The Keening Blade
Chapter 16: A Son of Maric, the Unlaced
"Me," declared the naked young man. "He found me."
Ranger gave a happy bark. No one could hide from him, not even in scummy pond water. He grinned doggily, and wagged his tail with pride.
Maude congratulated her friend. "Ooo! Well done, Morrigan! You lied superbly to those Templars. I'm an expert liar myself, and you fooled me!"
Morrigan shrugged. "They asked me if an apostate had come through our camp. They did not ask me if there was a naked man in the pond."
Maude burst out laughing. "You stayed to distract them. That was very generous of you." She turned to their visitor. "You should be grateful to her, you know."
"I am," he assured them. "Most grateful. My lady, I am Anders, late of the Circle, and at your service." He bowed gracefully to Morrigan.
Loghain thought he had never seen anything so ludicrous as a naked, dripping man bowing, but the women did not seem to be of his mind. Loghain stopped smirking, and scowled. The stranger was a handsome fellow, and Loghain was once again disturbed by his strange resemblance to Maric. It must be a trick of the light, and the flawed recollection of his first meeting with a young prince running for his life. And he was naked, and Maude was looking at him. That was unacceptable.
"You should be grateful to Ranger, too," Maude told the man. "He could have tattled on you to the Templars, but he waited until they were gone. Good boy, Ranger."
Another happy bark. Ranger had understood that the shape-shifter wished to hide the male from the Lyrium Men. Perhaps she would mate with him and the pack would have puppies at last.
"Er…" said their new acquaintance. "It's a pleasant evening and all, but rather than catch cold, I would like to retrieve my belongings and perhaps actually put on my clothes. Do think it would be all right if I did that? Er…retrieve my staff, too? Is that all right with you?"
"The Templars could be lurking," Maude pointed out helpfully, giving Loghain that look that meant she wanted him to do something. "Would you like one of us to come with you?"
"And you wouldn't just…turn me over?" he asked delicately.
Morrigan said tartly, "We have not done so thus far!"
"True. Very true. Good point, my lady." He walked over to the pond, and carefully withdrew a worn and splintered staff from the reeds at the water's edge. "Well, I suppose I could use a bit of company. Just in case of Templars or darkspawn or rabid wolves, you know."
"I'll go with you," said Loghain dryly. "even though I'm still hoping for dinner one of these days." He wanted to speak to the young man privately anyway, just to ask…just to know…It was like having Maric back, in a creepy but pleasant way. Loghain knew it was weak of him, but he would like to prolong it, just for a little…
"And then bring him back to have something to eat!" Maude urged him. "You see we'll have more than enough!"
Anders bowed again, smiling brilliantly. Just like Maric.
Loghain jerked his head at him, and the mage led the way though the trees.
"You really are Teyrn Loghain, aren't you?" Anders said, eyes bright and noticing. "I saw you at a distance once, out in the Bannorn. You seemed rather out of sorts, and your sword was absolutely dripping blood, so I didn't presume to speak to you. Some unpleasantness that had absolutely nothing to do with me, so I hid in a hollow log until you and your heavily-armed associates were gone."
"That was probably wise of you," Loghain allowed.
"And you weren't wearing black armor then. Is that new? It's very imposing."
"Thank you."
"That's right! You are a Grey Warden! Nifty griffons on the breastplate. I heard about you saving the country and all that. For what it's worth, thanks. I may not care for the Chantry, but our new darkspawn overlords were not going to improve my situation in the least."
Not even Cailan had been this chatty. This young man actually talked as much as Maric had, on that unbearably long first journey together into the Wilds. He was perfectly happy to fill Loghain in on his recent adventures.
"—I saw them coming, and I couldn't think of a better place to hide. I've been all over the arling this year, and I remembered the pond. Had some nice baths there, over the past months. I thought I'd have time to leave my things, so I wouldn't completely ruin a very nice set of robes I rescued from a gruff personage in Amaranthine City…"
"Why wear robes?" Loghain interrupted. "It's like wearing a huge 'Mage' sign."
The handsome Maric-face turned mulish. Loghain's heart caught. He knew that expression.
"I shouldn't have to hide what I am. There's nothing wrong with being a mage. I'm not ashamed of it, and I won't apologize for it. All I want is a hot meal, a pretty girl, and a chance to shoot lightning at fools. Is that so much to ask?"
"You could have all those things in the Circle Tower," Loghain pointed out mildly.
The young man's face darkened. "But that would mean captivity, and the one thing I will not compromise about is my freedom. I've slept in trees, in caves, in rapidly-filling muddy ditches. I've peered through windows at happy families celebrating First Day, and then grubbed in their midden for offal. I've been chased out of villages in a shower of stones, and been called everything from 'abomination' to 'skirt-wearing pansy'—"
Loghain laughed in spite of himself.
"—Right. Laugh if you will, but I put up with it because I'm free. I'm a free mage, and I will never give up and go back to the Circle and be a good little slave, teaching generations of other slaves spells that they will never be allowed to use. And besides, "he added, "breeches are just odd when you're not used to them."
"If those Templars had caught you, they might not have taken you back to the Circle," Loghain pointed out gravely. "They possibly would have killed you instead."
"I don't know about that," Anders said. "If it came to it, I might have surprised them. I've never killed a Templar, but on the other hand, I've never allowed a Templar to kill me."
"Did you go to the Circle at a very young age?" Loghain asked, wanting to find out if the lad knew about his parentage.
"Not at all. Not until I was fifteen, in fact. That bastard Irving said that was why it was so hard for me to "settle in." Meaning, of course, that I had trouble resigning myself to imprisonment for life. My mother helped when she was alive—helped me hide my magic, but after she was gone, her brother and his wife turned me in quick smart and did very well from it too."
"Your father was—not alive?"
"No," Anders said cheerfully. "I'm a bastard. Mother used to promise me she'd tell me about my father someday—'when I was ready'—but she didn't expect to be run down and trampled to death by a noble hunting party out for a bit of sport, so that never happened."
Loghain was absolutely certain of his paternity now. "Run down? Even a noble would have to pay blood money for a fatal accident."
Oh, Maric, couldn't you keep track of all these women?
Anders shrugged. "Nobody pays blood money for an elf."
A little more questioning, and Loghain was fairly sure that Maric must have begotten him while Rowan was still alive. Anders was older than Alistair. He was just about Cailan's age—or the age Cailan would have been, had he lived. Had Maric even known about this son?
"So tell me," Anders asked, changing the subject. "Is there some sort of beauty requirement for female Grey Wardens?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"That's very interesting, because those ladies you travel with are really—"
"Maude is my wife," Loghain warned him.
"—And a lovely creature she is, too. Like one of those old Alamarri warrior goddesses…Well, the other one—Morrigan, is it?—isn't, is she? Unless you have some sort of tribal arrangement…'
Loghain let the chuckle escape. "No, I'm fairly sure I'd remember being married to Morrigan. She is Maude's very close friend."
"Nice scenery for you, anyway."
They came upon a dead dragonthorn tree, hollowed out with years and weather. Anders looked into the hollow and then reached in carefully, and withdrew a bundle of clothes and a shabby backpack. He slipped on robes and boots, smoothed his hair back, and gave Loghain a cheeky grin. As they headed back to join the women, Loghain's head spun. How many times had Maric looked up at him like that? He said nothing, only responding with noncommittal grunts to Anders' never-ending stream of cheery chatter.
"…and he was all huffing and puffing, and I was all running and screaming…"
Venison chops were sizzling over the fire, and the smell drew the men along a little faster.
It transpired that Anders was a Healer. He had been living in Knotwood for the past few months, when news of his amazing powers had leaked out, as it always did, and the Templars arrived to spoil the fun.
"I don't think the villagers meant to rat me out, but you can save old Aunt Grizzel only so many times, before people start spreading the word. Talent such as mine is its own punishment, alas."
Maude gazed at him, rapt. "A Healer," she beamed. "That's just perfect." She raised her brows and looked at Loghain, who resolutely concentrated on his food.
"And you're a mage, too, " Anders grinned at Morrigan. "I love the look: the whole 'beware my wroth' thing you have going. I don't remember you from the Circle, which is incredibly odd, because you are nothing if not memorable."
Morrigan admired the silver runes on her boots. "You would not remember me from the Circle because I have never been there. I am not a tame mage."
"They never got you?" Anders' unalloyed joy spread over his face. "Never at all? That's fantastic! Good for you!"
"In fact," Morrigan continued, contempt coloring her voice. "I cannot understand why the mages endure such treatment. Surely they have the power to rebel?"
Anders did not take offense, but considered her words seriously. "It's hard to say. You could say they rebelled during Uldred's uprising, but that went wrong pretty quickly. I've had a tremendous advantage, you see, in that I was taken to the Circle when I was fifteen and already knew how the world worked. A lot of the others have lived in the Circle since they were young children, and they wouldn't know what to do, or where to go, or how to live, even if they could manage an escape attempt. They don't even understand money, or how to cook a meal, or how to order a drink in a tavern. As it is, it took me seven tries to get it right—presuming I manage to stay free this time."
"Seven!" Maude was delighted. "You must tell us about them some time!"
"Indeed," sneered Morrigan, "We would all learn how not to escape the Templars, since six attempts were failures."
Anders wolfed down the rest of his chop, and licked his fingers. "This is great, by the way. Thanks. Well, Warden Morrigan, it all becomes much more complicated once they've got your phylactery."
"A phylactery?" Maude asked. "A little glass vial? I've seen those—you remember those elven ruins, Morrigan. Are you saying that all mages have phylacteries?"
Morrigan scoffed. "I have no such article, I assure you!"
"Well, I do!" Anders said resignedly. "You see, the first time they drag you to the Circle, they cut you—pretty fiercely, depending on how much sauce you gave them on your way there—and they collect the blood in the phylactery. I was pretty weak for a few days afterward, I recall, and nobody thought I should be healed, as the point was to teach me to be properly submissive. Anyway, they take your blood and then, ever after, the Templars can use it to track you."
A silence. Loghain digested this. He had always wondered about certain things. "You mean the Templars use…blood magic?"
"Yes, I do mean that," Anders said, very matter-of-fact about it. "I keep my ear to the ground, hoping I'll hear where the phylacteries are kept. There was a rumor that the Chantry in Denerim—where they're usually stored—sent some of them north during the darkspawn invasion. I've always hoped I could find mine."
"I hope you do," Maude declared. "I really do. What the Chantry does is perfectly disgusting, and it doesn't sound a bit better than those blood mages who used to live under Denerim. You remember, Morrigan? That nasty little chapel with all those vials of blood, and bits of flesh caking the floor and walls? Those vials they had must have been phylacteries, too! I wonder what they were using them for… You saw it after we got rid of them, Loghain, but believe me when I say that the darkspawn taking up residence didn't make it much worse than it already was!"
Anders was astonished in his turn. "Blood mages living under Denerim?"
"Heaps of them," Maude affirmed, "in this underground complex east of the Palace district. They had mercenaries to defend them, and a kitchen and bedchambers and a study and a hall with their very own bar, and this big pompous chamber where the coven held grand meetings. It would have taken quite a force of Templars to dislodge them." She smirked. "And their leader had a shaved head and this silly goatee, and a big chair like a throne, and he said I would not escape his vengeance, but everyone always says that, and then I always do."
"I see." Anders munched an apple thoughtfully. "We must move in very different social circles."
"That's because you're not an evil mage. The evil ones are always giving us trouble. I have no problem distinguishing between evil mages and regular ones, who are just trying to get on with their lives like everyone else."
"That's…very comforting," Anders said. He looked quizzically at Morrigan. "I take it that you're not evil either?"
"I," said Morrigan very loftily, "am a Grey Warden. I am only evil when 'tis absolutely indispensable to be so."
"This may seem an odd question, but I don't see your staff anywhere…"
Morrigan flicked out her wand from her left gauntlet, a flash of bone-white, glittering with just a hint of frost. Anders' eyes widened.
"It works?" He asked reverently. "That's…absolutely brilliant! What it is made of?
"Archdemon bone," Maude told him proudly.
"The substance is inherently magical," Morrigan clarified, "and hence does not use those elaborate enchantments that require physical length. I can have my weapon on me at all times, if not with this gauntlet, then with a wrist holder under my sleeve."
Anders sat back, considering, and Loghain was intrigued by how his face changed as he began asking Morrigan some technical questions that were as incomprehensible to Loghain as old Tevinter. Morrigan understood him perfectly well, and did not seem to despise Anders' queries, either. Maude smirked and glanced meaningfully at Loghain once more. He frowned and looked away. He knew what she wanted, and he did not agree at all.
The fire was dying down a bit, and Loghain tossed some more wood on the blaze. Darkness gathered around them: the shadows lingered. Ranger lay on his back, panting happily, obviously angling for a belly rub.
"That's a good dog," Anders said amiably. Ranger perked up his ears at the friendly tone, and rolled over in Anders' direction. Charmed by the attention, the young mage began petting the mabari. "Who's a good boy?" he crooned.
Ranger grinned smugly.
Idly, Maude remarked. "It's lovely being a Grey Warden. The Chantry really can't bother us at all. Even our mages are completely beyond their jurisdiction. Those silly Templars were overstepping their bounds. You're perfectly safe from them, as long as you're with us. Oh! I just remembered that I have some chocolate! I'll heat up some water, and we can all have some hot chocolate with a bit of brandy in it. Do you like chocolate, Anders?"
Maude found a spare blanket for their guest, and he thanked her gratefully before wrapping himself up in it for the night. Ranger lay down nearby, partly out of friendship, and partly to keep an eye on the strange male. Morrigan took first watch, with a brusque demand that Loghain and Maude keep their usual noise to a minimum. Maude laughed, as she and Loghain unbuckled their armor and slipped into their tent.
They fell into each other's arms, into the sweet and familiar movements that brought pleasure. Maude sighed, and wrapped her legs and arms around him as he found his way home. It was impossible to be completely quiet, rocking together faster and faster. Neither could keep quite still, because it was just so good…
He took a moment to give her a lingering kiss afterward, and then rolled off her. He rearranged their blankets, while she hummed with afterglow. Camping with Maude was the best camping of his life. And she was a good cook, too.
Night sounds filtered through the thin walls of the tent: the birds' last songs and the lonely chirping of crickets. Peaceful sounds. Loghain lay quietly, surrendering to the call of the Fade…
He could sense that Maude was smiling. She curled up on her side and laid a hand on his arm. "Isn't Anders nice?" she whispered. "And a Healer! How lucky to find him. He's exactly what we need."
"You want to conscript him," he said, looking up into the darkness.
"Don't you? He's perfect!"
"I do not. I think he's a son of Maric."
She rose up on an elbow, trying to see him. "Really!" She lowered her voice. "Really? You think so? He does look quite a bit like Alistair, now that you mention it, though his demeanor is rather different… Did you ask him? Did he tell you?"
"He doesn't know who his father is, but based on his date of birth and where he came from and everything else, I think it's extremely likely that yes, he was sired by my old friend Maric." He said, "I don't want to conscript Maric's son. I think I've done sufficient damage to Maric and his blood."
"Maybe this is your chance to get it right. Third time's the charm, as they say." She laughed softly. "I see what you mean, though. He really does look so much like Alistair! And King Maric, too! How funny…"
"Is it?"
"Well, I supposed it isn't funny, but it is odd…"
"It isn't. Not at all odd, when I remember how impossible it was for Maric to keep it in his pants."
That made her giggle, "So instead of Maric the Savior, he should be known as Maric the Unlaced?" She stroked Loghain's chest tenderly. "All the more reason to take him in. Anders needs us."
"He doesn't need us. He's doing all right on his own."
"Doing 'all right' is not the same thing as doing well. He's strong enough, and life on the run hasn't broken him to be sure, but he's all alone and has no hope of anything better, ever. He'll never have a home or friends or any purpose beyond escaping the Chantry for another day. We can give him some of Avernus' extra-special potion, and then he can travel with us and heal us when the attentions of the darkspawn become too pressing. We'll be his family, and he can have a cozy room of his own at Soldier's Peak, and he can promenade in his best robes in front of the Chantry, arm-in-arm with Morrigan. We're his only hope, Loghain."
He sighed, seeing her point. "I don't want to force this on him. If you don't remember, the Joining is often fatal. He could die. You were not so eager when it was a matter of your friends, as I recall."
"He won't die. I have a good feeling about him. We really need a Healer. And he needs us..."
After a night's sleep, Anders was ready to give polite thanks and say his farewells. Maude, predictably, was having none of that. Very frankly, she told him what he ought to do instead.
"I think you should come with us to Denerim. Do you have any pressing appointments on your schedule? No? The Grey Wardens need a capable Healer. You'd be paid and everything," Maude assured him.
"You want me to be a Grey Warden?" he asked, instantly suspicious. "Good luck with that. Not that I'm not grateful for the helpful lies and the venison and chocolate and blanket and all, but I'm not much of a joiner."
Loghain snorted, and muttered, "Neither am I, yet here I am."
"Loghain!" Maude urged, "Tell Anders that he'd be welcome!"
He sighed. "A Healer's skills would be most welcome, if joining us is what you truly wish. Morrigan is a splendid mage, but her gifts lie elsewhere."
"'Tis all too true," Morrigan agreed immediately. "I have no gift for healing at all. During the Blight we traveled with a most tiresome old woman, and her sermons sometimes went on for days at a time, but she was an excellent Healer."
Anders laughed. "Wynne!" He shook his head. "I studied with her. I absolutely could not stand her, but she knew her craft. Is she back at the Circle now?"
"No," Loghain told him. "She's settled in as Court Mage. She's quick to prate about the importance of the Circle, but I notice she spends precious little time there."
"Not an admirer of hers either, I take it?' Anders grinned.
"Wynne is not an admirer of mine," Loghain admitted. "And she makes no bones about telling me so on every conceivable occasion."
In the midst of packing up the cooking gear, Maude stopped, and looked directly into Anders' eyes. Her voice dropped into a lower, more persuasive register. Morrigan glanced at Loghain, smirking.
Maude said, "Healing is such a magnificent talent, Anders. Why not make the most of it? Why not show the world all the good—all the real, positive, material good-a mage can do when he's unfettered by the Chantry and the Circle?"
Anders smiled with friendly cynicism, and replied, "Maude—may I call you Maude? Well, Maude, I don't feel that I owe 'the world' anything. Why should I have to prove myself? I used to be a good little Andrastean: said my prayers, repented my sins—up until the time I understood that it was all a complete scam. I owe them nothing. Nothing at all." He saw her look of astonished disappointment, and gave her a little bow. "Not that I'm not perfectly happy to help you personally, since you Wardens have been so very nice to me, and didn't have to be, but as to proving myself worthy to the rest of the bastards—well-I simply don't care. Their opinion means nothing to me."
Loghain was more than pleased. A son of Maric, with a will of his own? This was bloody marvelous!
But Maude was not so easily defeated. Her eyes grew larger and more wistful, if that were possible, and her voice more plangent and ensnaring. "I do understand, Anders. I understand what it's like when the whole world is in arms against you. I've lived that life myself, and I'll never forget it. But I'll also never forget how precious my true friends were to me: how we worked to save this country, how we lived and laughed and fought together against what seemed insurmountable odds. I couldn't let myself care what the rest of the world thought of me, but I cared about what my friends thought of me, and I cared what I thought of myself."
Anders hesitated, and then said, "Well, I would be glad of a safe place to stay for a day or two…"
Loghain sighed. The lad was doomed. Perhaps, after all, it was for the best…
"All right then!" Maude enthused. "We'll have such fun! If we keep up a good pace we'll be back in Denerim in time for Satinalia!"
"You expect me to ride?" Anders asked, watching Loghain saddle the horses. "Ride a horse? That might be a problem, because I've never actually been on a horse myself. Known some people who have, but…"
Maude was at her most encouraging. "I'm sure you'll learn very quickly, and then you won't have to wear your boots out walking. Won't that be a pleasant change?" she inquired brightly.
Anders allowed that it might, and then stared as they loaded the packhorse with tents and bedrolls and other impedimenta. "Where is Warden Morrigan going to ride?" Then he grinned. "Or are we going to ride double? I have not least objection…"
Morrigan's sharp laugh interrupted his gallantry. "I have no need of a horse, Circle Mage!" Her arms swept up, her body shortened, and she was in the air, a hawk winging up to alight on a tree branch.
Anders watched her in awe and delight. "No wonder you've never been caught by the Templars! That's absolutely brilliant! I have got to learn that!"
"No," Loghain said grimly. "Today you've got to learn to ride a horse. There will be time enough for mages' tricks when we're back in Denerim."
It was hard to credit, but Anders rode even more atrociously than his father. Maric was one for falling off horses at a moment's notice: Anders had a bit of trouble mounting one in the first place. Of course, no one had ever taught him properly, so Loghain spent some time showing him how to hold the reins, how to keep his heels down, how to move with the beast. The lad didn't seem a fool. If Chantry Boy could ride adequately, then Loghain had hopes that Magic Boy could, too. Eventually. With Loghain's expert tuition.
Anders could heal himself after every long ride, thus relieving himself of a world of discomfort. He also discovered that his rejuvenation spell worked perfectly well on the horses. Maude was very excited about this, since it allowed them to ride far longer, without having to breathe or walk out the horses as often. He also knew a lot about the back roads of Amaranthine, and could suggest some byways to shave time from their journey.
So they bypassed Knotwood, and then headed south, crossing the North Road, surprising the inhabitants of little farmholds with their brief appearance, scattering chickens and panicked housewives as they galloped past. The Knotwood Hills were scenic enough, and not so steep as to make traversing them unpleasant.
And they found a little band of darkspawn there.
Maude reined in her horse suddenly, looking about her. She put out a hand, gesturing at them to stop.
"Do you feel it?"
Loghain did. It was becoming easier for him, Instead of a vague tension in the back of his neck and a buzzing in his ears, he was now aware of a unique, identifiable sensation that meant darkspawn were nearby.
Morrigan flapped up and then soared overheard, using her hawk form's incredible eyesight to scout, when a volley of arrows shot directly up at her. One went through her wing. Maude cried out in horror. The hawk screed as it backwinged and dropped, a solid weight dodging between feathered missiles.
Loghain dismounted and ran up to the ridge ahead of them. Maude followed a few paces behind, and Ranger bounded along, head down and ominously silent.
The hawk was down and changing: Morrigan was clutching her arm, gritting her teeth as she tried to dislodge the arrow. Darkspawn rushed from a rocky sinkhole down the slope, and she did not try to get up, but cursed them from where she sat on the ground, winded. Some stopped, but others came on.
Loghain caught the biggest of them with his shield, slamming the thing backwards and stunning it. Ranger knocked one of the cursed genlocks down and began gnawing.
Maude had rushed to defend Morrigan, but Anders was already there, staff in hand, lightning crackling out. The witch did not seem badly hurt, but it was just as well she had someone there to support her.
Loghain plunged into the midst of the creatures. Maude was a whirlwind of blades. It took some time to destroy the darkspawn, and even then Loghain and Maude had to go down to the odd deformation in the earth to see if they were truly exterminated
Ranger sniffed at the rocks and the damp soil, and they moved cautiously into a little cave, edging their way along to look for stragglers.
"Umm, dinner," Maude observed, seeing the nameless chunk of meat spitted over a smoky fire. "Or not." There was some treasure in the cave. Loghain waited impatiently for Maude to pick through it. Something about the place disturbed him, even though he could feel that the darkspawn were dead. Perhaps the creatures had lived here so long that their Taint lingered a bit. The cave narrowed at the back, only a faint breeze coming through to hint at other channels though the rock.
"I wish we knew more about darkspawn," Maude sighed, studying the scant handful of jewels glittering in the shadows, their facets gleaming with the lurid firelight. "So much is a mystery to me. Why do they collect things like jewels? Why do they collect coin? What use can it be to them? It's like a bad joke: 'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern…'"
"Maude…" Loghain growled, wishing she would stop touching things those creatures had fouled. "Let's go."
She walked after him, back to the mages, trying to sort it out.
"No, really, Loghain…'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern, and the innkeeper says—"
"We don't see your kind around here much—" Anders called out, eyes alight with mischief.
Very pleased, Maude grinned back at him. "And the darkspawn alpha says, 'After we kill you, you'll never see any of us again!"
"Oh, very clever," Morrigan sneered. Her arm appeared perfectly well, though Anders was taking no chances. His strong and capable hands were stroking the flesh into wholeness, up and down, shoulder to wrist. Loghain raised a brow, and Anders smirked back, in a moment of masculine collusion.
"All right, Morrigan," Maude teased, "How would you finish it? 'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern—?"
Morrigan snorted, "The innkeeper says nothing at all, for he has shoved his elven barmaid at them for a distraction, whilst he escapes out the back door."
"You are a cynic!" declared Anders. "I knew it, somehow. How about more whimsy, and less realism?" He grinned at Loghain expectantly. Maude started to laugh.
"Don't expect whimsy from Loghain. He doesn't do sparkly, either."
"Oh, come on," Anders laughed, "Now, let's just see, "Three darkspawn walk into a tavern…" He gestured at Loghain to go on.
Silly as bloody Maric.
Loghain humored him. "'Three darkspawn walk into a tavern?' They must have been blind." He walked back to the horses, smirking.
Anders really, really, wanted to learn to be a shape-shifter, despite Morrigan's misadventure in the Knotwood Hills. His speculations were endless as to what he would like to be.
"I'd love to be an animal," he declared, "I'd like to be an animal quite a bit of the time. Nobody expects animals to be respectable, contributing members of society."
"Clearly," Loghain sneered, "You've never lived on a farm."
"You make a good point there," Anders allowed, after an all-too-brief moment of thought. "I think I'll forgo being a chicken or duck. Or a pig. Though pigs are smart, I understand. Maybe a cat. I really like cats. Cats go everywhere. The only thing I miss from my days at the Circle was my cat. Poor old Mister Wiggums…"
"Why 'poor' Mister Wiggums," wondered Maude. "Did something happen to him?"
Anders stretched in his saddle. "After my sixth escape attempt, I was put in solitary confinement for a year. That was fairly unpleasant. Mister Wiggums was the only one I could talk to. Just as the year was winding to its interminable end, there was something of a dust-up at the Circle. Mister Wiggums was possessed by a Rage Demon and took out three Templars."
Morrigan actually laughed. "An heroic death, indeed!"
Maude considered the matter. "I'm really a dog person, but cats have their uses. However, I notice that Morrigan is careful to change into animals that are pretty far up on the food chain."
"People don't eat cats," Anders countered.
A soft growl.
"Mabari people do," Maude pointed out. "Sometimes. Though Ranger doesn't think they're very good."
"Well, perhaps not a cat then , unless I'm safely ensconced behind four walls, and I'm doing a bit of civilized sneaking. Thanks for the warning." A brief silence, and then Anders said, "Maybe a really big cat. What do you think, Morrigan? How about one of those northern tropical cats. Maybe a lion? They have great hair, too."
The witch snapped, "Why would I go to the trouble to teach this to someone who was not a Warden?"
"Because I saved your life?"
"You saved my life once. If I taught you to be a shape-shifter, you could change shape every day."
"And you get to be alive, every day."
"Morrigan is quite right," Maude interposed in her most dulcet tones. Loghain narrowed his eyes and watched Anders, wanting to see how he retained any resistance at all to Maude's persuasive powers. "You really need to join us. We'll have heaps of fun—"
"—killing people and taking their stuff," Loghain muttered.
"We do quite a bit of that," Maude nodded, and her voice quivered a little with warm conviction. "When we're not killing darkspawn, we really have quite nice lives."
Loghain interrupted, spurring his horse into a quicker pace. "You don't have to become a Warden to travel with us. Most of Maude's companions during the Blight were not Wardens, and did not become Wardens after."
"But if you did," Maude persisted, "then I'm sure Morrigan would relent and teach you. And I think a lion would be splendid, though I wish you could try to change into a griffon. The Grey Wardens really need griffons…"
The weather turned thoroughly nasty by the last day of the journey: damp and chilly, with a cutting wind. Loghain was relieved to see the tall spire of Fort Drakon in the distance.
"You'll have to ride double," Loghain warned Anders, "as soon as we get close enough to the city to start seeing other travelers. We would prefer that Morrigan's abilities remain secret."
"I'll keep the saddle warm for her," Anders agreed cheerfully. "Ow!" He clutched a hawk-nipped ear. "And I will behave with all imaginable decorum."
They trotted on, and after the first cart they passed, Morrigan grudgingly changed back into human form and demanded that Anders sit behind her.
"I shall certainly not ride pillion, like a puling maiden fair. 'Tis my horse, and I shall control it. You will keep your hands to yourself."
In due course they were mounted and moving. There were more people on the road now, farmers and travelers in small groups, carts, and the occasional carriage. Everyone was shivering, and most were loudly predicting heavy rain.
Maude rode up to Loghain, the better to whisper, "Don't they make a handsome couple? I think Morrigan finds him attractive."
"Maker pity him."
"Don't say that! Morrigan is our good friend. You know you like her."
Loghain considered that. Yes, he supposed he did, rather. Morrigan's trenchant wit appealed to him, and she was a brave and beautiful woman. She had remained loyal to Maude, which made her a worthwhile person, at least, and he had known too many people in his life who were not. And their opinions of certain…others…were definitely in harmony.
"Yes, I suppose I do," he admitted, with a hint of surprise.
"You see? You want her to be happy too, and a pleasant companion would be nice for her."
"He may not stay, Maude,"
She nodded, thinking it over. "Well, if he hurts her, I'll gut him. Slowly. That will teach him a lesson!"
Loghain snorted.
Some farmers in a heavy cart were approaching slowly. From the excited noise, it appeared that they might have recognized Loghain.
Suddenly, Morrigan called out, "Are those Templars behind the next bend?"
"Andraste's knickerweasels!" Anders shouted, and then slid down, hiding behind Morrigan. Ranger obliging added his bulk to the tableau, so as to better conceal the mage's legs. "Turn the horses around!" Anders whispered frantically. "It's Rylock!"
"No," Loghain ordered. "I don't care if it's Andraste herself. It's late and we're going home."
Maude added, "And don't even think about jumping off the horse. You don't know how to do it yet, and you'll get hurt, and they'll catch you for sure. Stay with us, and we'll sort it out."
The five Templars were on foot, puffing in their heavy armor, and they were running at them. Her helmet discarded, one of the rare women Templars was out in front. Interesting. She was a tall, spare woman, with eyes as large and dark as Maude's, but in her gaunt face they were not beautiful, but wild and disturbing.
"Hold!" she shrilled. "That man is a dangerous criminal!"
Maude's indignation rolled forth. "You dare speak thus of the Dragonslayer Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane and Hero of Ferelden, Savior of His Country?"
The Templars' rush halted with a mighty clanking of armor. The female Templar was temporarily knocked off balance, both physically and mentally. Then her face twisted in rage. She flung out her hand, pointing in the rudest possible way at Morrigan.
"I mean the Apostate and Maleficar Anders, who is skulking behind that woman!"
Anders was indeed skulking. There was no other possible word for it. However, the woman's voice scraped on Loghain's last nerve. Morrigan's too, for the yellow eyes gleamed ominously.
The heavy farm cart was coming closer. The men had removed their hats reverently. Maker's Breath! They were going to want to speak to him. Maude and Morrigan were exchanging glances, obviously ready to slaughter the importunate Templars, but the farmers' presence forced another course on Loghain.
"This man is a Grey Warden conscript. You have no further business with him."
Maude glowed with triumph, while Anders uttered a mournful groan. Morrigan's face was unreadable.
He had said it. He had never imagined those words coming from his own lips, and yet they had. But what choice was there? That Templar bitch was practically frothing at the mouth, and looked capable of any violence. It would hardly be sparing Maric's son to turn him over to the Templars. And if they killed the Templars, they would have to kill the farmers as well, to cover it up.
And to his annoyance, the crazy Templar bitch was still unconvinced. "What? Never! Not after all he's done! The Chantry's rights are paramount. I demand you surrender him to us at once!"
One of the helmeted Templars touched Rylock's arm, "Ser, I believe that actually—"
Maude walked her horse forward a few steps and glared down at Rylock. "I don't know who you think you are, but you had better listen to cooler and wiser heads right now. Toddle on back to the Chantry and look up the Grey Warden Treaty of Divine Age 1:15, and you will see for yourself that the Right of Conscription supersedes every other claim on an individual, outweighing those of family, prince, or Chantry. No exceptions. None. So back off."
"I'll miss our little talks, Rylock!" came the muffled voice of Anders.
Morrigan sneered coldly, but it was directed at the Templars. Rylock was restrained by her comrades, and after a muttered council, the Templars moved on, going north on the Pilgrim's Path.
And the farm wagon had arrived, with its knot of fervent admirers: men and women who would not stop calling him Teyrn Loghain. They bowed, thanked him, wished him a happy Satinalia, and gave him their best and biggest pumpkin. They even helped strap it on the pack horse.
Denerim mended apace. It was a muted Satinalia, but better than it might have been. They rode through the streets to occasional cheers, and to the greetings of numerous acquaintances. Dwarven skill had finished one of the Gate bridges. Dwarven engineers were worth every sovereign they demanded. Loghain pleasurably imagined the wonders they would work at the Peak.
"Wait! We're going into the Palace?" Anders asked, anxious and curious and rather eager, once they were well within the courtyard, and grooms had come to take the horses...
"We live there—for now," Loghain told him. "The Warden Compound is there, though next spring we shall begin renovation to our fortress up in the Coast Range. Some Orlesians are in residence, but there is room enough for you."
"So—a Grey Warden?" Anders sighed. "It could be worse."
"You'll like it, once you start looking at it in the right way," Maude assured him.
Loghain paused. "Or you can walk away now."
"Loghain!" Maude cried.
"Really?" Anders perked up. "Just…walk away?"
"Yes," Loghain said. He owed Maric this much. "You can walk away, and keep running from the Chantry on your own terms. We'll give you some provisions and you can be on your own."
"Of course, that would be an awful mistake on your part…" Maude said, vibrating with sympathy.
"Oh, do come on, Anders," Morrigan expostulated. "'Tis late and chilly and starting to rain, and further talk is foolish. Either come in, or stay out and sleep in the gutter."
"We're going to have hot baths," Maude told him, "and Cook will make us spiced wine, if I ask her. And little meat and mushroom pies. They are so good."
"A hot bath?" Anders considered. "Of course, I can heat a portion of a pond or a river…'
"—And then the Templars always come and ruin it for you," Maude said, eyes wide and compassionate.
"Meat pies with mushrooms?"
"And spiced wine," Maude reminded him.
"And a room of your own with a proper bed and your own bookshelves," Morrigan added. Loghain understood in a flash how much information that conveyed about her.
She laid a hand on the young man's arm, and suddenly and shockingly, an enticing smile bloomed on her lips. Loghain rolled his eyes. The lad had done all a man could, but that was just unfair…
Maude smiled up at Anders from his other side. "And you'll always have us…"
A shuffling moment, and then Anders was following them into the warmth and light of the Compound, looking about him, taking it all in. Maude and Morrigan were insufferably smug.
Loghain decided that he could not judge the lad too harshly. Suppose he had met those two women when he was young and on the run? They might not have had him with the hot bath—he had more spine than that-but definitely with the spiced wine. And with the hand, softly laid on his arm.
That idiot Constant met them cheerily. He was wearing a ridiculous Orlesian mask in honor of the holiday, and Loghain nearly cut him down on the spot. Maude clung to his sword arm instead, so Loghain was forced to listen to the man's congratulations on their new recruit.
"Kristoff is on patrol with five others," he told Loghain. "They heard that there were darkspawn stragglers in Osvin—"
"Oswin," Loghain corrected, unwilling to tolerate the deficiencies of Orlesian pronunciation, especially under the circumstances. Any fool knew that people in masks could not be trusted.
Maude said eagerly, "We need to perform the Joining right after we have something to eat."
And so it was arranged. There were indeed meat pies, and the spiced wine was warming and delicious. At least the boy would have had a good meal, if the worst happened. The Wardens in residence retired to the study with the polished round table.
Loghain stayed with Anders until all was ready, and then walked in with him. Maude, radiant and deadly, held an elaborate silver chalice in her hands. Morrigan was beside her, yellow eyes devouring their new recruit. The bloody Orlesians were still tricked out for the holiday.
"Masks off!" Loghain barked.
"It's Satinalia," was the protest, but Maude looked at them, wistful and tenderly reproving, and the masks were hastily discarded. Not that it improved their sorry Orlesian faces, in Loghain's opinion, but at least it showed a modicum of respect for the occasion.
Maude uttered the ritual words in her lovely voice, and then held out the cup for Anders. He took it, sniffed, and then looked at the contents, obviously guessing what it must be.
He glanced over to Loghain, grimaced, and said, "All right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes with a tattoo on my forehead...I'm blaming you."
Happy Holidays, and thanks to my kind readers and reviewers: most especially to Shakespira, Eva Galana, Josie Lange, Amhran Comhrac, Nithu, Liso66, Chatoyant Tiger, Aoi24, callalili, Prisoner 24601, Sarah1281, fastforwamotion, Phygmalion, Zute, wayfaringpanda, Guile, wisecracknmama, Lehni, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, Harmakhis, DemonChick344, Gene Dark, mutive, mille libri, WellspringCD, and Windchime68.
I had to make some decisions about Anders' parentage, and my decisions are not necessarily ones I like. It sounds like Gaider is hinting that Alistair is Fiona's son. I don't think he's done a good job of making that psychologically plausible, but I may have to go with it. That Maric would allow a child of a woman he loved to suffer what Alistair did in his youth says absolutely horrible things about a man we are supposed to find likeable. Alistair could just as easily have been placed with a respectable, childless, freeholding couple and told nothing about his parentage, instead of being told that it was meaningless, and that he was unworthy of his father's love.
Or he could have been placed with a reliable bann, as many noble bastards were. The secret of his birth could have been kept hidden, even from him, and he could have been raised to be a knight. Instead, Alistair was raised to be a second string to Arl Eamon's bow—just in case he might be needed.
However, I am sticking with Anders' being Maric's son. He is just too much like Alistair and Maric in canon for it to be a coincidence. That he is also a mage, like Fiona, would make their relationship reasonable, but the timeline simply doesn't work.