Due to an extremely busy exam week at college and the fact that my old laptop broke down, this chapter is a little late in coming.
Multiple scene juggle here, which was kind of difficult to write. Originally, I was planning to have the Alistair-Wynne talk here, but I think it would be a rather redundant scene, considering Nimue did the same and I can very well put it in as a flashback later on. In the first scene, it was originally supposed to be Isolde with Nimue, but I don't think I could write her entirely believably, so I opted for another choice. Then, since everyone seems to like their bards sneaky, Leliana weaseled her way into a scene, which was inspired by a party dialogue I got with her – I really liked that part.
Just to clarify, the party will be leaving Redcliffe in the very next chapter, which will be a kind of formal presentation of the whole "challenge" to Alistair and Zevran. Things will start to heat up from there on.
o.O.o
Wanting Ever After
o.O.o
Morrigan wasn't by any means a patient or gentle teacher, but she was thorough in her instruction. And it was a particularly nice change from the usual masters Nimue had studied under at the tower, who used methods so archaic and restrictive that one might as well find the most decaying old tome around and read them from there. It was refreshing to study freely, without a templar looming over your shoulder and checking if your text about field flowers didn't contain blood magic rituals.
Or, apparently, trying to appear so while studying the shades of each of the strands of your hair, as other apprentices had at times jestingly remarked on Cullen's apparent fixation on her. Nowadays, it didn't seem nearly so amusing but irrelevant as it had back then. As this was Nimue's single experience with romance throughout her short lifetime, she couldn't be blamed too much for her attempts to distance herself from such things, along with the reluctance to either accept or refuse the offer of marriage that had so suddenly been presented to her.
If one thing was certain, it was that she wouldn't return to the tower, if she could help it. Yet she hadn't contemplated any kind of future beyond that. Mostly because she had readily assumed she would perish at Ostagar, and then, she had taken to living one day at a time, to the fullest each time. This became twice as important to her when Alistair told her that her lifespan had possibly been halved by the Joining alone. Perhaps now was the time to think what she actually wanted, since their gathering of an army was almost done.
As she slipped on the familiar robes and boots that had finally been returned to her, the mage dismissed the gigantic question mark of her survival as irrelevant. After all, she was entitled to hopes and dreams as much as the next person, possible death in the near future notwithstanding. Now that that was out of the way, she folded the borrowed clothing clumsily and decided to return it to its proper owner before their mid-day meal. They were going to leave before nightfall, with just enough cover of darkness to make it seem that they were still present at the castle. One never knew who was watching, after all
As far as Nimue saw things, she had several options, where once she had had none. Returning to the tower was out of the question, fondness for Wynne and Irving aside. She could travel on her own and finally see the world, alone or in someone's company – Leliana had readily offered as much some time ago; Zevran had all but done the same, she recalled with a brief glance at her own feet before slipping on her right boot. She could return to the Grey Wardens and see what their duties involved once a Blight was over, though Nimue wasn't quite certain she was up to once more sealing herself in a very closed community. Or, if she consented, she would be integrated into nobility and addressed warily as milady for the rest of her life by humans.
Contrary to expectation, she would perhaps have preferred having only one, maybe two choices at most. The decision would have been all the easier that way.
Oddly, she received more surprised glances when crossing the halls of Redcliffe Castle in her own attire than in that of Ferelden's former queen; the magic staff tied to her back might have something to do with that, of course. She was allowed into the private quarters of the Guerrin family easily, but, to her surprise, the only person who peeked out of their chamber at the arrival of a guest was a boy with red hair and innocent eyes.
With the taint of the desire demon no longer present, Connor looked like an ordinary boy, certainly a little pale, but otherwise entirely reminiscent of the frequent little mage apprentices that made their first – and likely only – journey across Lake Calenhad with cautious, wary faces and wide eyes.
The tower's still rather disrepaired state was one of the reasons why the boy still resided at Redcliffe, but it was Nimue's understanding that several Circle mages were present at the castle to keep an eye on him. He would also apparently be leaving soon after her own group.
"Oh, hello there." Nimue assumed her best friendly tone. The boy had seemed likeable when frightened by the "bad lady", but she wasn't particularly good with children, as far as she could judge herself. This might be difficult. In such cases, Nimue usually opted for the truth. "I was hoping to find Lady Isolde here to return these." For unnecessary emphasis, she raised the forearm around which she had draped the semi-folded gowns. There weren't too many, fortunately.
"I told mother she should go get something to eat." Connor no longer appeared so shaken, even though he was in no way a vibrant child. Nimue had the impression that he seemed to have overcome a particularly hard illness, but now was on the slow road to recovery. Perhaps in the future, if he was ever going to be told about this possession, he would understand the meaning of caution with magic much quicker than most apprentices. It was a comforting thought, in a sense, that at least a little of what had happened would be useful to someone. "She looked so pale… I hope she isn't getting sick."
Personally, Nimue thought that the very least retribution the oh-so-noble lady could deal with would be a little sickness, considering how little she had cared for anything other than her own son during this tragedy. She couldn't say as much to a child, obviously, but sometimes she wished she could state her true opinion instead of having to be the one to mend bridges between people.
Robbed of the opportunity to state the truth, the mage settled for empty phrases of comfort. "I wouldn't worry any longer. Things can only get better from now on." An adult would have seen the emptiness of the assurance. Fortunately, she wasn't dealing with one at the moment.
"But I'll be sent away, won't I?" Connor asked, steadying himself against the doorframe he hadn't yet abandoned. He didn't seem nearly as frightened about the possibility as most conscious of what a mage's life was like would be, but this was understandable. That he did seem calmer than Isolde had been was commendable, though. "Mother mentioned that I would have to leave. She seemed very upset about it."
Once more, Nimue refrained from commenting on that, and at this point, those that knew her better would have spotted the moment when her lips thinned, biting back unpleasant words. "You have a gift, Connor." The mage crouched down to the boy's height, still maintaining a distance to not frighten him in any way. She knew too well that sudden intrusions weren't always helpful. "But you must learn to be careful with it… and where you go, they can show you how to do just that. Your mother will learn to understand." She would have to, in the years to come.
Connor, however, absorbed this information quickly. "Are there other boys my age there?" he asked with innocent eagerness. Nimue couldn't imagine the boy having many friends his age, due to his exalted rank and his mother's apparent nature. Apparently, there were things not even the very rich could get at leisure. "At the tower?"
This time, Nimue could let her smile be genuine. Such fears were common, especially once the child got over the fear of being sent away from his family. "Boys and girls both, yes. All of them with the same gift." she added before Connor could perhaps display that childishness of boys who supposed that being a girl excluded one from those privileged to do magic. Fortunately, the experiences of the recent months seemed to have hardened him sufficiently against that. "Making friends is easier than you might think. You will have a lot to talk about."
"I've never been away from Redcliffe." Connor admitted, squirming a little. This fact didn't surprise Nimue overmuch. "Not even to our estate in Denerim. I don't have many friends here… not any now, I guess." Focusing again, the boy looked into the mage's eyes again, with just the hint of an eager spark. "Will you be there too, once the Blight is over?"
Irving and Greagoir might be expecting an answer to that question eventually, as would Wynne. However, with one who had no idea of her standing and her past with the Circle, Nimue could afford to be honest. "I don't know, dear." It was easy to revert to terms of endearment when the barriers were gone, but she didn't really notice. "My membership in the Grey Wardens supersedes my duties as a mage… though I have people I care about there. I would visit, at least, but I doubt I'd stay."
"You should." One had to admire the conviction of a child, especially when it was so sincere. If selfish. "I… it would be nice to know someone there." Connor admitted. Clearly, his parents had sheltered him greatly throughout his short life. "Except Jowan, but I heard he's going to be… different when I asked."
Nimue didn't want to think about Jowan, but it seemed that everyone today was forcing her to do so. Well, at the very least, he would be made Tranquil, if not slain. Strangely, Nimue felt neither rage nor regret. Somehow, she had moved past this and came to terms with her past. Perhaps thanks to the Gauntlet, in part.
"He made mistakes and has to pay his due." Nimue tried to make her expression encouraging, but didn't know just how much she could help in this case. Explaining the Rite of Tranquility to a child wasn't something easily done, let alone if the child was to be sent to the people capable of doing it so very soon. "Don't worry about him; he's accepted that."
"I see you are getting along quite well." A deeper voice spoke from behind her, the result of approaching footsteps Nimue hadn't truly heard. The mage turned with little surprise, but remained a bit wary, even though she likely had little reason to be so.
There was very little trace of resemblance between Arl Eamon and his son, who had obviously taken most of Isolde's Orlesian features. But there was a distinct similarity between the Arl and his brother, especially around the eyes, which the elf was beginning to see more clearly only now. Standing up, she nodded her head in respect and wiped any trace of emotion from her face. His choice of a conversation topic would have to determine what she could show, she had learned so much from Leliana.
"Milord." she managed as a greeting, lacing the word with respect. "I was hoping to find Lady Isolde here, to return the clothes she lent me. I have little need of them where I go."
The Arl appeared momentarily surprised by this, but didn't allow much of such sentiment to show. Evidently, he attributed the notion to her upbringing amongst mages. "The servants could have done so much for you; you are a champion of the bannorn and have more important things to do than dealing with putting away dresses."
"I like doing things thoroughly, whatever their importance." Not to mention that she still felt a twinge of resentment when seeing that most servants everywhere were elves… and that all humans seemed to share Leliana's previous view on this being their rightful place.
Fortunately, Eamon was both observant and capable of juggling words well and took note of this. "I see. I think I understand why he likes you so much." he noted, gesturing towards the sitting room of the residential quarters. Connor, while not dismissed, chose to follow out of interest, even though he didn't really understand the conversation much.
"Who does?" Nimue asked with a mild frown as she helped herself to what appeared to be the most comfortable of the visible chairs. Judging by the satisfying feeling of sinking into the fabric of the furnishings as she sat down, she picked the right one, placing her staff on the ground next to it. The only thing she made certain of was to keep it out of Connor's reach.
"May I be frank with you?" Nimue nodded, not that she had too much choice. "I would like to know what you think of Alistair. He regards you most highly, that much I can see, but you very tactfully refrained from stating your own opinion when confronted with the possibility of him being made king."
Such things could have very well been asked in front of others, though, and Nimue had no illusions about this being anything less than an interrogation. Or, at least, a highly confidential conversation, if this very direct question was anything to go by.
"Are you asking if I believe him to be a suitable candidate for the throne, or what I think of him as a person?" Frankness could be repaid with the same courtesy, after all. And, for all her unwillingness not to see, it didn't mean that she was utterly blind to various developments and possibilities. "Or are you inquiring as to my relationship with him to confirm that I will not be an obstacle to his accession?"
Eamon appeared surprisingly satisfied as he observed the mage. Things could go easier if she herself could read between the lines. "All of those answers would interest me."
The elf studied this expression for a moment or two, but had the same answer that she had given Alistair himself prepared. "I think he has the makings of a good king, if he commits to it. He's a loyal friend and a steadfast warrior." To say the least. One could say a lot on the subject of Alistair, but Nimue guessed that this wasn't really what the Arl was hoping to hear. "And I support his candidacy, which should answer your question."
Now that was a shrewd answer, worthy of any noble and certainly of a Grey Warden as well. But it didn't assuage him entirely.
"You have the makings of a politician yourself. Please don't be offended by my questions, but they have a good reason." Having given his blessing to Teagan's marriage to this woman, Eamon wished to make things completely clear between them all. This would mean speaking to Alistair as well, but if given the chance to talk to her alone, he wasn't going to squander it. Connor's presence might also help his efforts, if used correctly. "You see, if all goes as we hope and Alistair becomes king, he will need someone to help with the first few months of his reign. As he trusts me and I have known him since childhood, I intend to offer him my assistance."
"I'm certain he'd appreciate that." Nimue noted neutrally, as she had little idea where this might be going. Things began falling into context, though, if only slowly. "But what of Redcliffe? I assume the arlessa will go with you to Denerim."
"You are close to seeing the reason yourself." Connor had taken one of the nearby books and began reading it, sitting cross-legged on the floor. It was unfortunate, this sudden discovery of magic; given time, the boy would have doubtless become a most suitable aristocrat. However, one had to make do with what they had. "As a mage, you're no doubt aware that you cannot inherit a title. The same is true for my Connor now. In the absence of any other children, my only heir is my brother, Teagan."
"I didn't realize… I was told much about Rainesfere, so I didn't really see this." But, logically, Teagan couldn't have known of this plan, if Eamon had only come up with it in the recent days. It was also dependant on circumstances, but Nimue understood. If this became true, Teagan would be elevated to the rank of Arl and the responsibility of procuring an heir would fall to him and his wife. Conclusions to be drawn from this were obvious. "Am I to understand that this is your way of advising me to refuse what you seem to be aware of already?"
"Not at all." Eamon countered that with decisiveness. He wasn't aware of the infertility problems of the Grey Wardens, but the other problems could be glossed over, as Teagan had mentioned. It was a different factor entirely that was worth worrying over. "I owe you much, as does all of my family. But if you are to marry my brother, as he wishes, I would advise you to do so before Alistair is crowned king. Before I appoint Teagan my heir, at least." he amended, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees in the absence of a table. "The Chantry will perhaps not be as resentful of a mage rising in the ranks of nobility that way, though I cannot promise that."
Ah, yes, there was that. "For a while, I had forgotten all about the Chantry." Nimue admitted, with something that could perhaps be interpreted as shame.
Marriage to a human noble would mean a wedding on Chantry terms, formal conversion to shemlen religion and thus a direct support of its ways and ideals. It was an off-putting idea, certainly, especially since while she could learn to accept the Chantry's place in such a life, but the Chantry would always remain wary and resentful at best, outright hostile at worst.
Oddly enough, this added to her still surprised respect for Teagan, if he was aware of such things and wished to marry her despite those potential problems.
But Connor, finding a part of the conversation he could distile and understand, managed to perk up and raised his eyes from the mildly interesting book. "Is it true?" he asked, studying the elf carefully, almost as if seeing her for the first time. He didn't seem apprehensive, though. "Are you marrying uncle Teagan?"
Noticing the apparent speechlessness of the Warden, Eamon had the mercy to intervene for her. "He's asked the lady, but not received an answer yet, I understand."
And, of all the responses Nimue had been expecting, a shaky smile was among the last ones she would have considered. "That would be nice. He did seem happier after you came for him." If even a child, uninhibited by preconceptions and prejudices, could see as much, then there wasn't any further doubt in Eamon's mind about the validity of this idea. "I'll be able to tell the other boys that my auntie is a Grey Warden."
The elf's grip on the armrest of her chair tightened at this proclamation and she blinked a lot more times than actually necessary, for such a short span of time. "A-Auntie?" she repeated.
"That's what you'll be, won't you?" Connor asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, truly, in the eyes of those seeing only the straight line.
"I…"
Seeing their champion rendered speechless by a child was certainly a sight Eamon hadn't expected to witness, not even today. It was perhaps unkind to laugh, but in the recent trying times, moments of amusement and novelty had to be treasured, especially those twice as rare like this.
"I think she needs a while to absorb that information, my son."
o.O.o
As for Leliana, she was nowhere near giving up on her new pet project.
She was willing to bet a few good pairs of shoes on the fact that Nimue hadn't taken to avoiding her purely out of fancy. Of course, it would have been difficult to assume that her sudden interest in the elf's wardrobe was purely a result of boredom, but it was somewhat surprising that the mage hadn't yet confronted her on the issue. Nimue was fortunate in being a person to rarely run from her problems, preferring to tackle them head-on, if given even the sliver of an opportunity.
Gossip around the castle suggested that Morrigan had returned, so the first assumption the bard made was that Nimue was most likely going to seek the witch out at the earliest possible opportunity. Different as they were, they got along marvelously, which didn't surprise or annoy the former lay sister as it still did Alistair. She could understand Nimue's suppressed disdain for the Chantry, given the side of it she had come to consider natural in her life and was grateful for the other woman's veil of forced acceptance of the religion, however thin it might be.
It was fortunate that the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds was a thoroughly ostentatious presence in the castle, thus making it very easy to follow the gossiping or frightened servants straight to her. But Leliana didn't stop to make conversation of any sort when she overheard another group of maids mentioning that the lady Warden had apparently gone back to the residential wing, which meant that she had most likely retired to the privacy of her own chamber.
Leliana could understand this; the camp, though filled with friendly faces, was in no way a private spot. And Nimue seemed like the kind of person who occasionally wished for no other company than that of her own thoughts.
Knocking only once, she didn't bother waiting for an answer, as it would only give Nimue the possibility of shapeshifting into that insect swarm form she so favored when needing to fly away (why she couldn't turn into a dove or at least a hawk, if necessary, Leliana couldn't tell, though she supposed it was out of consideration for Shale).
"Don't worry; it's only me, Nimue. I found some lovely- oh." Leliana cut herself off. She knew the layout of Nimue's room well enough after her frequent visits to be able to tell which parts the mage favored. The only figure present was elven indeed, but even with the dimmed lights, their leader certainly wouldn't have willingly ventured near the closet, if she could help it. Besides, the visible outline of ever-present swords was kind of a give-away. "Well, this is certainly unexpected. What are you doing here, Zevran?"
A number of theories on that were dismissed based solely on the fact that Nimue herself was in fact not present at the moment. However, that didn't mean that nothing was out of the ordinary, especially with the way the assassin lounged around the bedchamber as if it belonged to him; or rather like a sated cat awaiting its owner to show some slight appreciation for their efforts, the way he was casually sitting on the bed, which would have doubtless at least unnerved the mage, had she arrived before Leliana herself. However, Zevran didn't seem the least bit disappointed with this development, though it was hard to tell if he had expected it.
"I am simply returning these to our lovely Warden." The assassin held up a pair of ladies shoes for Leliana to see, not moving an inch or losing his rather lazy smile. "She forgot them in the gardens, such a hurry she was in to run off."
Leliana hid her frown behind a light smile. She had more practice than one could need at displaying reactions different than the ones she actually felt. The gardens; now that was a location she hadn't had the chance to check. With keeping an eye on all their current players, she had hoped that Nimue would elect to wait at the castle for Morrigan's return, but, apparently, there had been a change of plans. As this effectively told her nothing and only foretold a potential rift to her plans, the bard chose to dig a little deeper.
"She didn't throw them at you, did she?" she asked, lacing her voice with potential pity. It wasn't something they could rule out entirely, but with so many other things a mage could throw at an unwelcome intrusion, shoes were likely the last thing that came to mind. "That would be somewhat excessive."
Even an untrained eye could have seen that the jab didn't manage to hit its target. Zevran merely tsked at her, which was unsurprising; both of them knew this game. The delicacy with which he set the shoes down near the bed could also have been unsurprising, but the bard wasn't certain if it might pay off to be paranoid in this case.
"Here I thought lay sisters were to be charitable, yet you wound me so." His tone just a breath away from theatric (intentionally or no), all that Zevran's current manner lacked from making it an open mockery was him clutching at his heart, or some such gesture. That he leaned back, just a little, supporting his weight easily with both arms continued to walk this knife's edge of a division. "You haven't even considered the possibility that she left them behind after a tryst of fiery passion, so that I may have reason to enter her room for a continuation of our heated lovemaking?"
The only indication that the words might not have brushed past her without any effect was that the bard folded her arms. She had no patience for shallow blows now, not when there was so little time to make some preparations. Only those as naïve as Alistair might have fallen for such bluffs.
"I think we both know Nimue a little too well to believe such things."
It didn't take great skills of observation to gather that Zevran certainly wouldn't mind knowing her better still. It was subtle and even Leliana had missed it for what was likely many times, but the very name moved something in the assassin, if only very slightly. This became more pronounced if she was actually within reach, even if reflex and habit always managed to cover it up sooner or later. The question was whether or not such things could be trusted… and if it wasn't more dangerous if genuine, this apparent sentiment.
"Ah, but I do not know you nearly well enough, I think, my dear Leliana." The elf didn't even seem to blink as he continued to watch her. For all the casual and almost lazy words, Leliana remained on her toes due to the distinct air of a snake attempting to ensnare and paralyze its prey before finding the excuse to land a killing blow.
Fortunately, she could be a viper herself, if required. After all, she had mentioned before that the two of them had quite a lot in common.
"You'll have to content yourself with your current knowledge, I fear." she noted, coming to the window to check if she perhaps wouldn't spot Nimue outside. She would have to put her greater speed and silence into consideration, but she continued to wonder what exactly had transpired – or, more importantly, why Nimue would leave her shoes behind, of all things. Usually, she handled whatever Zevran threw at her with dry wit, not running away. If that was indeed the case, of course.
The assassin, apparently tired of the rather passive approach, rose to his feet with a heavy sigh. Leliana couldn't really tell if it was because of her routine dismissal of his suggestions or due to having to part with the sheets his prime target wrapped around her body every night while at the castle."You aim to be disappointed. Dangling a most delicious bait in front of sharks and expecting them to bite?" Once more he tsked at her, especially when the bard made the mistake of turning back to him, if only for a moment. "I fail to see what you gain from the situation."
Then he knew, or at least wanted to make her believe he did. The brief crack in her façade had caused Zevran's chiding smile to widen; he had taken it as confirmation. Leliana didn't waste time berating herself internally. Denying things wasn't going to help her here and she had no intention of backing down from her plan, especially when even Wynne endorsed it.
"I want Nimue to be happy." she said, patiently, honestly. But this confrontation of her own plan had revealed some of the cards the assassin was holding as well. Leliana had wondered if he actually had genuine affection for their mage-Warden, or if it was simply lust that could be sated by any other woman that perhaps shared the color of her hair and eyes (if even that was necessary). She added this to her evidence of the former, and it tipped the scales heavily. "And, whatever side intentions you might have, I thought you did the same. Here she has her chance."
"Of course I do." There was a hint of scoffing embedded in the very words, though, punctuated by every step being taken towards her, until only the desk before the window and its adjacent chair was separating them. "But your definition of happiness would most likely involve fine clothes and shoes you Orlesians seem so fond of." Credit had to be given to the fact that Leliana didn't budge again, even when mischievous eyes swept her form from top to bottom, only to return to her face, mocking challenge still present. "Somehow, I doubt your vision would be shared by Nimue herself."
Another thing Leliana took note of was how Zevran referred to Nimue, using her title and a praising adjective whenever speaking to others and the mildly teasing "my dear" whenever speaking to her without patronizing. But her actual name he used only when something managed to make it through his defenses, or if he was actually serious, as in this case.
Did he think he knew what Nimue actually wanted? Leliana knew better than to ask, but the thought appeared, at least briefly.
"Be as it may, the final decision is up to her, not me." That didn't mean that the poor Circle mage couldn't be made to see reason from a more worldly point of view, of course. "All I can do is help her put things into perspective."
In essence, that was a revelation of intent, the laying down of the cards. And perhaps a bit of a warning, if not the slightest threat. Whichever applied, Zevran chuckled. "Oh, how devious of you, little bard." Whether he knew of the proposal of marriage was debatable, but one had to admire the nonchalance with which the assassin leaned on the desk, a wide grin still in place. And, as another (retired) professional, Leliana could freely admit that the way with which he summoned the image of desire was a downright art. "How is it that we have not made love yet?"
"Because the rest of the male population of Ferelden hasn't yet died out?" Leliana suggested, remembering her previous answer and first shield without batting an eyelash. Certainly, he was an attractive one, and the deeply-buried mischievous side of her reminded her that this could potentially be a lot of fun, but she had her faith in the Maker and genuinely good intentions to cling to now. Besides, it wasn't her that the assassin wanted, if her gut instinct was anything to go by.
"But we have so much in common, surely you must see it." Zevran, of course, was undeterred by this mildly irritating lack of cooperation, even though he didn't breach the boundaries of the bard's personal space. Apparently, his strategy was to melt the resistance from afar and have the prey come to him. "Besides, perhaps I could be persuaded to go along with your scheme to sell our fair Warden to the highest bidder."
Now that, she could never believe, not even if he had put it differently. "That suggestion might be more convincing if I didn't know you to be entirely loyal to her." With a step away, Leliana reaffirmed her territory, avoided the desk from the other side and calmly proceeded to return to the door. She would go search for Nimue elsewhere, while she still had the patience. "You might also choose a less crude wording for further attempts at deception."
"You see right through me, dear Leliana." Zevran's confession was just as easy as the rest of his words, though perhaps not entirely so empty. In any case, she apparently hadn't wounded his ego too much, with the way he returned to a straight stance like a stretching cat might. "How unfortunate that this skill of yours doesn't seem to extend to others."
Leliana ignored this potential criticism and clear jab win the same way she allowed the rest of his words brush over her without leaving any lasting impact. In the end, the most any of them could hope for was to pay their dues and steal what part they could in doing something good and worthwhile.
o.O.o
Next chapter preview: Shale, Oghren and Rabbit compare notes and perhaps raise the stakes as the party leaves Redcliffe, the general peace hanging in the balance.
