The Keening Blade

Chapter 14: The Best Puppets in the World!

The day after the wedding, everyone slept late: even the servants.

Maude was angelically asleep when Loghain staggered out of her bed and into his own at some dark hour or other, guiltily aware that he had sullied her reputation. Today he would have it out with her brother, but right now he was really tired…

When his eyes opened again, it was to full and shining daylight. Voices filtered through the heavy door. Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs. He summoned his valet, managed to clean himself up, and slunk groggily off to breakfast.

A few of the Orlesians were there, looking equally under the weather. Oghren slumped at the table, head in his hands, muttering. Loghain forced himself to behave as if he were in full possession of his faculties, hiding his loathing of the very idea of porridge.

"Good morning, at last," Maude said, smirking at him. She must have already finished breakfast, for she was sitting at the desk, working busily at a pile of parchment. Her hair was down and loose over her shoulders, and the sunlight through it was quite pretty. Loghain grunted in response to her greeting and forced himself to eat.

"You're not the last to rise, anyway," she told him. "Riordan and Leliana still have not made an appearance. Nor has Morrigan, as far as I know, unless she rose very early indeed. I myself have been hard at work while the rest of you lazed about. Well, not Kristoff, of course: he has been up since dawn, he told me, and is doing his sword exercises in the Hall. So diligent of him."

Oghren groaned.

"Kristoff is never tired," muttered one of the Orlesians, "and he never has too much to drink."

"Not like us, Constant!" Maude agreed amiably. "I was horribly tired after all the pomp and circumstance yesterday, and I had two more goblets of wine that I should have, but I had a lovely bath this morning, and I feel all better now."

"Where's Ranger?" Loghain wondered, trying to remember when he had last seen the dog. One of the Orlesians snickered. Loghain narrowed his eyes.

Maude laughed. "He made his way home around dawn, and is napping now, poor darling. He overdid it a bit, too."

"What are you working on?"

"My report to Weisshaupt. Riordan and Kristoff say that I need to do it, because, as Alistair has ascended to glory, I am technically the Senior Fereldan Warden. That's quite all right. I would have been the one to write it anyway. It's quite fun, telling the ripping yarn of our adventures. I shall have to make a copy for our records." She gave Loghain a private, closed look, and he sensed that she did not want to say anything more about her report in front of the Orlesians. Not that they were in any shape to comprehend it, the pitiful sots.

He applied himself to the horrors of porridge, while her pen scratched quickly at the parchment. The Orlesians muttered among themselves in their filthy foreign tongue, and Loghain glanced under his brows at Maude, who was smiling serenely to herself. Probably these Orlesians had no idea how fluent she was. For that matter, they could not know how much Loghain understood. He absolutely refused to speak Orlesian, but he had come to understand a great deal of it during the Occupation: mostly threats and insults, of course, but threats and insults could take one a long way in a foreign language.

The Orlesians were not pleased with the breakfast, nor with the quality of the wine at the Queen's wedding feast, nor with the food, the company, or the music there, but much of today's criticism stemmed from their horrendous hangovers. They seemed to like Maude well enough: too well, judging from the way that fox-faced Constant leered at her. Loghain had heard them talking now and then when she was absent, and they had agreed she was charming, and well-educated for a Fereldan barbarian—though of course she was nobly-born, and that explained a great deal. They spoke more openly and even more scandalously about Morrigan, whom they decided really was a barbarian, but of remarkable beauty in spite of it—or perhaps because of it. Leliana they hardly discussed, perhaps because they considered her one of their own, and perhaps because they regarded her as Riordan's, and therefore not to be insulted with impunity.

"Sister." The Orlesians were done with breakfast at last, and with wary nods to Loghain and polite bows to Maude, left the room.

"I'm going to Highever House," Loghain told her, hauling himself to his feet. "Can I take any message to your brother for you?"

"My best love, of course. Oh—you don't want to take that one, I see," she said archly. "You could remind him of the three cup rule. That might save a few jaws."

"Want me to go with you?" Oghren croaked. "You might need a second."

Maude scowled. "He had better not need a second." She glared briefly at Loghain, her meaning perfectly clear. "And I hope the two of you will remember that I am not a horse, or a good sword, or a kitchen pot, nor anything else resembling chattel. So have a nice talk with Fergus, but remember I am not bound by a word of it. Talk at length. It will do you both good. Meanwhile, I shall spend my time profitably, writing glorious lies to Weisshaupt."

Oghren chuckled and poured himself a tall tankard of ale. Maude saw Loghain off, her chin lifted defiantly.

"I never said she was chattel!" Fergus growled. "She's always putting words in my mouth. I won't have people talking about her the way they are. Not after all she's done- all she's accomplished. She's too good for the lot of them."

"A marriage won't stop the talk," Loghain pointed out grimly, "and it will infuriate the King. You must have noticed that he hates me."

Fergus scoffed, and paced restlessly. "The King isn't the real power in Ferelden," he pointed out. "I've noticed that. Besides, let Maude at him. She'll convince him it's for the good of the country, or it's the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy, or that it was his idea all along. It's the sort of thing she's good at."

"You are presuming that she thinks it's a good idea. I'm not sure she does."

"Did you ask her?" Fergus snarled.

"No." He looked out the window at Denerim, devastated but rebuilding. In the distance, he could see some dwarven masons, at work on the West Gate Bridge. "She did, however, make some sort of remark once that she considered the two of us wed by the ancient Alamarri rite."

"She's crazy!" Fergus laughed angrily, and thumped his fist against the wall. "Ow," he muttered. "Nobody who is anybody marries that way anymore. I suppose it's still legal," he admitted reluctantly, "but the two of you would have to shed each other's blood…wait, I heard you did that…anyway, she's crazy, and you can tell her I said so."

"I think you should tell her yourself." Loghain had not the least desire to tell Maude that her ideas about the ancient customs of her ancestors were crazy.

Fergus himself seemed quite nervous at the prospect. "I don't want her talking me around, in that way she has. I know I'm right about this." He thought a little more. "Let me write down my arguments first, and then we'll go. That way I'll remember them even after she's done talking."

They arrived at the Warden Compound to meet Maude running out of it, wild-eyed, dragging all her companions in tow. She had not taken the time to put on her armor, and was clad in jerkin and breeches, her weapons slung over her shoulder.

"An attack?" Loghain asked, tense with anticipation.

"No! Come on!" She grabbed Loghain by one arm and Fergus by the other, nearly dragging them along in her hurry. "The seneschal said that there's a puppet show setting up just off the King's Road! I love puppet shows!"

"Oh, this is so exciting!" cried Leliana, explaining the lore to Riordan. "I adore authentic Fereldan puppet-shows: the art is a true folkway of the people. In Ferelden, they use hand-puppets, you see? In Orlais we have marionettes, but Maude feels they lack the immediacy of the hand-puppet experience, and I must agree entirely…"

Oghren trotted quickly in Morrigan's wake. "You ever see one of these puppet shows?"

"I have not," she answered crisply. "But anything is better than the boredom of those foolish young men at the Compound attempting to make love to me!"

Leliana went on: "That is the puppet theater, there in the striped booth. That man in front of the booth is called the Bottler. He introduces the show and collects the money. Behind the scenes is the Puppeteer, who controls the action. There are many different characters in the plays, but the clown is always a little elf with big ears called Punch, and he speaks in a high little voice… It is very diverting."

The bottler was shouting, "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen! Sisters and brothers of the Chantry! May I present to you the Princely Puppets of Denerim! The best puppets in the world! Either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral,tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral; scene individable, or poem unlimited. See our latest and greatest play, performed for you this very day!"

"Thank the Maker!" Maude cried, "we're just in time!" She hushed her companions, and gazed reverently at the little striped booth, eyes shining.

The bottler bowed, and declaimed, "Firstly, let me introduce you to our old friend Punch. Punch!" he called.

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry," the bottler apologized, "but if you were to all call together, perhaps he'd hear us and come up to say hello. Now! One…two…three!"

"Punch!" roared the Fereldans, except for Loghain. Riordan jumped back, rather startled. Loghain smirked.

There was another pause, followed by faint squeaking noises. And then a strange high voice calling, "Rootitootitooit! What is it?"

The bottler smirked at the crowd, and said, "Punch, come up and say hello to all the people."

The little voice called back in sing-song tones, "Just a min-ute. I'm not dre-essed."

The bottler scowled. "You're still getting dressed? Don't you know we're at war?" The bottler held up a tiny suit of light armor, in Punch's classic red and yellow. "I think you'll need your armor today, Punch."

The armor disappeared behind the playboard, and then a puppet popped up, dressed in the armor and waving a sword. The audience cheered.

"That's Punch!" Leliana explained helpfully. "Isn't he adorable?"

"His ears are—very big," said Riordan.

"Of course they are," Leliana said, "He's an elf puppet!"

The puppet bowed, squeaking "Rootitootitooit! How de do de? How de do de? If you all happy me all happy too. Rootitootitooit!"

And then burst into song;

"For I'm a jolly good fellow,

All dressed in red and yellow

I'm feeling very mellow,

Rootitootitooit!

Rootitootitooit!"

The puppet fell backwards to loud laughter, and then popped up again, wailing.

"Oh dearie me! Dearie me! The darkspawn are coming! Where's my friend the Young Warden? Save me! Save me!"

Maude's face froze. Fergus Cousland turned dull red.

A long-haired girl puppet in pink armor and winged helmet, also carrying a huge sword, popped up beside him. The audience whistled and cheered. Loghain fought the impulse to flee. This would not end well.

"I'll save you, Punch," the girl puppet boldly declared. 'but you must be steadfast, and face them at my side. Do you think you can do that, Punch? Can you face the darkspawn with me?"

Punch squeaked in distress. "Rather have a kissy!" He whined, cozying up to the girl puppet, "Kissy-kissy?"

Hilarity ensued.

"How dare you? Take that, churl," shouted the pink-armored girl, whacking him with the flat of her sword. "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson!"

Punch shrieked, "No! No! Me no like your lessons! Oh, why did I ever leave my beautiful Antiva?"

"It's Zevran!" gasped Leliana. Morrigan snickered nastily.

The crowd loved it, laughing heartily as the girl puppet whacked Punch until he flopped back into the booth.

"I was never so insulted in all my life!" the girl puppet declared, tossing her hair. She flounced out of sight, saying, "I'll just have to kill the darkspawn myself!"

"My armor is not pink!" Maude protested. Fergus clutched her arm.

Poor Punch emerged again, whimpering. "Me wants to fight darkspawn and be a hero!"

"Well, Punch, me lad," declared a grizzled old soldier puppet, whose bald head and scrawny build recalled Avernus, "if you want to kill darkspawn, you have to lure them in—with sausages!"

The traditional string of sausages made its appearance to cheers of delight, and the old soldier instructed Punch to not eat them, no matter what happened.

While Punch debated with himself and the audience whether he would eat up the sausages himself, a massive purple head rose up and peered over his shoulder.

"Look behind you, Punch!" shrieked a child. "It's the Archdemon!"

"What?" Punch shouted back, while the Archdemon snatched a sausage away. "Who stole that sausage?" A theatrical pause and an ear-splitting scream, while Punch ran back and forth, trying to escape the wide-open jaws.

First the grizzled old soldier leaped to his defense, and was snatched up, shaken like the rag doll he was, and tossed back into the booth.

"Oh, dearie me! dearie me!" wailed Punch. "Who will fight the Archdemon?"

"Teyrn Loghain!" was the eager suggestion of the mob. Loghain gritted his teeth. If he moved now, someone was sure to recognize him.

The pink-armored girl warden popped up and whacked at the Archdemon bravely, but was caught too and shaken. She cried, "Oh, help! Help! Save me, Teyrn Loghain!" and then she too was thrown back into the booth.

Loghain waited for the inevitable catastrophe. Sure enough, a silver-clad, black-haired puppet with an incredibly grumpy expression and the biggest sword yet popped up. "I'll save you!" the monstrosity declared in a deep, manly voice.

The audience went wild.

The Loghain-puppet attacked the purple dragon, while Punch popped up, screaming, "That's the way to do it! Rootitootooit! That's the way to do it!"

The purple dragon went flying back, and the girl puppet was resurrected, cooing-

Oh, Maker, no…

"My hero!" And loudly kissed the Loghain-puppet. This was met with hearty approval and great applause. Punch was chanting, "That's the way to do it! That's the way to do it!"

Then Loghain realized that Maude was no longer standing beside him. How had she got away? And why was the puppet booth shaking?

Punch disappeared with a squawk, and the show was over.

"I hate puppet shows," Maude sulked.

Loghain said sternly, "You're not allowed to kill puppeteers, Maude. Or their puppets. It looks bad."

"I only choked him a little bit. And I had to explain that I never in my entire life screamed for help in a girly voice. Or any voice."

Fergus was not to be distracted. "What's this about you and Loghain and an Alamarri custom marriage?"

She shrugged. "It's perfectly obvious to me. I won the duel, he surrendered himself to me, and that's that. Sort of. With all the other bits. Everybody saw him surrender, anyway. The whole Landsmeet, so he can't get out of it now."

"I'm not trying to 'get out of it,' Loghain grimaced. "Your brother is concerned about your reputation. As am I."

"Who's been gossiping? Habren? Lady Rosalyn? Or that other old woman, her husband Ceorlic? Why would I care what such people say? It doesn't matter what I say or do, or if I were Andraste herself: nasty, small-minded people like that will always make up vicious stories."

Loghain raised his brows. "And this is the woman who was upset with remarks made by an Orlesian dressmaker!"

Fergus asked, "What did she say? You mean the Queen's dressmaker? What's she been talking about?"

Maude said coldly, "That is entirely different. She criticized my appearance based on fact. It was very hurtful because what she said was absolutely true, and involved aspects of my appearance that I am not entirely happy about."

"Rubbish!" Fergus exclaimed. "What aspects?"

"The Orlesian woman complained about Maude not being one of those hot-house Orlesian flowers. Said she had too much muscle on her."

"She said I had the arms of a farm-boy!" Maude exploded. "And I do, and they're very useful. Just not very pretty. She was rude, but she wasn't lying."

Fergus narrowed his eyes. "Well? Are people lying about you and Loghain?"

"I don't know," Maude said. "I don't know what they're saying. They can't really know the facts, so they probably haven't got it completely right."

"And what about King Alistair? And what about that elf servant of yours: that Zebral, or whatever his name was. Or Punch," he muttered.

"His name is Zevran, if you please, and he was not my servant or a coward like that stupid puppet, and if they're saying that my relationship with him or with Alistair is anything like my relationship with Loghain, then they're silly and wrong, and probably lying, because they can't possibly be right." She waved her hands in dismissal. "I really don't care what such people say about me. I'm a Grey Warden. Nothing they say has any relevance or any importance to my life at all. It simply doesn't matter."

"Well, it matters to me!" Fergus bellowed. "It matters because you're a Cousland, and Grey Wardens be damned!" He controlled himself with an effort. "If Loghain publicly marries you, then people will believe that those other stories about you can't possibly be true, because no one would believe he would marry that sort of woman."

Maude beamed at Loghain. "Do you think I'm that sort of woman?"

He rolled his eyes. "I know for a fact you are not. I am perfectly happy to marry you, though I might point out that there are aspects that might not be agreeable to you. The King hates me, and I am much older than you, and will certainly predecease you."

Fergus said, rather bitterly, "You can't know that. Plenty of men are predeceased by younger wives."

Maude came over to him, and put her arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm not trying to make you miserable, silly old Fergus. I'm simply saying that it doesn't matter to me. If it matters so much to you, and if Loghain doesn't mind, then we can get married by a priest. There now, are you happy again?"

"Married when?"

Maude shrugged. "We'll have to talk to the Queen first, and today's post-consummation audience might not be the most appropriate time. We'll talk to her as soon as possible. The one thing I insist on is that there mustn't be any silly nonsense about it. We get the priest, she says the words, and we're done. And I only want my nearest and dearest there: you, Morrigan, Leliana…"

"Which means Riordan," Loghain pointed out acidly.

She sighed. "I suppose so. And Oghren. And that's that."

Loghain glowered. "Are you saying my daughter is not welcome?"

"She must decide if she wants to come, especially with the Alistair factor to consider. She's terribly busy right now. It's not like it's going to take more than a few minutes, of course."

"I was thinking," Fergus said, consulting his notes, "that you'll want to break it to the King and explain to him why it's the best thing for all concerned."

She blew out a breath, and dropped her face into her hands. "Oh, Maker!" she complained. "That will take longer than the wedding itself. I'll be at it for hours!"

"Then you'd better get started!" Fergus glared at her, completely unsympathetic.

Loghain leaned back in his chair. "It might be good for the Wardens in a larger sense," he said. "The Wardens are sometimes…too secretive…too strange. It can cause suspicion and misunderstanding. For two of them to do something…well, normal might be a popular move."

Maude got to her feet and went over to the window seat, lounging there, moody and restless. "You mean," she said, "it would be the perfect fairytale ending for the Hero and his beautiful puppet-show sweetheart, the Young Warden!"

That was indeed the way Anora saw it, when the question was put to her. Loghain had not wanted to wait, and sent word that he needed to talk to her at her earliest convenience.

Anora was indeed terribly busy, but wanted to see her father, and wanted her father to see her; and that she was fine, and in no way injured by her marriage. She appeared queenly and in command at the customary formal audience, a remnant of the days when the nobles of the land had actually crowded into the royal bedchamber to confirm that consummation had been accomplished. It was her husband the King who blushed like a bride and fidgeted on his throne. Anora saw it, and gave him an indulgent smile.

"He's such a sweet boy, really," Anora told her father, in the comfort of her sitting room afterward. She looked sleek and relaxed, and ten years younger than she was. "He eats like a teenager, so I sent him down to the kitchens, where he can have a nice snack before dinner tonight, and make them understand exactly what he likes best. We can talk quite undisturbed. Do have some tea."

She poured him a cup, and he took it. It was that fragrant Highever blend she liked so much. It was something she had in common with Wynne, of all people, and the juxtaposition briefly threw him off balance.

"He didn't hurt you in any way?"

"Oh, Father!" Anora laughed. "He was such an innocent! So gentle and concerned and respectful!" She turned away, her lovely face softening as she gazed into the fire. "So desperate in his longing for love. Any attention at all means the whole world to him. He wants so much to please me. And he does. He does please me." Her laugh was tinged with cynicism, as she sipped her tea. "What woman isn't flattered by the admiration of a handsome young man ten years her junior?"

"Nine," Loghain corrected her.

She kissed his cheek, amused. "Are you content, then? You see I'm all right? Or was there something else?"

He gave her the heart of the matter in concise words: the vicious gossip, Fergus Cousland's outrage, a possible solution, Maude's willingness to accept it.

"Of course the talk is utter nonsense," Anora agreed. "It's perfectly obvious to me that there was never anything between Alistair and Maude but friendship and fraternal affection. He may have wanted something else, but their relationship was indisputably chaste. I shall make a point of commenting, from time to time, on Alistair's Templar training, and his brotherly fondness for Warden Maude. For the rest, the entire Landsmeet can see his bashful satisfaction, and draw the inevitable, correct conclusions." She set down her cup, and cocked her head. "And that elf has departed her company, you say? All for the best. A loyal servant, paid off and returning to his homeland. Nothing could be more proper and more ordinary. If he had remained, the gossips might have had a foothold, for he was certainly very handsome…"

"Maude thinks we're pandering to the gossips, by manufacturing a fairytale ending…" He would not, even under torture, mention the puppet show.

"Everyone loves a fairytale ending," Anora said, nodding wisely. "As long as Alistair can be made to see that is for the best, I am very much in favor of it. I'm not blind, Father, and of course I notice how close you and Maude have become. It might be a very pleasant thing for you, and it would certainly be popular. Tomorrow would be best, I think."

She was resigned to Maude's wish for a wedding stripped of all but the barest essentials, and nodded, "Of course. Anything would seem anticlimactic, after my wedding. Best to give out that you have been married for some time, and were keeping it quiet…"

The Alamarri custom marriage actually made her laugh out loud. "What a clever idea! While you were out in the field, with no priest nearby…Rather romantic, I suppose. Perfectly legal, too, if archaic. Yes, I can do something with that. Still, the Chantry should be involved as quickly as possible…"

Maude met him afterward, coming from the direction of the royal kitchens. She saw Loghain, and fell into step with him, with a slight shrug.

"We're good."

"You spoke to him?"

"I'm so glad we were in the kitchens. I slipped in after him, and nobody saw me. Alistair has routed out the cheese pantry, and we had such fun! Besides, I needed a lot of fortification to keep up my strength…I…Anyway, he was much impressed by the need to protect the Queen from hateful talk that linked the two of us. And then I told him there was talk about Zevran and me, and that made him laugh. He understands how it would hurt my brother and cheapen the Wardens…"

She looked sad, and briefly laid a hand on Loghain's arm. "He's so sorry for me. He's upset about you getting all the glory with that Archdemon business, of course. As well as he should be!" she added, eyes flashing. "I worked very hard, and I think I got through to him that once you became a Warden you completely changed all your opinions, and understood everything in a flash. That helps a little bit. We talked about how the Wardens need to be more visible and I mentioned a possible recruitment drive, and how much I'd like him to see Soldier's Peak when it's restored to a fit state. I got him to talk about Anora, and then he didn't want to talk about anything else."

She laughed at Loghain's outraged expression. "Nothing improper, of course! He's totally enamored and so very, very happy to belong to someone at last. It's what he's always wanted. He and Anora belong to each other, and there's no getting out of it ever, which is fine by him. So I listened to him go on about how beautiful she is, and how intelligent and considerate, and how well she listens to people, and all the things she's done for people that aren't properly appreciated…"

The servant at the Compound entrance opened the door for them, and Maude continued, her voice very soft. "He doesn't want to attend the wedding, you understand, but he understands it as being 'politically necessary.' His words, and delivered with such pity. I can't let it bother me. However galling and misplaced his pity, it's far better than his wrath, in this case."

The wedding was not exactly the bare-bones affair Maude had wanted, but as noble weddings went, it was quiet indeed.

Fergus hosted it at Highever House, and to Maude's annoyance invited close friends and relations to the ceremony and dinner. As it was very intimate, the King and Queen could attend, as private individuals, rather than in their official capacity.

The priest would be no mere priest, but the Grand Cleric, in her role not only as Ferelden's chief hierophant, but also as old friend of the bride's late mother. Well-briefed, she was to make clear that this ceremony was a Chantry regularization of a prior custom marriage.

Maude wanted to get married in armor, but to her great disappointment and disgust, Wade had not finished her set of Archdemon plate. Instead, she was wearing one of her mother's gowns, altered to fit her.

"With pins," she told Loghain glumly, while they walked to Highever House, leading their party of Wardens and other friends. "I am completely carpentered together with pins. It's incredibly uncomfortable. I wasn't going to wear that bloody red velvet thing again. Leliana ripped the seams out of this, and since there wasn't time to sew it back together, she pinned me into it."

"You look very nice," Loghain assured her. Leliana had prevailed over Maude's vocal protests, and she was wearing that bloody tiara, coupled with this pinned-together gown he did not recognize. It was sleeveless, the muted color of old roses, worn over a white silk underdress. The triple belt was also her mother's, gilded, and ending with a tassel of bullion and pearls that could have felled a bereskarn. As a gesture of solidarity, he had not worn his armor either, which would have been absurd anyway, in an intimate family setting. Ranger trotted beside them, tricked out in his gold-studded collar, more comfortable and debonair than any of the humans.

Riordan had insisted that of the other Orlesian Wardens, at least Kristoff, their Senior Warden, must be invited, and so he was. Anything else would be tactless, and exacerbate the subtle tensions in the Warden Compound.

And Fergus had evidently felt they must invite their closest blood kin, so they arrived to find that Arl Leonas Bryland and his charmless daughter Habren were present. Maude assumed the loveliest and falsest of smiles. Loghain girded himself to endure the evening.

"It's quite impossible that anyone here could actually be enjoying the experience," he muttered to Maude.

"Not true," she disagreed, her wonderful smile, worthy of the greatest and most deceitful of bards, flashing for the entrance of the King and Queen. She bowed gracefully and carefully for them, mindful of her pins, and then withdrew with Loghain to observe the scene. Ranger sat beside them, panting happily. Maude scratched his ears while she analyzed the scene.

"Fergus cherishes this illusion of normalcy. Cousin Bryland looks happy, perhaps for the same reason. Kristoff is pleased with the change of scene, and hopes to get a decent dinner out of it. Leliana and Riordan are capable of enjoying themselves wherever they go. Oghren likes Fergus, and knows there will be plenty to drink. Morrigan is enjoying the opportunity to dress beautifully and swan about, knowing that she's more beautiful than Lady Habren, and knowing that Lady Habren knows it, too." She studied the monarchs discreetly. "Alistair hates being here, but he's behaving for Anora's sake, while she seems pleased with it all. You may have a different opinion about that, since no one alive knows her better than you."

"Do I?" he snorted. "Sometimes I wonder…"

Her smile faltered a little, looking past him. "It was bold of Fergus to invite Ser Cauthrien, but it's acceptable enough in a private affair like this. I've never seen her in a gown before."

Surprised, Loghain turned to look. Maker's Breath! He had never seen Cauthrien in a gown either, not since she was a skinny teenager he plucked from her farm in the bannorn, and at that, it was not a gown, but a girl's dress given her to make a decent appearance at meals. At the royal wedding she had been on duty, and of course had been clad in armor and full weaponry.

She was a brave woman, and so did not allow her discomfort to show to anyone who did not know her as Loghain did. She must feel completely naked without her greatsword! Of course she was not naked, but dressed with quiet good taste, in warm browns and clear greens that became her well. She had no jewelry that Loghain could see. The thought of Cauthrien buying or wearing a frivolity like jewelry was enough to make his head explode, anyway.

Maude took in her appearance, and muttered, "I like her gown. I wish I were wearing it."

Cauthrien took a deep breath and entered the room, bowing to the King and Queen, and then was swept up in Fergus' enthusiastic greeting.

"Cauthrien! So glad to see you! You look gorgeous! Come say hello to the bride and groom!"

It could hardly be comfortable for either woman: Maude, forced into a wedding concocted by her well-meaning brother, greeting the officer who had carted her off to Fort Drakon; Cauthrien, thrust in a social situation that included the King and Queen, facing a rebel she had insulted and arrested, who was now marrying the revered mentor Cauthrien had attempted to defend. Loghain felt like a toad under a harrow, and hoped he did not look like one. Fate had a twisted sense of humor, but even Fate could go just too bloody far sometimes…

"Cauthrien," he said. She really did look very nice. "You've done something with your hair…"

She reddened, and looked away. Was it too embarrassing to appear the lady she was by royal appointment? He wished he knew a way to put her at her ease.

"My lord—Warden," she muttered gracelessly. She forced herself to face Maude. "I hope you'll be very happy." Ranger growled, very softly.

"Thank you," Maude answered, with limpid sweetness. "We are. I am delighted to see you. I know how precious your friendship has been to my brother." Her smile widened, sensing her opponent's temporary disadvantage. "How well you look. Do I detect the hand of Madame Deshabille?"

Before Loghain could divert the merciless attack, Fergus dragged them off. The Grand Cleric had arrived, and it was time to play their parts.

"Well, that was the nastiest evening of my life that did not involve actual death and dismemberment," Maude clipped out, after they were safely back in the Compound, and had said goodnight to their tipsy companions. "I'm done with nobles and noble ways. Fergus can fucking fuck himself if he expects me to do anything like that ever again."

"I'm sorry you did not enjoy your own wedding," Loghain said gravely.

She scoffed, and ruthlessly ripped the tiara from her hair. Ranger shied away, sensing her bad mood. Maude did not look her best: she was taut and washed-out, strained with too much pretense and games-playing.

She had drunk very little, and amused herself instead with watching the guests make idiots of themselves, most especially Lady Habren, who had fallen face-first in her pudding, snoring loudly. The King and Queen had left early, distressingly eager for an early bed-time.

"Ranger! Don't get too comfortable. We're going out again, just as soon as I can get out of this pincushion."

"Going out? At this hour?

"You may be the Dragonslayer and the Hero of Ferelden, but I am Andraste's True Champion. As such, it is my duty to protect her from the Chantry!" She dug out her leathers, muttering, "Holy Maker, I hate the Chantry!"

"What are you talking about?" She backed up to him, wordlessly demanding that he start unpinning her gown. She was right: she was wearing a veritable pincushion, and she was bleeding slightly from a multitude of pinpricks. No wonder she was in such a cross mood…

"You didn't hear Leliana blabbing to the Grand Cleric about the Urn and the Ashes, did you? I did. It transpires that Brother Genetivi, the scholar who put us on the track, was killed during the darkspawn invasion. He came back to Denerim—I saw him here-and tried to share his findings with the approved Chantry scholars. He was very much out of favor, but had met with some of them, and they had shown a bit of interest before everything went pear-shaped. So Sister Leliana just had to tell the Grand Cleric everything, including the Andraste's Champion bit, and how I passed the challenges and won a pinch of the Ashes for Arl Eamon. Thank the Maker she doesn't know that I took more!"

"But it's all gone now."

"No, it isn't. I used a whole scoop to protect you from the Archdemon—something I am not telling the Wardens or the Chantry or anybody—but I have quite a bit left. You never know when you might need it. Anyway, the Chantry shan't have my Ashes, nor Gentivi's notes or maps or anything. What would they do but set up a money-making scheme to fleece the poor and auction off the Prophet to the highest bidder, one grain of dust at a time? I know that lot. And now the Grand Cleric will be interested in me. That can't be good. She was three sheets to the wind tonight, but tomorrow she'll remember what she heard, and she'll send her flunkys to loot Genetivi's house. Therefore, it is my duty to loot it first."

She threw aside the unpinned sections of her gown, and tugged on her studded boots. "I'm not saying I hate people like Sister Justine or my own dear Mother Mallol or even that Templar back in Lothering who wanted to protect the people. I suppose I don't even personally hate the Grand Cleric, though I think she did fuck-all to defend this country in its darkest hour. It was just business as usual, sending gangs of Templar thugs after runaways and lone hedge mages while Ferelden was consumed by the Blight. Do you know they had actually sent for the Right of Annulment during the Circle uprising? I found the Knight-Commander and his stooges in the antechamber with the doors to the Tower locked. How many mages had they saved? Not one. They were planning on killing them all, down to the last child. Cowardly bastards. I went in there with Ranger, Alistair, and Leliana. Wynne joined us, and among us we cleared out the Tower ourselves and destroyed all the abominations that the Chantry Boys couldn't. Useless fucktards."

"I know about the request for the Right of Annulment," Loghain told her, buckling a strap. "Some of my men intercepted the courier. I wasn't about to allow the Templars to wipe out Ferelden's best weapon."

"Good on you," she allowed. "If I were a mage I would have rebelled or run away myself. Screw the Chantry."

"And here I thought you were a good little follower of Andraste."

"I am," she said tartly. "That's why I'm going to save her from her priests."

"Do you really want to start something with the Chantry?" he asked, wondering why he had not married a girl who would simply want to go to bed on her wedding night.

"Two words," she smiled. "Mother Bronach."

Loghain grimaced, wishing he could punch her, but admitting to himself that she had known just how to manipulate him. Whenever he thought of that foul old collaborator, the Grand Cleric during the days of the Rebellion, he found himself reaching for his sword. The Chantry leaders had gladly obeyed the dictates of the Divine in Val Royeaux, and had done everything in their power to maintain the Orlesian hegemony. Loghain respected individual priests, but he never forgot that the Chantry was not loyal to Ferelden in any way.

They had no sooner slipped out of the Compound, clad in dark cloaks and leathers, than a raven fluttered down from an upper window to join them.

"Going somewhere?" Morrigan drawled. "You may be surprised I caught you, but the dog really needs a disguise if you wish not to be recognized."

Ranger whined. Maude had taken off his beautiful collar. What more did the shape-shifter want? Besides, he liked her better as a she-wolf.

Maude whispered, "Come along if you like. We're off to steal all of Brother Genetivi's notes and paraphernalia about the Urn of the Sacred Ashes. Leliana told the Grand Cleric about them, so I need to get them now if I'm to thwart her effectively."

"An interesting choice of entertainment for one's wedding night, but suit yourself. I shall gladly support you in any endeavor that plagues the priesthood. 'Tis not as amusing as openly taunting Templars, but 'twill do."

The scholar's house was in the Market District, across the street from the Gnawed Noble. Much of the rubble had been cleared, and the tavern was back in business; but many of the houses were still showing burn damage, and some were currently uninhabited.

Genitivi's house was one such. Genetivi had been one of those who had stood in defense of the Chantry, and had died on its steps. At least that was the story the Grand Cleric had told Leliana. It was also possible that he was one of those who had pounded on the barred doors, pleading for entry, and been denied.

The door was locked, but that did not stop Maude. Loghain and Ranger crowded into the doorway, hiding her as she worked. Her picklocks appeared in her hands as if by magic, and the door creaked open less than half a minute later.

Loghain was always bemused at additional proof that the girl was a professional thief and housebreaker. Her cloak immediately covered the window, and soon a shaded lantern was lit and in her hand, She moved through the untidy little house, carefully examining the papers scattered on a long table.

"I've been here before," she told Loghain. "The study is right through that door."

She had a cloth bag with her, too, and things began disappearing into it: little carvings, a notebook. Morrigan picked through the books, and smirked at Loghain, pointing out a curious map of western Ferelden.

Loghain took it, and then lit a candle. A very strange map, with details unknown to him. Pencilled in were villages on Fereldan soil of which he had never heard, and more importantly, which paid no taxes to the Crown. That should be remedied. But no, that was not his business any longer…still…Anora was going to need serious coin to rebuild the nation…

He decided that it was important for the welfare of Ferelden that this map be in his possession. He folded it carefully, and tucked it away in a pocket.

In the study, Maude carefully arranged a bundle of parchment, covered in tiny, even script.

"His book," she said, "It's nearly finished. We're in it, Morrigan!"

"A pity it will never see print, then!"

Maude laughed softly, and opened another chest. "Just clothing. Wait! Here's the special key that unlocked the Temple…."

They combed the little house for secret hiding places, but found none. Loghain pointed out that not everyone had treasure, after all, or was as paranoid as the Cousland family.

"My family was murdered," Maude said coldly. "That makes them not paranoid, but foresighted."

Loghain wisely refrained from casting any more aspersions on her relatives, who were now his in-laws, anyway, even if most of them were deceased.

Morrigan had a bag of her own, and it was nearly bursting. "A very nice book about Dragon Cults," she said to Maude, stuffing the book into the bag with admirable determination.

"Dragon Cults," Maude snorted. "As Oghren would say, 'Good times.' Did you find any more maps?"

"Loghain got the big one," Morrigan tattled. Loghain glared at her.

"He always does," Maude sighed. "I think our work here is done. Let's straighten up a bit, and the Chantry won't realize for some time that anyone cleaned the place out. Here, Ranger, hold the lantern a minute, will you?"

They were done: tracks covered, loot gathered, lights out, and cloaks on.

"We could stop for a drink at the Gnawed Noble," Maude remarked. "Joking! Just joking!"

"I heard those puppeteers were performing there tonight," Morrigan said waspishly. "That fool Constant told me. We could lie in wait for them and assassinate them for the crime of slander by puppet."

"Not a bad idea…"

"Maude, I already told you that you can't murder puppeteers," Loghain said. "Minstrels and puppeteers are sacred. It's beneath your dignity as a Warden and a Cousland. We were just married, and I think we should go back to the Compound and have some sort of wedding night now. Leave the puppeteers to the justice of the Maker."

"With the sort of Justice the Maker is dealing out these days," declared Morrigan, "we shall presently hear that they have been crowned Emperors of Orlais!"

Note: Since puppet shows are mentioned in canon, I decided they are the preeminent theatrical art of Ferelden. And then I had fun, lifting bits from traditional Punch and Judy.

Many thanks to my reviewers: Amhran Comhrac, Shakespira, Lehni, icey cold, wisecracknmama, JackOfBladesX, Guile, mutive, Chatoyant Tiger, Thorn of the Dead Gods, Persephone Chiara, Nithu, Gene Dark, Prisoner 24601, Piceron, Hekateras, Zute, mille libri, Aoi24, Costin, Windchime68, Sarah1281, and Josie Lange. Such lovely reviews. Sigh. More, please.