beyond the range of my particular powers, but we know a mage who can help us, don't we? Seranni, it's time you visit your sister. Tell her you need her help and bring her to me." The elf woman agreed and left to find her sister.
Garavel remembered the commander telling him and Varel that they'd had to kill a female elf mage in the Wending Wood. The elf believed humans kidnapped her sister, and she had killed travelers, traders, soldiers—anyone who passed through the wood—to get revenge. She accused the wardens of the same kidnapping. Now the mystery was solved. The elf was right about her sister missing, but it wasn't against her will. Seranni was the missing sister.
There was a brief silence, then the Architect continued. "No, Utha. I can't take any of her blood until we've released the soul." Another silence, followed by, "I agree with you. If not for the soul she carries, she might have been persuaded to help our cause. Your fellow wardens would have made exceptional allies. But that possibility is lost to us. Once I destroy her offspring, nothing will appease her but our destruction."
"Fellow wardens"? Garavel thought. The dwarf aligned herself with this monster, and she was a Grey Warden?
Garavel cautiously opened one eye just enough to get his bearings. He was lying on the floor of the laboratory. The Architect and the dwarf woman were about ten feet away from him, standing beside the experimentation table. Garavel assumed the commander was strapped to that table.
"Utha," the Architect said to the dwarf, "put the male in a holding cell. I'll decide what's to be done with him after I finish with the commander."
Garavel closed his eyes and lay limp and still. The dwarf grabbed the captain's ankles and dragged him out. "Carefully, Utha, until we know if he will live or not," the creature cautioned her. She slowed her pace and attempted not to knock Garavel's head against every corner between the laboratory and the cells.
When they reached the holding cells, the dwarf dropped her burden and pulled her keys from her belt to unlock the door. While she was occupied, Garavel leapt up and snatched the daggers that were strapped to her back. In a deft move, he brought both of them downward and buried them into either side of her neck, severing veins and arteries, feeling the blades strike together when they met and crossed in her chest, piercing her heart and killing her instantly. He pulled the blades out as the dwarf slumped to the floor and wiped the tainted blood on her armor. He would have to think of a way to kill the Architect while he was unguarded. There wasn't much time before the elf woman returned.
"Who's there?" Aiden asked, looking about the room. He'd heard a familiar voice, but it wasn't one of his companions. Recognition was just out of reach. Whoever it was, they whispered of an urgent need for his intervention.
"Nobody's here, Aiden," Mhairi said. "Are you hearing things?"
"Yeah. Actually, I am. And I'm not going to sit around here and do nothing while the commander is in trouble."
"Wait a minute, who said she's in trouble?" Nathaniel asked. "You can't be sure of that. And she's got Garavel with her."
"I'm telling you I heard a voice," Aiden insisted. "It told me she was in danger and needed our help." He'd been sitting on a table, brooding about the afternoon's fiasco that led to him and the rest of the wardens being confined to the keep. The voice urged him to get moving. Now. He got to his feet. "I'm going after her."
"I felt a presence," Justice said to the others. "Neither of the Fade nor of your world."
Bryant said he had felt it too, and added that he'd sensed it once before, earlier in the day.
Aiden checked his quiver. Satisfied he had sufficient arrows, he said, "It's settled then. Seneschal or no seneschal, I've got to find a way to get out of here. The rest of you can do as you like, but my gut tells me something's wrong."
"Your gut?" Sigrun repeated. "Your gut speaks to you?"
Aiden didn't have time to explain it. He said to her, "Sig, I need you to do me a favor. Distract the seneschal long enough for me to slip past the throne room."
"I'm coming with you," Anders said. Bryant, Mhairi, Nathaniel, and Justice took up their arms and made ready to sneak out with him.
"One thing first," Bryant said. He held up his hand toward Anders. "I'm no good in battle with a broken hand. You're a healer, aren't you?"
"Say no more," Anders consented, and he cast a burst of light at Bryant's injured hand. The bones knitted together, good as new. After all, this is an emergency, he told himself. Bryant thanked him, and Anders felt a tiny twinge of guilt for acting like an arse. The twinge passed quickly.
Sigrun engaged Varel in a detailed conversation about the taint and the joining. Since she wasn't a warden, she faked interest in becoming one to hold the seneschal's attention. It was a brilliant maneuver.
The throne room door was closed and the wardens were able to slip by, walking softly, one by one. When the group was outside the keep, they quickened their pace and headed for the Wending Wood.
"You're sure she's there?" Anders asked. "She said she was going to Amaranthine."
"She did, but she was lured to the wood. To the silverite mine."
"How do you know this?" Nathaniel asked. "Was it the voice again? Are you seeing ghosts too?"
"You can stay at the keep, Howe, or you can come along and help. But don't push me right now. You don't want to do that." Aiden's deadly serious tone halted further chatter.
Mhairi was worried too. She wasn't sure what Justice could sense, but he was of the Fade. If he said he felt a strange presence, she believed him. As far as Aiden hearing voices, it was just as likely as Bryant sensing the same presence Justice did. Since the blight, nothing had been normal. Since she arrived at the Vigil, she'd witnessed more supernatural things than one person ought to see in a lifetime. And since she'd become a Grey Warden, strange occurrences had become the rule rather than the exception. She wouldn't trade a moment of her present life for her former quiet, boring existence as a civilian and the spouse of a seafaring merchant in Gwaren.
The party entered the wood and followed the path that led across a shallow gorge and toward the silverite mine. Opposite the mine was a small Dalish camp, now deserted, all of its occupants killed including its leader, Velanna. Anders recalled the mage. She was strong and her magic as powerful as First Enchanter Irving's, but her spells were entirely destructive ones. She could shield herself with tree roots that sprung from the ground at her command, but she probably couldn't have healed a flea bite on a nug. How had a mage with her talent have let her friends die? Or had she been the one to kill them so she could blame their deaths on humans?
"Hold," Aiden whispered. The group stopped and eased closer to the rock wall, out of sight of anyone who might be at the old Dalish camp. They heard footsteps. The camp wasn't deserted any longer. There were voices, male and female, in a brief, heated exchange. Then silence.
Aiden motioned for the others to follow, and he stealthily moved closer to the camp's entrance. The main path intersected with the path that led to the camp on the west and to the mine on the east. There was no other route to the mine. If luck were on their side, whoever was in the camp wasn't looking toward the path. The party inched along, none of them making a sound. They were within a few feet of the place where the paths crossed.
A man stepped out of the camp and intercepted the wardens.
"State your purpose," he demanded.
The Architect consulted his books, but he found nothing to explain how the old god's soul could have ended up in the human woman. Nor did he find anything about how he could release it from her. The only certainty was that he couldn't kill her until the soul was free. If he did, the fragile life in her womb would die, and the soul would die with it.
He went back to the laboratory. The commander was still unconscious. He wondered why Utha hadn't returned, but wasn't concerned. Unlike the elf, Utha was independent. She frequently patrolled the tunnels, and it was on one of those watches that she found a Qunari merchant who had taken refuge in the mine. Seranni's sister was known to attack anyone that passed through the wood. The Qunari had barely escaped her, only to be detained by a tainted dwarf. Utha brought the captive to her master. After hearing that the being was a trader, and with the three of them unable to freely move about outside the mine, the Architect let him live in exchange for the goods he provided. It was a profitable arrangement.
Seranni hadn't come back with her sister either. Again, the Architect was unconcerned. It may take some convincing to get the stubborn mage to come to the mine. The elder sister was ruled by anger and suspicion. The younger elf was of a mild spirit; he didn't doubt she would be able to influence her sibling. He was confident of his followers' abilities and their loyalty.
Seranni was devoted to him in a way that he found mildly disturbing. He knew nothing about male-female relationships and had no need of such, but he recognized that the young elf girl was possessive of him, and jealous of the Mother. Her preposterous fear of "losing" him was puzzling. He could not be "lost" in the way she thought. He could not be obtained, either. In spite of his appearance, intelligence, power of speech and reason, and his intentions, he was darkspawn. He lacked the capacity for emotion as Seranni felt, and he didn't fully understand why creatures fell victim to unnecessary, crippling things like feelings. He didn't comprehend the impatience and anger that Utha displayed. Even with her inability to speak, she made her emotions evident. He could read and understand her thoughts, but he couldn't fathom emotion.
A small sound caught his attention. The female warden was regaining consciousness. He could have put her back to sleep with a word, but he was curious about her and wanted to converse with her. Maybe she would be willing to tell him how she got the old god's soul. If she knew how it was done, she had no reason not to tell him. She would have to be put to death soon. What good were secrets to her? She could further his research—a beneficial endeavor to surface flesh creatures as well as darkspawn—if she were a reasonable human.
She tried to bring up a hand to massage her aching head, but she found her arms bound at the wrists. When she raised her head and attempted to sit up, a strap across her ribcage prevented movement. "What in the…"
"Be calm, Commander," the Architect said. "I had to restrain you. You would have tried to leave, and I must keep you here."
"What have you done to me, you monster?"
The fury in her eyes is fascinating, he thought. What a pity to lose her. She would have been a formidable ally. "I've done nothing. You slept. Until the mage comes and assists me in removing the old god's soul from your body, you are safe."
"Thanks for that," she spat.
"I had hoped to avoid hostility," he said. "When I sent for you, my aim was to gain your trust and form an alliance between us. However, when I sensed that you bear the soul of an old god, I was compelled to change my goals. I require the soul, which is connected to you through your seed. When I remove the soul, your offspring will cease to be. The unavoidable, disagreeable result of my actions will be enmity between us, when I would have preferred to merge our strengths against a common foe. But, regardless of the cost, I must have the soul."
"What soul are you talking about? My baby's soul?"
"It's not his soul, nor yours. He's an old god."
"That story again? I don't have any old god's soul—"
"But you do, Warden. I don't know how it came about, but your offspring has Urthemiel's soul. There, I see it in your reaction. You recognize that I'm speaking the truth."
"What you see is recognition of my wardens, and me looking forward to your death."
The Architect whirled around and surged forward, his hands outstretched toward the intruders. The human male that Utha had taken to the holding cell was free, and he was accompanied by a number of others surfacers. Arrows flew at him from two angles, some of them narrowly missing the warden-commander. She ordered them to keep firing no matter what.
"Kill him! Don't worry about me! Don't let him escape!" she shouted to them.
He put up a ward to deflect the arrows. To his surprise, the ward collapsed. Had the wardens talked Seranni into betraying him? Had she brought her sister, not to fight with him but against him? But no, Seranni wasn't there. He sensed her blood, but not her person. There was another mage among the attackers, a human. It was he who had counteracted the ward.
The Architect prepared to kill the mage first, then erect another ward to shield himself and his hostage when he brought the stone ceiling down on the intruders. His last thought, before white-hot agony pierced his body from back to front, was that the coveted soul, so close to being his, might escape. He collapsed to the floor, his blood pouring from a gaping wound where his heart used to be.
Aiden ran to Winter. "Are you alright? Did we hit you? Maker, that creature moved so fast it was hard to follow him. Let me check you over. Anders, get over here!"
"Loosen the straps," Winter said to him. "I'm unhurt. Get me off this torture table. He has followers we need to kill and I want to destroy this place before we leave."
Garavel reached her ahead of Anders, who had crouched beside the Architect's corpse to examine it. "Commander, you're alive! Thank the Maker." He unfastened the straps at her ankles and across her ribs. Aiden released her hands. When she was freed, she sat up and looked around the room at the faces. Almost all her wardens were there.
"Didn't I confine you to the keep?" she smiled at them, breaking the tension. A couple of them laughed; the rest heaved a collective sigh of relief that they had arrived in time.
Winter spoke to the stranger who had dealt her captor the killing blow. "Whoever you are, I owe you my life and a debt of gratitude." The man bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Exactly what did you do to him? If I didn't know for sure I hadn't been drugged, I would think I'd been hallucinating when I saw you drive your hand right through his body."
The man, a slim and handsome elf, smiled ruefully. "Perhaps I was overzealous, but he had it coming. The thought of a powerful mage like this one holding a helpless person captive…" As he spoke, his body emitted a blue glow. It was the same phenomenon Winter saw when the hand burst through the Architect's chest with the creature's heart clenched and smoldering in a fist.
"Overzealous? Not in this case," Winter answered. "I'm Winter, by the way."
The blue glow ceased. "As I surmised. I am Fenris. I happened upon your companions outside, and they persuaded me to assist with your rescue. Before their arrival I'd learned there was a magister here in the mine." He scowled at the Architect's inert form. "I detest mages."
"Hey now, not all mages are like that thing," Anders protested. "I can safely say that none of the mages I've met are anything like him."
"You've led a sheltered life," Fenris replied.
Winter turned the conversation back to the Architect and his followers. "This creature is…was darkspawn. Intelligent, mutated darkspawn. I wasn't able to learn how he came to be, but I'd venture to say he was the first of his kind. He has two female followers, an elf and a dwarf. They assisted with his experiments and must be found and destroyed as well."
"He no longer has the elf," Fenris said. "I found her at the Dalish encampment nearby. She accused me of killing her sister and her friends, threatened to take me to her mentor, and when I refused to follow her she attacked me. I saw that she suffered from a form of corruption, so I ended her life. It was a more merciful death than she would have had otherwise."
"The dwarf is also dead, Commander," Garavel supplied.
Aiden confirmed it. "The captain here knows how to handle blades." He passed Garavel his longsword and placed Winter's swords and pack on the table. He had persuaded the Qunari merchant to return them. The creature didn't deal in stolen goods, he claimed. Aiden went on, "When we got here, that fool was planning to take this guy on all by himself." He poked at the Architect with his foot. "Not to sound ungrateful, Captain Gee, but that would have been suicide. What if you'd riled this creature up enough to hurt or kill the commander?"
"I think what he did was heroic," Mhairi cut in. Her comment drew questioning looks and a couple of knowing smiles. She flushed and looked away.
"He wouldn't have hurt her," Garavel answered, pretending he hadn't heard Mhairi's praise. "Not yet, anyway. I overheard him and his subordinates talking, but little of it made sense. He sent the elven girl to look for her sister, and the other one to lock me in the holding area." He explained how he'd managed to kill the dwarf.
"Impressive fighting," Aiden said. "About the elven girl… could she have been the missing sister the crazy elf mage raved about?"
"She was," Garavel nodded.
"So the crazy one was right. Her sister had been kidnapped."
"No, she wasn't kidnapped," Winter corrected him. "Even if she was originally taken by force, which I doubt, she stayed here by choice. Seems she didn't bother to say goodbye to her big sis before she left home to join up with the darkspawn."
"Elves," Nathaniel snorted. "I'll never understand them."
"Nor will I," Fenris agreed. The irony of his statement brought a few smiles to the wardens.
"Well, we're about done here," Winter said. "With the creature and his followers gone, I want his records searched before we torch his sick playhouse. Look for anything of value, and most importantly, anything he has on Grey Wardens. He experimented on our members to make those talking darkspawn. If that Qunari is still alive, let's see if he'll agree to move his shop to the Vigil. Business here in the mine is going to take a downturn."
"I'm afraid I must take my leave," Fenris said. "I'm on my way to Amaranthine to take ship to Kirkwall."
Winter answered him, "That's too bad. I could use a warden like you. Have you family in Kirkwall? Is your business so important that you can't stay here?"
"I have no family there. No acquaintances. I'm hunting down an enemy." He asked her, "Is your business here so important that you and your friends can't come to Kirkwall?"
"I'm afraid it is," she replied. "As much as I'd like to return the favor, I can't leave Amaranthine at this time. But one thing I can do…" She reached into her pack, retrieved a document, and held it out to Fenris. "Present this to the Kirkwall city guard. They'll let you into my house. It's yours for as long as you wish."
"I can't accept that," Fenris said.
"Yes you can. I owe you," Winter insisted. "Take the deed, please. I only own the house because I had to get rid of some gold."
"It must be nice to be too wealthy," Mhairi mumbled.
Winter went on, "There's a quantity of gold in an unlocked chest in the sitting room. Plenty enough to take care of any needs you may have. Help yourself to it." The grateful residents of the arling were generous with their rewards, and she had amassed a fortune in the past months. If Fenris spent every last copper she had in Kirkwall, she wouldn't miss it.
Anders spied the name on the deed. "Amell Estate. Amell? That's a family of mages."
Bryant added, "They lived in Lothering, but under a different name. Hawke, I think it was. No one knows what became of them, except that the father died. The Lothering templars learned the younger daughter was an apostate. To my knowledge, she was trained by her father to use and to hide her magic."
"Her father was an apostate and you let him run around free? For decades?"
"He escaped the tower long before I became a templar," Bryant explained. "He hid so well that the templars lost his trail entirely, and he was right under their noses."
"How is it that he could escape and stay free, and I get caught every time?"
"He didn't call attention to himself by openly criticizing templars and the chantry, Anders. He wore peasant clothing, not mage robes. He worked until he could afford to buy land, and he farmed to take care of his family. Nothing about him screamed out 'I'm an angry mage'."
"If you knew all this, why didn't you do your duty and chase them down?" Anders jeered.
"I was sent to Lothering to help get seventy-five refugees to safety during the blight," Bryant answered. "At the time, one apostate girl didn't seem important."
"About your Kirkwall house," Fenris said to Winter, interrupting the mage-templar debate. "It isn't a haven for mages, I trust."
"The house was vacant when I purchased it. I never met the owner, but I got a name: Gamlen Amell. You can check him out when you get there, if it matters to you. I was in Kirkwall for less than twenty-four hours and I had to lighten my burden. I bought the first house I saw for sale. End of story." Winter was weary of the mage-slamming. She considered their magic useful but wasn't going to express her opinion with Anders, Bryant, and Fenris around. Maybe it was best if the elf moved on. He would side with Bryant, and the two of them would be at odds with Anders. The last thing her group needed was more internal strife.
"Very well," Fenris said, "I'll accept your hospitality, but only out of need. I will find a way to repay your kindness."
"You already paid in advance," Winter chuckled. "I'm alive, my wardens are unharmed, and that monster is dead with a great big hole in his chest. That's payment enough."
Fenris thanked her again, she thanked him in return, and he left the mine. Winter thought he would have made a good warden… and what was that power he had? It wasn't like any magic she'd ever seen. He had odd markings on his skin of a silvery color that made him glow before an attack. Maybe they were the source of his power…?
Anders said, when the elf was gone, "Am I the only one who thinks that guy was an arse?"
A unanimous chorus of "yes" answered him.
Part 2 – Just When You Think It's Safe…
A mob of angry peasants was gathered outside the Vigil when we returned. Varel, Sigrun, and Sergeant Maverlies stood at the keep's entrance and tried to reason with them.
"What's going on?" I asked Varel.
"We're going to starve, that's what," a man responded.
Varel explained, "These people are under the impression that there won't be enough food to get them through the cold season. They're demanding access to the graneries. Maybe they'll listen to you. I can't convince them that there's nothing to worry about."
What could I say that Varel hadn't already told them? I started with, "There is more than enough food for everyone," and ended with, "If any of you have an immediate need, let the sergeant know and we'll provide you with food before you leave."
My short spiel placated them and they left, still murmuring. "Varel, has this happened before? What brought on such a baseless worry?"
"I'm dumbfounded, Commander. I have never seen them panic for no reason. If they'd come here expecting help against a darkspawn attack or raiders or bandits, I would understand it. But the fear of starvation, when there's nothing to indicate a food shortage..."
Garavel scoffed. "You were kinder to them than they deserved, Commander. The only way to handle a peasant uprising is to put it down hard."
"Sometimes they may leave us no choice," I replied. "But this time we were able to settle it without bloodshed. That's my preferred method of dealing with citizens."
We went inside the keep. The wardens went to their quarters, having earned a rest. I would follow suit as soon as I spoke with Varel. He, Garavel, and I went to the throne room. We were met by Amaranthine's wealthiest and most influential noble, Bann Esmerelle. She was wearing full armor, and everyone knew she was no warrior.
"Something we can help you with, Bann Esmerelle?" Varel asked her.
"You," she snarled at me. "You murdered the arl. You killed the best man I ever knew. Arl Rendon Howe."
"Howe was a traitor to Ferelden and a murderer," I answered.
"Rendon was good to us. He was good to me. And I will avenge his death with yours."
The unmistakable sound of a crossbow being cocked alerted us to the sniper's location. Varel shoved me out of the way and the bolt caught him in the arm. Garavel lunged for Esmerelle and slew her with a sword thrust to the chest. Arrows whizzed past my head. The treacherous bann had hired professional assassins to finish a job she couldn't properly start.
Varel was down but I was unhurt. I pulled my blades and slew the crossbow-wielding assassin. There were four in all. They'd evidently taken position in the room while we were out dealing with the peasants—a distraction that worked nicely for Esmerelle. Too bad she lay dead in a pool of blood and wouldn't see her plot brought to fruition.
Garavel killed the assassin nearest him. The other two fell before we could get to the far end of the room. I thought Sergeant Maveries or one of my wardens had heard the commotion and come to assist. Instead, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
His Antivan accent was unmistakable. "You and the Crows? Again? What must I do to prevent this, dear Warden?"
"Zev? I trust you're not with these fellows. You remember how badly that went last time."
"I do indeed." He glanced at the bodies. "These fools did not hear the story, it would seem, or they would not have taken the job. I, however, am glad they were as stupid as I once was. That is four less Crows I have to remove from my guild."
"Your guild? Are you the leader now?"
He gave a gallant bow. "At your service. The Crows needed some restructuring, so I took it upon myself to depose the leadership—with a poisoned dagger, that is—and claim the position he'd so recently left vacant."
"Weren't you aware of the contract against me?" I asked suspiciously. How could he be the leader and not know of it?
"You have me there. I knew of it, and I allowed them to walk into a deathtrap. But, to make sure they did no harm to my favorite Grey Warden, I followed them here. You never know when the services of a handsome elven assassin might come in handy, yes?" The door opened and the other wardens spilled in to see what had happened. "Speaking of handsome, I see Aiden is still with you."
"Speaking of poisoned daggers, you might want to keep your attraction to him a bit less obvious," I advised. "Aiden's not fond of you, and he likes women."
"Are you speaking from personal experience, I wonder?"
"No. We're friends. Nothing romantic or… otherwise."
"Oh yes, I remember now. Alistair is more to your liking, yes?"
"No he isn't. We're also just friends."
"I'm intrigued," he flirted. "That means you are single."
"It means you and I are also just friends."
Zev laughed as if I'd told a joke, but he ceased his half-hearted trifling and he managed not to get caught eyeing my senior warden's physique. It would have been nice to have him stay and join us, or fight with us as Sigrun did—as an ally but not a warden—but he had other plans and had to return to Antiva. More people to kill, more scores to settle.
Nathaniel was looking down at Bann Esmerelle's body. He looked troubled. Angry, actually.
"I remember her," he said when I approached him. "I used to see her here often when I was a boy, whenever Mother was away."
I asked, not realizing the pile of horse manure I was stepping into, "Wasn't she a friend of the family?"
He scoffed. "No. She was rude to us kids. She sure wasn't Mother's friend. The two of them were like strangers even though they'd known each other from childhood and were schooled together. It was my father that Esmerelle came to visit. She was his mistress, and from what I'm recalling now, she wasn't the only one."
"I'm sorry, Nathaniel," I said. I really didn't know what to say to him. It was awkward.
He counted off a few names I didn't know—other women Rendon Howe dallied with behind his wife's back. "He hated Mother, and I still don't know why. She was a good woman. Her family was upset with her for marrying down. Father was a lesser nobleman, barely considered a noble because of his meager land holdings and his debts. Mother's family was wealthy. This keep was their land, not the Howe's. Mother inherited it, and when she died, Father inherited it from her. Mother's parents despised Father and I resented them for it. I didn't know…"
What was I supposed to say to this? Another "I'm sorry" didn't seem adequate. He was reliving old painful memories. The recent meeting with his sister Delilah had opened his eyes to his father's true nature, and he learned the facts about the assault on the Couslands. Rendon Howe envied the Couslands—supposedly his closest friends—and he coveted everything Teyrn Bryce Cousland had, including his wife. Now Nathaniel's own memories, repressed or distorted by his love for his father, were coming into focus.
A sudden inspiration hit me, and I hoped I wasn't about to make a complete fool of myself. "Let's take a walk, Nathaniel." We went out to the courtyard and to the amorer's stand. "Master Wade, do you have that bow ready? I gave it to you a couple of weeks ago."
"Bow… bow… Where did I put it? Herren, have you seen it?"
Herren snapped at him. "Did you misplace a priceless weapon because your head is always in the clouds, Wade?"
Nathaniel was impatient. "Is there a point to this, Commander? I'm not in the mood…"
"Please bear with me," I asked. "I have something for you that I think you'll appreciate."
The two dunces rummaged around until they found the bow, repaired and restrung, hanging in its proper place on a rack. Wade handed it to me like it was made of fine blown glass. "It's perfect," he said. "Better than new."
I passed it to Nathaniel. "Do you recognize it?"
His eyes widened. "This was my grandfather's bow! There's the Howe crest carved into the wood. I remember this…" His anger dissipated, replaced by awe. We found a seat and he talked about his grandfather, a Grey Warden, who had left home and never returned. Rendon resented him for it, but now that Nathaniel knew the truth, he was proud of him.
Until then I knew virtually nothing about Nathaniel, but we forged the start of a friendship that evening. Before we would part ways, we would become close as kin.
Things quieted down long enough for me to read the mail that had been piling up in the short time I'd been away. There was a missive from a noble about his kidnapped daughter. It must have arrived late. I tossed it in the 'finished tasks' pile. Another from Eddelbrek thanking me for the soldiers we'd sent to guard his farmland. More notes and letters from nobles in Amaranthine city complaining about the squatters outside the city walls; one from the chantry inquiring about a mage named Wynne (what was she doing here?) who roamed about freely without any apparent connection to the Circle; two from merchants informing me they were holding our payment for various jobs we'd undertaken; and the four I'd set aside for last. One was from the palace, one from Sebastian, and the other two from Teagan.
I opened the letter from the palace. It bore the king's official seal. Penned by someone other than Alistair (I would have recognized his writing), it announced that His Majesty the King would be visiting Vigil's Keep for an update on our progress, the state of the Grey Wardens, and inspection of the keep in a few weeks. The letter was dated less than a week ago, so I figured we had about a month to get things in order for a royal visit.
Sebastian was back in the Kirkwall chantry as a brother. He had tried to rule Starkhaven but he found the life of a royal unfulfilling. His future had been dedicated to service to the Maker and Andraste, and he'd been a fool to abandon his vows for any reason—revenge or love. He wanted us to remain friends, as did I. At last we agree! I laughed to myself.
Teagan's letters were predictably romantic. One message was an older one that arrived while I was en route to Redcliffe a couple of weeks ago (had it been that long? Or longer?) The other was written a day after I'd left him last. He asked (again) when I thought I'd be finished with my duties at the Vigil and could come home to Rainesfere. I thought it amusing that he'd specifically said 'Rainesfere' rather than Redcliffe, knowing how much I preferred the serene beauty of the orchards and nearby mountains to the activity of Redcliffe village. He asked about the baby, how the pregnancy was progressing, and he asked if I'd felt life yet.
'Felt life'? As a matter of fact, I haven't felt anything at all. How far along was I? I calculated the time from the battle for Denerim. Nineteen weeks. I was upset with myself for not trying to learn something about pregnancy. Should I have felt movement by now? If so, why hadn't I? What if something had gone wrong? I skimmed the rest of the letter, the words barely registering. It read:
"Eamon knows about us and that we are expecting a baby. If you have occasion to go to Denerim before you come home, don't let Eamon bully you. He's just being my overprotective big brother; he means no harm or disrespect."
What Eamon knew didn't matter. At the moment, I didn't wonder how or why Eamon found out about our relationship, or why it might bother him. Nothing mattered except the baby. I shoved all the letters in my cupboard and went to find Anders.
I ran across Mhairi in the hallway. "You're beginning to show," she commented, indicating my rounded belly. It wasn't a big lump, but it did show through my fitted dragonskin armor. "In another month, you'll have to get Master Wade to make you a cuirass with adjustable side straps. So, have you felt movement yet?"
"Not yet." Ignorant as I was, I asked her sheepishly, "When is the normal time for an expectant mother to feel the baby move? I'm not well informed on these things."
"From my… my mother's experience, she said she felt movement around the end of her fourth month. But bear in mind, in most cases it's difficult to tell when a pregnancy commenced."
Not for me, it isn't. I know precisely when it 'commenced', down to the hour of day.
"Thanks, Mhairi. If you'll excuse me…" I brushed past her, more worried than before I'd asked about it.
Anders was in his quarters. I burst in without asking permission—something I wouldn't normally do. "Please, Commander, do come in," he jested. When I closed and bolted the door, he raised an eyebrow. "Well, this is rather sudden, don't you think? But who am I to say no?"
"Be serious, Anders. I need your services as a healer."
His demeanor changed and his fretting almost matched mine. "Why? What's wrong? Are you ill? Were you injured?"
"No, it's about the baby—"
He went into a list of maladies and frightening symptoms, none of which I'd had. "Maybe it would be better if you sit down, calm yourself, and tell me exactly what's going on. It will be quicker and I'm all out of guesses."
"I haven't… Well, the baby doesn't move, I think. How can I tell if it's still alive?"
He smiled indulgently, as if I were a little child. It wasn't unkind. Rather, he was reassuring me. "Winter, every woman is different. Some feel life quite early, others much later. But the baby moves as soon as it develops limbs. It's still tiny. Well, now that I look at your middle, maybe not as tiny as I thought. If I knew when you'd conceived, I could tell you the approximate size…"
"Forty-eight hours before the battle for Denerim," I supplied.
"Well," he laughed, "I can't recall ever treating a woman who knew the exact time she conceived. Most can't tell me the week of it. You're an exceptionally… organized person."
"Please," I groaned. "No more jokes. I'm concerned."
"Nothing to be concerned about. Lie here," he pointed to his bed. "Come on, I'm not going to lay a hand on you."
I wasn't worried about that. What went through my mind was someone else barging in like I'd done, seeing me lying on his bed, and the firestorm of gossip that would follow.
"The door is bolted, remember?" he said. He was right; I'd forgotten it. "Nobody will know our little secret."
I stretched out and he passed his hands above my body. They shone with a pale blue glow. "Don't be shoving your hands through my insides like Fenris, alright?"
Anders laughed again. "It's good to see you can still joke. I'm not a freak like that elf, and my powers are mostly for healing." He hovered over my growing womb. "Everything is fine. Your boy is growing and developing normally. If you haven't felt movement yet, you will soon. He's moving right now. Are you sure you feel nothing?"
"No. I was so afraid, I got butterflies in the pit of my stomach," I frowned.
"Dear Commander, that's not butterflies, as you call it. It's the baby moving," Anders said, to my unspeakable relief. "As he grows, the flutters will become stronger. Perfectly normal pregnancy." He confided, assuming his court jester mood again, "You know, if you'd come to me before you got yourself into this predicament, I could have helped you avoid it."
"You can do something to prevent pregnancy? Preposterous," I huffed.
"My dear girl, all mages develop that talent as soon as we reach a certain age," he said. I didn't know if he was telling the truth or joking again. "If we didn't, the tower would have been overrun with little magelings." He lowered his voice. "Don't tell Bryant about that, okay? He'll get word to Cullen, and that fanatical mage-hater will probably build a separate tower for the women so he can take away the one last semblance of a normal life."
"Thank you, Anders. That took a load off my mind."
"What did? The news that you're perfectly healthy, or that I can help you prevent this happening in the future?"
"The first one. I'm not sure I believe you can prevent conception. It sounds like something a mage would tell a woman to convince her to lie with him."
He looked appalled. "What a terrible thing to say! I'd never… No upstanding mage would ever do that." His slip sounded more contrived than accidental.
"Before I go," I began, changing the subject before he got carried away, "how is Varel doing? He took an arrow for me. I'd feel terrible if he lost the use of his arm."
"He was lucky. It went through muscle but didn't break a bone. He'll be slinging his greatsword around again in no time."
"Thanks again. I'm glad I conscripted you."
"That makes one of us."
At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I wasn't in the mood to listen to his complaints about being confined, cooped up, caged, or whatever his word of the day was. I liked Anders and I owed him my life, but that didn't mean I had to listen to him go on and on about templars and towers and freedom. I got out of his room before anyone knew I'd been there.
At dinner that evening, I sat with Aiden and Bryant. We discussed the Architect and the creature we'd heard references to called 'the Mother'.
"What do you think it is?" Bryant asked. "Is there a female version of the Architect running loose out there?"
"It's a broodmother," I answered. I had to explain what a broodmother was, as I'd explained to Varel not long ago. Bryant was also fortunate enough never to have run across one. His reaction was the same as Varel's. He was speechless.
"Maker…" was as far as he got.
"If this Mother is anything like the Architect, we can expect another organized attack sooner or later. The first attack on the Vigil was a botched attempt by the Architect to collect Grey Warden blood for his experiments. The Mother, from what I understand, isn't as intelligent as the Architect was, but she is more dangerous. She doesn't want our blood. She wants us wiped out."
"There's a fine welcome-to-Amaranthine attitude," Aiden quipped. "Speaking of welcomes, did you notice the couple cozying up in the corner?" He pointed over his shoulder to the far corner of the dining hall. It was the darkest spot in the room in the evenings. There, at a small table, sat Garavel and Mhairi. They were engrossed in conversation.
"Good for them," I remarked. "If they can find happiness out here, they deserve it. Garavel's a good man."
"I thought she was going to go for Bryant," Aiden grinned.
"Sorry. Vows," Bryant answered. "I hadn't intended to break them, but especially now, with the taint and a short life span, it's pointless."
"Romancing a beautiful woman is never pointless. Helluva way to go through life, my friend, but if that's how you want it…"
Bryant came back with, "I thought you and Mhairi had something going on for a while. What happened? Did your jokes bore her?"
Aiden didn't react as I expected, with a witty comeback. Instead he said, "Mhairi's an attractive woman. I liked her, and I guess she liked me too, but... I don't know. I can't put my finger on a specific reason, but nothing developed between us. It never would have. We're fellow wardens, but that's it." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'm happy for her if she and Garavel hit it off."
Garavel was flattered by Mhairi's attention. She was beautiful and kind, and for whatever reason, she found him appealing. He didn't think of himself as the romantic type, but when she came to his defense at the Architect's lair, he felt pretty heroic.
"Tell me about yourself," he urged her. She told little except where she hailed from. Gwaren. The little port village on the southeastern edge of the country that was elevated to a teyrnir when the late King Maric promoted Loghain to teyrn. Possibly not the king's smartest choice.
"And what of you?" Mhairi asked. "I thought a man like you would have a family."
She was hinting—boldly—that she wanted to know if he was married. "I don't," he answered simply, not wanting to rip the scab off old wounds.
His wife had died during the blight. He hadn't been home to protect her, and he couldn't forgive himself for leaving her defenseless while he was out saving strangers. They had planned to start a family as soon as the blight was over.
Both Garavel and his lovely Jilliane wanted children, lots of them. He'd thought he might retire from the army when the threat had passed and the land was safe. A talented weaponsmith, he would start his own business wherever they settled. Their home was in a small community in the plains between Denerim and Redcliffe, north of the Drakon River. It was Ferelden's no-man's land. To ply his trade successfully, the couple planned to move to Denerim as soon as he'd completed his tour of duty. Before he could, the darkspawn raided the village and slaughtered every living soul.
"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Mhairi asked innocently.
She couldn't have known. He didn't want to brush her off; he liked her. But the emotional wounds were raw and bleeding again. Garavel didn't want her to see his pain.
"No, you did nothing wrong. I just remembered something I need to tend to. If you'll excuse me." Without waiting for her answer, he rose from the table and walked away.
News of the Architect's demise reached the Mother. She was overjoyed that her archenemy had been slain by her other archenemies, the Grey Wardens. With one out of the way, she could move against the wardens.
A little more than three weeks after we killed the Architect, we received a frantic request for help from Constable Aidan. Amaranthine was under attack by darkspawn, and they had breeched the city walls.
"Anders, Nathaniel, and Garavel, grab your weapons. You three are with me. Aiden, you take Mhairi, Sigrun, Justice, and Bryant. We'll go in two separate groups. Hopefully, we can travel faster if we break up into teams. Whoever reaches the city first, talk to the constable, assess the situation, but wait for me to give the final order. Let's go. We have a city to save."
Sigrun piped up. "Commander, what about Oghren? He's still in the dungeon."
"Maker's blood, I forgot all about him," I muttered. "Varel, have the guard release Oghren from the dungeon. I'll need him in Amaranthine. Quickly, please."
Aiden's party was ready to depart. "Go," I said. "Don't wait for us. Find the constable and see what's going on, but don't go into the city. I'll be there as soon as I can. Be careful, because we don't know what we're walking into."
"We'll see you there," Aiden said. He was comfortable with leadership. I had to wonder why he chose to follow me all this time instead of taking the lead from the outset, before our joining. "You be careful too," he added. "Darkspawn scouting parties will be further out from the city. You're bound to run into any that we don't kill on the way."
Oghren took his time coming up from the dungeon, and he was spitting mad for being left there for so long. I apologized, but he wasn't having it. His tantrum wasn't high on my list of priorities. "Grab your battleaxe and take your hostility out on darkspawn. We can settle our differences later."
We set out for Amaranthine city, unaware of the holocaust that awaited us there.