The Keening Blade
There are spoilers in this chapter for the novel The Calling: or at least bits of it filtered through Loghain's dislike and distrust of Duncan. Loghain's interpretation of events is also influenced by his lack of information, since a lot of Grey Warden secrets were involved, and they were not shared with him. It would be impossible for him to trust someone simply because Maric did, considering Maric's very bad history of trusting people who did not deserve it.
Chapter 6: The Wild Fereldan Girl
"I cannot believe that you took us up by the North Road just so that drunken lout could have a tumble!"
"Shh!" Maude gestured at Loghain to lower his voice, glancing back at their comrades. "Not just for that! We got Avernus out of it, too, lucky for us!"
Loghain could not deny that. The old man had proved himself of immense value already. Aside from his cool good sense and his need to say very little, he could cast a huge storm spell that knocked the toughest darkspawn off their feet and killed the weaker ones outright. He had done so, in fact, not half an hour before. And he kept the marsh witch occupied, thus not allowing her the opportunity to snipe at the rest of the party. Loghain had noticed the two of them talking quietly together.
Maude was still justifying herself. "Besides, I don't know that Oghren will get a tumble out of it. Maybe she'll recoil in horror. I don't know. But I owe it to him. I did kill his wife, after all. Imagine how you'd feel."
"Words fail me. Did Oghren not care much about her?"
"He must have, but she had already left him for another woman, you see."
"Ah. No. Sorry. I really cannot imagine how I would feel if I were a drunken dwarf berserker who had a wife who left me for a female lover, which wife then went mad—or was it before? And then another warrior whom I barely knew killed said deranged wife who had left me for the female lover. Somehow I can't see that joining my estranged wife's killer's warband would be the first thing to occur to me."
"You're not very much like Oghren, it's true." She smiled to herself.
"Thank the Maker," muttered Loghain.
"Anyway, I still feel I owe it to him to grant this one boon. He's never asked much from me, after all."
"So you found him this dwarf girl by way of making him one of your presents?"
"I didn't find her! He already knew her—yes, that way, too- and he wanted a chance to see her again before all our fates are sealed."
"Any other lost loves we'll be hunting down before we actually join the army at Redcliffe?"
"None, unless you—"
"Don't. I believe I still have the right to take this blade and-"
Leliana, ahead on point, uttered a sharp cry of warning. Underbrush rustled as booted feet rushed out.
Amid grunts and screams came the shout: "It's the Grey Warden! Get her!"
Maude burst out laughing as she drew her blades and launched herself at the attackers. "'Get her!' That always totally cracks me up."
Loghain smashed his shield against one of the men's faces, knocking him to the ground. The Keening Blade sang eerily as it came down.
"You all right, Leliana?" Maude called out.
Leliana was oblivious, happily singing out her battle cry as she slashed a throat. Her song was cut off as she spat out the blood that splashed into her mouth.
"Ugh!"
"I know," Maude agreed, parrying a lunge and thrusting home with graceful abandon. "I hate it when that happens."
The mages had run up, and within the seconds the attackers were down. One, a man whom Avernus had frozen, nearly exploded as he shattered into bloody icicles. Ranger was startled and leaped back, barking in alarm. Then he nosed at the melting pools of bloods, and licked at one tentatively.
"Hey, boss!" Oghren called, "Your dog is cannibalizing the dead again."
"Ranger! I told you about that!" Maude scolded, distracted from her looting. "Don't do that where people can see you!" She contradicted Oghren airily. "And it's not cannibalizing because they're not the same species."
Ranger barked triumphantly.
"So you're saying it's all right for you to eat dwarves and elves?" Oghren shot back, wiping his axe blade.
"I would have no objection whatever," Zevran said smoothly, with a smirk. "Our lovely leader can eat me whenever she so desires."
Maude did not bother to hear that, but Loghain did, and swiveled on the elf, glowering at him so fiercely that Zevran smiled disarmingly and backed away.
"—or not," he nodded, carefully pleasant.
"Look at this!" Leliana showed Maude a handbill, pulled from a dead man's belt pouch.
"What a pack of idiots!" Maude exclaimed, sitting back on her heels. She grinned up at Loghain and waved the crude woodcut at him. "Bounty hunters, trying to collect your bounty on me! I wonder how long these things will be following me around?" She studied the paper. "Ooo! Are you serious? A hundred sovereigns! That's a very respectable sum! Loghain, can I have a hundred sovereigns if I turn myself in to you?"
"Very funny," he snarled, hauling her to her feet. One of the dead men was in his way, and he kicked at the limp, dead leg, hating the lessons in irony that were the fabric of his current existence.
Morrigan sidled past him, accidentally brushing her breast against his armored chest.
"I beg your pardon," she murmured, pointing at the vegetation. "Pussy mint." Loghain stared after her, wondering what that walk was all about. He let the looting and gathering go on about him, and found a fallen tree to sit on as he pulled out the map.
Avernus joined him. "How far are we from the inn?
"Not far," Loghain said, with another brief glance at the parchment. "Unless we're set upon by more prospective suicides, we should be there within two hours. If the inn is still there, considering the number of darkspawn we've come across."
"Fewer today at least."
"There is that. They don't seem to have spread out to the west much. With luck there will be a boat at the village by the docks that can take us south to Redcliffe."
Avernus considered the idea. "That sounds—not unpleasant."
Loghain grunted. He had never gone anywhere by boat, other than a few trips to the Circle. The idea of traveling by ship was rather horrible, considering what had happened to Maric—who shouldn't have gone sailing away at all, in fact. Some people liked it, he knew, but people liked all sorts of repellent things.
In fact, they saw no darkspawn for the rest of the day, but instead were attacked by wolves, by bandits, and by a very peculiar-looking lone abomination that Avernus pronounced to be the work of a rage demon.
"Pride demons are a lot worse," Maude told Loghain, retrieving a diamond from the remains. "Oh, good! Another diamond! -Back at the Tower, Uldred got himself possessed by a Pride Demon. They're pretty impressive—a lot harder to kill than an ogre, and just as dangerous—in a lot of the same ways, actually."
"It was horrible," Wynne said feelingly. "A tragedy for the Circle, and so unnecessary." She narrowed her eyes at Loghain.
Loghain stiffened, about to take it up, when Maude said, "I don't know. I can see why the Tower went collectively mad. It's not reasonable to expect human beings to live like that. You make people desperate enough, and bad things happen."
Seeing Wynne about to say something else, she added, "And the lethal ingredient at that moment was hope, which I realize that the Circle is generally short of. They actually thought they had a chance at freedom, when of course they didn't. If we hadn't shown up, the Circle would have been annulled, because the Templars were entirely ready to say 'Kill them all and let the Maker sort them out,' and you know it."
Sternly, Wynne said, "The Circle serves an important purpose. Young mages must learn to control themselves—"
"I agree!" Maude opened her hands in a gesture of acceptance. "I think a school for magic is a wonderful idea. I just don't think it should be policed by repressed, lyrium-addicted armed men!"
Morrigan sniffed. "I don't see that it's necessary at all!"
Wynne's eyes flashed with indignation.
Avernus said, very reasonably, "That is because, my dear young lady, you had the equivalent of a Master Enchanter giving you private tuition from an early age. Most young mages do not have your privileged upbringing."
Morrigan preened, considerably mollified. "That may be true," she granted.
"I think it would be wonderful," Maude said, eyes shining, "if there were a proper school for magic. Imagine what it could be if the Chantry weren't interfering, telling mages they're evil, and the mages ran it themselves. I'll bet it could be really nice. The apprentices could be allowed outside to play games, and they could have parties, and children would want to go there. They'd be proud of getting word they'd been accepted, and their parents would be proud too, and send them letters, and brag to their neighbors, saying, "I have a child at the Circle!"
Loghain smiled to himself, amused at her fantasy.
"Oh, come on, Loghain!" the girl cried, fired by the idea. "And then the mages, once they were trained, could go out in the world and do all sorts of good. They could join the army and turn the enemies of Ferelden into tasty frozen treats, or work as healers and teachers. Think what a wonderful place Ferelden could be if it really offered its mages a place in society!"
"I've never heard that the Tevinter Empire is such a paradise," Wynne pointed out.
"Well, this is Ferelden, and we don't have to do things their way! And their robes are ugly, too."
"I've always considered the Circle of Mages Ferelden's last, best weapon," Loghain said, "and we certainly should do things our own way." She was still looking at him expectantly. He sighed. "And yes, their robes are hideous, especially those stupid looking fur capes."
Oh, I completely agree," said Leliana coming up, dusting off her leathers. "So unbecoming, though the short skirts for the female mages have a certain je ne sais quoi."
"Oh, speak the King's Tongue, for Maker's sake." Loghain muttered.
Zevran shook his head. "I never know what that means, this 'je ne sais quoi' the Orlesians speak of."
"It means..." Leliana looked away into distant mental horizons, "It means—oh, I don't know—it means a certain something that cannot be described."
Sten raised his brows, "And that would be a good thing, or a bad thing?"
"Oh, a very good thing," Leliana assured him earnestly.
Sten grunted, raising a brow at Loghain, who felt exactly the same.
He said, "I'd say it's time to move on, if we're to make the inn by sunset."
"All right," Maude said agreeably. "I'll take point now."
Loghain remembered that there was an inn on the shores of Lake Calenhad near the Circle Tower, but he was sure it had borne another name than the one the girl used when he had visited twenty years ago. He simply couldn't remember what it was.
Of course, he had been rather harried at the moment, as Orlesian infiltrators had seized both the Tower and Maric, and were conspiring to overthrow Ferelden with the aid of the Grey Wardens. He well remembered climbing those ever-twisting stairs, blood on his sword, cutting his way up them to find Maric alive, beyond all his expectations. Alive and friendly as you please with the very people—or at least some of them—who appeared to be trying to kill him.
He had never understood Maric's friendship with Duncan, and he had resented it fiercely. They had bonded in the course of an adventure that Maric should never have undertaken. So Duncan had turned his coat and saved Maric's life? How convenient, when Loghain was already on the way.
They had secrets together, Maric and Duncan: secrets that Loghain was not privy to. Maric had special knowledge about the Wardens themselves—and clearly knew more than he would tell about the strange tainted creature that had been executed shortly after Loghain's arrival. The execution prevented Loghain from asking the questions that needed answering. There was something wrong about the whole affair. The Orlesian Warden commander—Genevieve –had been killed in a struggle with the other conspirators. She, too, had had some sort of qualms about the plot. Loghain felt less animus toward her than some of the others. She had been a truly splendid warrior, and the quest for her lost brother had not been a mere pretext—at least on her part. Whatever her faults, she had paid with her life.
Well, Maric had had his adventure, and in the meantime had left Loghain with a kingdom to run and a bewildered child to comfort. Maric, he admitted to himself, too weary to deny it any longer, had been a bad father. Cailan had wanted to be like Maric, and had become like him in all the worst ways. It hurt indescribably to face the truth.
What was been the name of inn back then? Something about the Silver Knight, in reference to King Calenhad? Silver Something or Other, anyway. Now it was The Spoiled Princess. He smothered a snort of laughter, with a glance at his young -
What? Companion? Comrade? Ally? Fellow Warden? Commander? Their roles shifted, day by day, hour by hour. He had been her defeated foe at first, kneeling at her feet in submission. She had then become his savior, sparing his life, dismissing the protests of the new King-elect. A whirl of events, and she spirited him away , and was his captor and he the captive. That, however, had not been at all what she wanted, for then had come the kind and forgiving words, and the gifts, and their need to stand together against the dark tide threatening to overwhelm Ferelden.
They were traveling together, so "companion" was a reasonable description. "Fellow Wardens" they certainly were, since that rainy afternoon when he downed the goblet of darkspawn blood.
"Comrade" was a charged term, fraught with meaning. Were they comrades? The girl behaved as if they were. She behaved as if everything that had made them mortal enemies for over a year was behind them, not exactly forgotten, but no longer relevant to their situation.
She was his 'commander," he supposed. She was the "commander" of this strange and eclectic band of outcasts and ruffians and adventurers, and he was certainly as much an outcast as any of them. She led them, nearly without visible effort, perhaps because they believed in her, even if they cared nothing for her cause. Her command style, of course, was as eccentric as herself. She led, not by the authority lent to her by Crown or Chantry, but by the mutual consent of her companions. Perhaps they followed her because they had nothing better to do with their lives, and she gave them purpose. Perhaps they followed her because no one else would have them.
It was more a tribe, led by a chief of personal prestige and charisma, than a military unit. Or a band of bandits, led by the cleverest and most dominant among them. He was sure that Grey Wardens were not generally run this way. Genevieve's command style had been much like Loghain's own: her Wardens were clearly under her orders, and the boundaries were well-defined.
The girl seemed to have little respect for boundaries, but she was slightly mad, after all. It was not surprising, considering the terrors and hardships she had endured. She had seen her family murdered, and been dragged away by Duncan to join a secret society that drank darkspawn blood. She had survived a massacre, and then spent months on the run, hunted as a outlaw and a traitor, with only these vagabonds for company. It had warped her, and he wondered if she would ever be able to adapt back into normal society, whatever that was.
At Ostagar she had been quiet and tentative, not the exuberant girl he remembered. She had come to see him on her arrival, with no particular purpose, other than, he supposed, to reassure herself that the entire world had not changed overnight. Pity for her had made him abrupt and dismissive. He had had trouble meeting those wounded dark eyes that begged him to make things right for her. The looming disaster of the battle made it impossible to promise her anything, and he knew enough of Wardens to realize that she might be dead within hours anyway. Things could never be right for her, and he would not lie and pretend otherwise.
For some reason, Duncan had summoned her to the council before the battle. She had survived her Joining, and looked a little dazed, her eyes flicking anxiously between Duncan and himself as the debate surged back and forth. Cailan offered her fulsome congratulations, and she clearly thought him an idiot, though she thanked him civilly enough. When ordered to light the beacon, she accepted without a demur, even offering to go alone. Desperate to please, he had thought at the time.
How did she now perceive Loghain? She had accepted him so whole-heartedly. She confided in him, fought beside him with unwavering faith in his skill and loyalty, defended him from the verbal attacks of her other companions. Was he a replacement for Duncan? For her father? For—Alistair? He shuddered.
"Ally" was perhaps the safest word: allied they were in their determination to save Ferelden. They would fight together to achieve that goal, and then?
What then? If Avernus had the right of it-and Loghain had no reason to assume he did not—all of this pondering was meaningless, for a Warden must die to kill the Archdemon, and Loghain was resolved that he himself would be the sacrifice.
"You're brooding, aren't you?"
There she was, giving him her nicest smile.
He grunted. "It's what I do."
That made her laugh. "And so very well, too!" She waved at the broken archway before them. "We're nearly to the docks. I do hope there's a nice big boat for us!"
The ground fell away, sloping steeply down past the Tevinter ruins to the lake shore. The little inn was tucked against the nearby bluffs. Before them, the sun was setting in sinister splendor over Lake Calenhad.
The girl cocked her head to admire it. "That's pretty," she declared. "I like those red clouds there: the ones that are gold along the edge. I'd like to have a gown in those colors."
"Do you have a gown?" he wondered.
"Alas, no," she admitted. "I haven't worn a gown in a long, long time." She smiled very strangely. "I wore one at dinner my last night at home. It was was leaf green and extremely becoming, or so our old family friend Arl Howe told me. I thought it was so nice of him to say so. It's odd, the things you remember." She called out, pointing, "Look-just past the docks! I knew it!"
There was a very large craft at anchor some thirty yards from shore. The girl dashed down to the end of the pier, the dog running after her, barking. Leliana was caught up in the excitement of the moment and rushed past Loghain.
Morrigan came up beside him, and nodded with satisfaction. "'Twould be a great improvement over all this walking!"
Loghain shrugged. The rest seemed pleased. Loghain did not like the idea of entrusting himself to something over which he had no control at all, but it would no doubt get them to Redcliffe considerably faster.
The girl called to the ship's master, who hallooed back at her. The girl nodded, waving her arms, and shouted an agreement.
She ran back to Loghain.
"He'll take us, but he's not leaving just yet. He's waiting for his brother-in-law, he says. At sunrise tomorrow, though, he's on his way, and he'll take us to Redcliffe for ten sovereigns. It's outright robbery, but who knows when another boat of that size will put in? Sailing is such fun! I hope he lets me take a turn at the wheel."
"You know how to steer a boat?" Leliana asked in surprise.
"No, but how hard can it be? Ordinary mortals do it all the time!" The girl answered with sublime confidence.
"Do remember that it's not easy to swim in armor," Avernus said in his driest manner.
The landlord greeted them with cautious good cheer, not pleased with the number of them. He recognized the girl, and seemed well-disposed toward her. And then he recognized Loghain, and was clearly frightened and confused.
"My lord!"
Wearily, Loghain told the man, "No titles, no ceremony. We need rooms and a meal. There are eight of us-"
Ranger barked.
"-nine of us with the dog."
There were only three rooms available, the quivering landlord told him, looking to the girl for support.
"That's right, I remember," she agreed. "How are you? No more insane cultists lurking about?"
"None, thanks to you, Warden," the man told her gratefully. "Nary a one dared to show his face here after you dealt with them. Well, we did find those fingers by the sacks, but they were from your time, so no trouble at all, really."
"I'm so glad. I found where they came from and wiped them out." She turned to Loghain. "I told you about those dragon cult members from the Frostbacks. They were hanging about here, spying, and then they tried to ambush us, poor sods."
Loghain scowled, thinking. "Only three rooms?"
The landlord burst out, "You could also have the quarters over the boathouse, my lord! No one's using it. I'll send out the servants to make up the beds. There are an extra three rooms right there and it's more private-like."
"Oh, I definitely think we want the boathouse, don't we, Loghain?" the girl remarked.
"Yes, We'll take it," Loghain agreed. The others were already spreading out in the common room, alarming some of the regulars. He lowered his voice. "Bring out some ale, but don't offer our party any choice of dinner. We'll all have the same thing, whatever it is!"
"Yes, my lord!"
The girl added, "And see if you can give us a plate of cookies for after." She shrugged at Loghain. "Sten likes cookies." She asked the innkeeper, "By the way, what's happened to old Kester?"
"Gone, Warden," she was told. The Templars would not relinquish control of the Circle ferry, and Kester had gone away to live with his daughter and son-in-law on their farm south of the docks. "Not happy about it, of course," the innkeeper said, "but he can see the lake from the house."
Oghren tugged the girl's arm, whispering to her.
"Excuse me." She gave the innkeeper a nice smile, and Loghain a brilliant one, and followed the dwarf over to a corner. A dwarf woman appeared from the kitchen, and Oghren's whispers became urgent. Loghain accepted the offered ale, and leaned against the wall, unable to take his eyes away from the scandalous spectacle of that pretty young noblewoman acting as go-between for Oghren and his barmaid.
"Tell her you've been thinking about her," the girl hissed in the dwarf's ear.
"Uh-Felsi-I've been-thinking about ya," the dwarf parroted.
Loghain rolled his eyes. Now the girl was spinning some absurd lie-absolutely straight-faced-about Oghren taking on an army of golems single-handed. And the woman was not-surely not-oh, Maker-she was pretending to disbelieve, but clearly she was just as gullible as everyone else once the girl got at them.
Oghren was shuffling, but the light of victory was in his eye. The woman was softening, her totally justified suspicion was fading, replaced with a horrifying tenderness. The girl was backing away tactfully, her work done. Loghain downed his ale, and ordered another.
"Felsi!" the innkeeper interrupted the scene. "Felsi! Get over to the boathouse and make up the beds." He beckoned the dwarf woman closer, and told her in a self-important whisper. "Put the best sheets on the big bed there. Teyrn Loghain and the Warden will be wanting that one."
Loghain considered hitting the wall, and then considered setting the man straight, but it was impossible to do either of those things with any dignity. Or he could just kill him, but that might delay dinner. Luckily the girl was talking to Wynne and Zevran, laughing with them about the success of her intervention on Oghren's behalf.
How had the innkeeper got such an idea n his head? What in their behavior had led the man to conclude such a thing? Was it just the fact that the girl was young and pretty? And that she smiled at him the way she did? He stared into his tankard, glumly imagining the rumors that would spread from this inn like the blight sickness itself.
Dinner was served, and he flung himself onto a bench, brooding over the fish stew with cheesebread. The girl, predictably, sat down beside him. He tried to rebuff her attempts at conversation, but she was a very difficult individual to ignore. The dog shoved his massive head between them, begging for scraps.
"The dog wants another bowl of the stew," Loghain told the innkeeper. The dog whined, and Loghain added, "And give him some of the bread, too."
"You are so nice to Ranger," the girl said, big eyes approving. The dog agreed. "So understanding. You must have had a mabari once yourself."
"I might have," Loghain grunted, "long ago." The dog licked his hand.
The cookies were inhaled nearly as soon as they arrived. Sten nodded in satisfaction. "A new kind. The use of the spices was agreeable. I shall remember this variation."
Replete at last, the dog waddled to the fireplace. He stretched out in front of the fire and promptly fell asleep. The girl murmured something in Leliana's ear. Flashing a smile, the red-headed girl rose and searched through her belongings for the pack she always had with her. She unwrapped her triple-necked lute, and handed Maude a little tambour drum. The talk in the common room faded into excited whispers at the prospect of some entertainment.
Felsi slipped through the door, finished with her tasks, and sat with Oghren. No, she was actually sitting on Oghren's lap. Loghain nearly laughed at the sight of Wynne's forced smile. More ale was brought, and everyone was glad of it.
Between them the girls put on quite a show. Loghain had expected this skill of an Orlesian bard, but he had not imagined the girl could sing so well. Their song was an Orlesian tune Loghain recognized, but did not understand.
"L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé,
L'homme armé—
L'homme armé doibt on doubter, doibt on doubter.
On a fait partout crier,
Que chascun se viengne armer
D'un haubregon de fer.
L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé—
L'homme armé doibt on doubter."
Their voices wove through the song, singing together and then breaking into a round. The girl played a clever, insistent rhythm on the little drum. The innkeeper was wiping tankards, smiling to himself, while the rest of the company waved heads, fingers, and goblets in time. The girls finished, to great applause. They bowed grandly to their audience, and then, with elaborate courtesy, to each other. The girl gave Loghain a saucy smile.
He growled, "Must you sing that Orlesian tripe?"
Disappointed, the girl protested, "It's a good song!"
"Oh, Loghain!" Wynne scolded.
"I do know it in the King's Tongue," Leliana assured him with tipsy solemnity. She immediately burst into song again:
"Oh, the Man, the Man-at-arms
Fills the folk, fills the folk with dread alarms,
With dread alarms.
Everywhere I hear them wail
'Find a good strong coat of mail
Perhaps you'll then prevail.'"
Maude picked it up immediately, and began singing with her, beating her drum with renewed enthusiasm. Loghain watched her, brows contracted in a frown.
There was more applause as the girls finished, Maude pounding a final flourish on the drum. She shook her head. "It sounds much better in Orlesian. I learned my accent singing that song."
"And it is a very good accent: very pure," Leliana complimented her.
Oghren cackled, bouncing Felsi on his knee. "Pure!"
"What about a proper Fereldan song?" Loghain challenged the girl. "Don't you know any of those? Don't you even know The Wild Fereldan Girl? That's about a kinswoman of yours, for Maker's sake!"
"It's a song about a kinswoman of mine who got her head cut off!"
"I like that song," he declared. "My mother used to sing it."
That made her laugh. "Oh, very well! Leliana, if I may-" The girl took up the lute, and set about retuning it. "I don't play anywhere as beautifully as Leliana," she admitted, "but I do know that song. Yes, Loghain, obviously I had to learn it. My mother and I had a long, long conversation about it once when I was really getting interested in arms training, because she wanted me to understand the possible consequences that women warriors face. So," she raised her voice to tell the room, "this song is about the early days of the rebellion, when my great-great aunt Brynn Cousland was fighting for King Brandel, and it tells about how she came to a very sticky end."
Loghain scowled, "Brynn Cousland was a true patriot."
"Yes, she was a true patriot who came to a very patriotic, very, very sticky end—much stickier than in the song. Anyway, here it is." She struck a few chords by way of introduction, and then began to strum an accompaniment.
"There was a wild Fereldan girl,
Brynn Cousland was her name.
She was born beside the Waking Sea
In a castle known to fame.
Her eye was bright, her face was fair,
Her teeth as white as pearl.
A credit to the Coastlands was
The Wild Fereldan Girl.
On the fifteenth day of Bloomingtide,
The King was hard beset.
The traitor banns took foreign gold,
A shame they would regret.
Brynn Cousland cut her way through them
Her silver sword a-whirl,
And that is how she saved the King,
The Wild Fereldan Girl.
'Who captures her wins great reward,'
The false pretender swore.
A chevalier searched far and wide
And hated her full sore.
The trap was sprung, the blow was struck
By that cruel Orlesian churl,
And that is how they captured her,
The Wild Fereldan Girl.
The true Fereldans wept for her,
The axe went up and down,
And her fair head was hung on high
O'er Amaranthine Town.
The chevalier, he kept of her
A single bloody curl,
And that is how she met her end,
The Wild Fereldan Girl."
"That was wonderful!" cried Leliana. "What a beautiful song. Sing it again, so I can learn it!" And Maude did, now with Leliana singing along and playing the drum to drive the music faster.
A few more pitchers of ale, and a few more repetitions, and everyone was singing it, with the exception of Morrigan and Avernus, who were still discussing magical theory with admirable composure. But their feet were tapping along, whether they knew it or not.
But the song, like all songs, came to its inevitable end. The party ended abruptly, as Oghren swept Felsi away to her room off the kitchen, the giggling woman flung over his shoulder.
"Well, I'm off to the boathouse, right now," Maude declared, finishing a last tankard.
"Ah, yes, the boathouse," Avernus agreed. "Important Warden business."
Loghain was already out the door.
The rest were forced to spend the night under the same roof as Oghren's noisy reunion with his old flame, though luckily on the floor above. Morrigan discovered that if she moved quickly, she could have a room entirely to herself. It was directly over Felsi's, but Morrigan was a mage, after all, and could made the room perfectly silent with a wave of her staff.
Loghain, lightheaded as he was, still had no trouble finding the room with the big bed, and wondered if he should attempt to be polite and let the girl have it. Avernus claimed the next room for himself and shut the door. Loghain wandered back into the little kitchen of the boathouse, where a cot was made up. It was clearly too short for him. It was the big bed or the floor.
Where was the girl?
He leaned out of the crumbling window and saw her standing on the shore of the lake, gazing at the moon. Just the sort of thing she would do, of course. She needed her sleep, if they were all getting on that damned boat tomorrow. He went down the ladder-like stairs and strode out toward the lake after her.
She did not turn, but seemed to sense him, for she gestured and said, "Isn't it gorgeous, Loghain? The lake, the moon, the tower, and the boat? Doesn't it make a lovely picture? I wish I were any good at drawing."
"I am shocked that your accomplishments are so meager," he snorted, standing beside her. "What are young Ferelden ladies coming to, these days?"
"I am very accomplished, thank you very much!" she replied haughtily. She had really had too much to drink. But so had he. She said, "I can sing, play the lute-indifferent well-speak Orlesian and a bit of Antivan, use the right fork, dance superbly, keep household accounts, harass servants, choose wines, roast fowls, track game, shoot straight, pick locks, cut throats, brew poisons, crown kings, and slay dragons. Show me any other noblewoman in Ferelden who can do as much!"
"A prodigy! I'm impressed."
"So you should be!" She scowled. "I really need to get out of my armor, Loghain. And I'd like a bath, too. Let's go swimming!"
"Maude, you're drunk. Right here in sight of the inn?"
"No! We can go around the boathouse by those rocks. It'll sober us up, too. Come on!" Before she could move, Loghain had grabbed her arm.
"No swimming in the dark, on the rocks, while drunk. That would be be-let's see-yes, I believe 'stupid' is the word I'm looking for. Come to the boathouse, and I'll help you out of your armor. The barmaid left some wash water for us there."
The girl was unhappy, but followed along. "I really like swimming, but I suppose it's not a good idea, now that you put it like that." She stopped, and resisted Loghain's impatient yank. "Loghain, wait-"
"What now?"
"You knew me before Ostagar. Do I seem-different-to you?" There was an urgent note in her voice he had not heard before, and it made him curious.
"Of course you're different. You were a practically a child the last time I saw you before you became a Warden. And when I saw you at Ostagar you had just lost your family."
"No-I mean-" She paused, and glanced nervously toward the lake. She bit her lip, her pale face nearly white in the moonlight. "Do you think that I'm not-right-sometimes? I mean-odd?"
"I believe 'eccentric' is the word used among the nobility."
"So you do think something is wrong with me. Sometimes I think so, too." She came closer, searching his face. "Nobody else knew me at all before the battle, except for Alistair, and that was just for a few hours. Sometimes I think that something happened to me."
He sighed. "Maude, I think a great deal has happened to you. Of course these things change a person."
She only looked sad. "You don't understand," she said. "It happened at Ostagar. Have you ever wondered how I escaped?"
"Yes," he admitted. "You told me the Tower of Ishal was full of darkspawn. You got to the top and lit the beacon-too late."
She winced, and he felt a thrill of shame. Ostagar was hardly his finest hour, either.
She licked her lips, and said, "We lit the beacon and we congratulated each other. And then this mob of darkspawn charged into the room and-" she frowned, "-I was killed. I think."
"You are drunk."
"Yes. I suppose that's why I'm telling you this. I've never told anyone else. I awakened many days later in Flemeth's hut. I know what I was told about how Flemeth rescued us, but Alistair was unconscious, too, so I suppose I'll never know the truth of it. Anyway, Alistair was very surprised to see me when I stepped out of Flemeth's hut. He said he thought I was dead for sure. Maybe he was right. For some reason, Flemeth wanted me alive, but she didn't really know how to put me back together properly. Or didn't really care, as long as everything worked, more or less."
"Flemeth rescued you?"
"See what I mean? It already sounds dodgy. Why would she rescue us, anyway? Maybe she doesn't want the whole land consumed by the Blight, because then she'd have to move, but it's not like she was in any danger whatever from the darkspawn. I was told-by Morrigan-that Flemeth assumed the form of a huge bird and carried us off in her claws. That part might be true. But Morrigan told me my injuries were severe, including a cracked skull. And I have these scars across my breasts..." Her voice drifted off, blending with the sound of the water lapping at the shore. "Three scars obviously made by arrows. The one over my heart can only be from a mortal wound. She left them there, I think, to remind me that I live only because she willed it so..."
"Come on," Loghain growled. "You're going to bed."
Unarming in a bedchamber was different that in camp, or in a shabby room in a ruined castle. It was even different than in an inn, for small as it was, this was a house, and not an impersonal public space. He swore as he fumbled at her buckles, his fingers clumsy with drink.
"That's a nice bed," she remarked. "Where's my room?"
"You're sleeping here," he told her. "I'll sleep in the kitchen."
"No, you won't," she disagreed. "You can't possibly fit on that mingy little cot, unnaturally tall as you are."
"I shall sleep on the floor."
"That makes no sense at all," she disagreed. "We have a lovely big bed. You may have half. Consider it a present."
"Certainly not. Can you imagine the talk?"
"That tickles," she laughed, as he unfastened the strap at the top of her thigh. "What difference does it make what people say? They'll make up whatever lies they like, no matter what we do. Besides, we're practically married already, according to ancient Alamarri custom. The custom of my ancestors!" she proclaimed dramatically. "We dueled and I won. You gave yourself up to me. There's a precedent. That's what Haelia Cousland did to win Bann Rothgar of Breaker's Cove!"
He finished her buckles, and gave her a shove, causing her to sit down on the bed, bouncing a little. "You cheated!" he snarled.
She smiled at him, chin tilted up impudently. "Doesn't matter."
He yanked her up. "Get to work."
"Yes, my lord!" She might have been staggering a little, but her hands were quick and deft. She had him out of his armor in short order, then carelessly threw off her own gambeson, and tugged on his.
"I can do that!" he said, pushing her away, while he undressed.
"Suit yourself." She pulled at the neckline of her shirt, looking down at her breasts unhappily. "These horrible scars..."
Loghain paused, torn between panic and desire. "Don't even think of showing me your breasts!"
"I won't," she said sadly. "I don't blame you for not wanting to see anything so ugly-"
A loud baying split the night. Ranger had awakened alone in the common room. Bursting out of the inn, he dashed, barking, to the boathouse. He struggled up the steep stairs and whimpered at the door.
Loghain covered the distance in a few strides and let the dog in. With a grateful "Whuff," Ranger ran into the bedroom, sprawling happily in the middle of the bed.
"Well, there you are, Loghain," the girl said. "My dog is here to defend your honor from me. I'll sleep on this side of Ranger, and you sleep on that side, because sleeping on the floor when we have all this bed would be monumentally stupid." She lay down beside the dog and was out as her head hit the pillow.
The room spun slowly. Loghain sighed, and sat on the far edge of the bed. Then he sighed again, and lay back, tired beyond words. The ancient Alamarri custom probably included half-ownership of the dog, he hoped.
At first light, Loghain was awakened by the dog, who walked heavily over him to jump down from the bed and beg to go out. Loghain joined him, and returned to find the girl up, half-dressed, washing, and very penitent.
"I want to apologize for my appalling conduct last night," she said, her sweet voice soft and humble. Loghain listened carefully for any of those tricks of hers. "I had far too much to drink, but that is no excuse for taking advantage of my position to imply that I had any personal rights to-you." She blushed and looked down. "I behaved in an inappropriate and unworthy way, and I beg your pardon."
"Hmph," he grunted. "Does that mean our marriage is over?"
"Oh!" She almost laughed, and shot him a naughty glance under her lashes. "Only if you want it to be."
He scowled at her, and then pushed her up against the wall, staring into her eyes. "A certain degree of innocent flirting is understandable, especially when you've had more than your measure-which I strongly urge you to avoid in future. However, do not, in the cold light of morning, start something you do not wish to finish. Do you understand me?"
Her dark eyes were very wide, and her mouth was slightly open in surprise. "I-think so."
"See that you do. Now let's rouse the rest of the vagrants before the boat leaves."
"The boat! It's going to be such fun, Loghain! Sailing over the lake of the Silver Knight to our destiny..."
"Don't talk rubbish. You sound like Cailan."
"Sorry..."
Thanks to my reviewers: Piceron, Aoihand, Carnie Heart, Shakespira, Eva Galana, sleepyowlet, Guile, motive, Amhran Comhrac, sapphiretoes, mille libri, Sarah1281, , Enaid Aderyn, Costin, Reyavie, Zarelle, Beriathwen, and JenCarpeDiem. I appreciate your ideas and your support.
If you are interested in the tunes, I have posted links on my author page. L'homme armé was a big hit of the mid-15th century. And The Wild Ferelden Girl, obviously, is The Wild Colonial Boy in Thedosian dress.
L'homme armé can be translated more literally as:
"The armed man is to be feared. Everywhere it is proclaimed that each man shall arm himself with a coat of iron mail."