The Keening Blade
Chapter 34: Smoked Mackerel Porridge for Breakfast
Maude was in Gwaren for nearly two months. Her absence reminded Loghain unpleasantly of what his life had been like before they were together: grim, joyless, and full of drudgery. A certain sparkle was gone from the world. Without her, Morrigan and Anders' occasional quarrels ceased to be amusing; Oghren's dirty jokes became disgusting; Valentine's dewy-eyed admiration made Loghain want to knock the young man down.
His chief comfort was Topaz and her splendid little pups. They were full of life and mischief, especially his favorite: the little black one they had named Onyx, who tumbled and growled like a hero in the making.
Not that life at Soldier's Peak was devoid of worthwhile tasks. The people of this demesne needed protection from the predators stalking a land recovering from war and Blight. And the population was growing. A trickle of refugees were making their way to the Wardens' gates, hoping for work or even a vacant plot of land in need of a tenant. There were training schedules to organize, there were the repairs and improvements to the fortifications to supervise, there were his Wardens to command. The renovations to the castle and its grounds continued to move forward.
Maude, he hoped, would be pleasantly surprised with what the groundskeeper had done in her absence. Maude wanted a rose garden, and it appeared she now had one. In the center of the circular, walled garden was a big marble cinerarium to hold the ashes of cremated Wardens. Over it brooded the restored statue of Korth the Mountain Father, now with a plinth labeling him as "Asturian, First Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and Founder of Soldier's Peak." Maude would appreciate both the beauty and humor of it. The mellowed stone blended well with the rose vines twining all around.
Loghain's chief concern at the moment was the need for more Wardens. To do anything serious about the Deep Roads under Ferelden—and Loghain had a number of ideas about tactics- they needed to get the Ferelden Wardens up to strength. The question was: what was that?
Duncan had made do with two dozen Wardens, and that should have been an effective fighting force at Ostagar, had it been used more wisely. Would more Wardens have made a difference? Possibly. Loghain set those considerations aside. The Battle of Ostagar was now part of history. It was over and done. He could not live his life refighting it.
Maude was in favor of a more aggressive approach to the darkspawn problem, and Loghain thought there was some merit to it. He had attempted to pick the brains of the Weisshaupt wardens about the total strength of the darkspawn, and found that they knew little more than he did himself.
The dwarves knew as much as anybody, and they did not know everything. However, their Shaper of Memories had the right of it: the darkspawn lived in cycles. In between Blights, they retreated to the Deep Roads and built up their numbers. Even now, the dwarves of Orzammar were advancing on the lost thaigs, trying to secure what they could in the breathing space before the darkspawn became too numerous to oppose.
This was a major topic of conversation at the Wardens' dinner table.
"So…" Valentine ventured. "If the Archdemon summoned the darkspawn to follow it, and if most of them did, then there were only what? A few thousand darkspawn? How many were in the horde that marched on Denerim?"
"Well, the Architect didn't march," Sigrun said tartly. "and none of those he had 'awakened" or commanded. There might be other intelligent darkspawn. They were cut off from the song. And the Broodmothers certainly couldn't march."
"In some other Blights, the darkspawn have attacked in a number of places. In the Fourth Blight they attacked the Anderfels and Antiva simultaneously," said Telamon, tapping an compilation of Blight accounts. "Thedas, as a whole, was lucky this time."
"Too bad they didn't attack the Qunari," Valentine muttered darkly.
"'Tis a great pity we do not know how long Broodmothers survive," Morrigan considered. "It could be that they are left alone in their secure nests to replenish the darkspawn, while all the rest march to war—with those exceptions Sigrun mentioned."
"And those the Broodmothers birth are already hearing the song of Razikale or Lusacan." Telamon grimaced at the thought. "If only we knew what was going on in the rest of Thedas! We report to the First Warden, but he tells us nothing in return. For all we know, the First Warden might have information about the location of the Old Gods."
Loghain digested this, and that night, in his ridiculously luxurious but lonely bed, he had an epiphany. The next morning, he began putting it into effect, writing to all the other Warden-Commanders of Thedas, telling them about the darkspawn activity seen in Ferelden over the past six months, and asking for information in return. It was clear that the First Warden simply hoarded information. This was a way around that.
Shortly after sending off his reports, he received a letter from Maude, written entirely in their private code, along with a shipment of good Gwaren lumber.
15 Solace, Dragon 9:32
Dearest Loghain,
I am in glowing good health, and everyone is being incredibly nice to me. I hope you like all the lovely black oak I am sending you. My love to everyone. I do indeed miss you heaps and heaps. We'll see, won't we, if absence really does make the heart grow fonder...
Also, I find I particularly miss Morrigan. This has been the longest I have been away from her since I became a Warden. I know that she is very content and very involved in her researches, but it feels odd not to have her around. We need more women in the Wardens.
The journey was fairly uneventful—at least as far as anything trying to kill me was concerned. Nor did I have to kill much of anything myself. Darkspawn, Blight, hunger, and the return of local authorities have put something of a stop to the bandits that plagued Ferelden, at least in the south. Of course, quite a few were deserters from the army: men and women armed and used to violence. They might have considered themselves tough, but the darkspawn were tougher, and I suspect a lot of them died or were themselves forced to become refugees. At any rate, the size and strength of our party would certainly have aroused caution in the breast of even the hardiest highwayman.
My cousin Leonas spent the entire time on the road to South Reach assuring me that Habren has no designs on the crown of Ferelden. It was very entertaining. I merely looked concerned and sympathetic, which apparently alarmed him. Don't blame me for taking my entertainment where I can find it. By the way, I was right. The "diamonds" were rock crystals, and the "rubies" were mere spinels. The gold is pretty pure, though.
My juggling practice continues to go brilliantly, and I only do it in the privacy of my bedchamber. It is very relaxing. I brought my lute, too, and I practice at least a half-hour a day. I think I'm improving. If Regent of Gwaren doesn't work out for me, I can always take to the free life of the road again, this time as a minstrel.
Joking, Loghain! I'm joking.
Anyway, Whitewood Manor had been evacuated during the Blight, but the fields are fine, and the seneschal there is putting it back in order quite nicely. I like it so much. Sometimes I think about that time we spent in the cottage in Honnleath. The Manor is much bigger of course, but it has that rustic feel, and the water meadows are lovely.
At last I arrived in Gwaren, and the people came out to look me over, so I made an effort. They didn't say much, but no rotten turnips were thrown.
Then I held a Court, and dressed up nicely—in that blue thing I wore for Rhoswyn's naming, because it's the most Andrastean thing I have. The banns and local freeholders seemed to like it. There were all sorts of knotty problems to resolve. Domestic disputes are the worst. Father always said so, and it's true. Your man Allonby is a jewel beyond price, by the way.
There was some fire damage to the town, started during the riots. The docks are fine, but some warehouses were set alight and a great deal of lumber lost. The elves were blamed, and consequently there is a great deal of hard feeling. It is hard to determine if elves actually set the fires or not. I am looking into it. If I were an elf, I would either be off to join the Dalish in their new homeland, or I would seeking ways to compass the death of every human in Thedas. Actually, quite a few elves have gone west. There would be a labor shortage, were it not for all the refugees from Lothering and its environs. Word is that the city elves are settling a little village of their own in the new Dalish territory. Good luck to them. I hope it doesn't all end just like the Dales, with the humans deciding that 'yes, we did want that land after all, and let's find any excuse to steal it back.'
You did not tell me how much of the Gwaren diet consists of fish. I like it, but the smoked mackerel porridge for breakfast was a little startling. You did not share with me the existence of that Gwaren delicacy. Are you smirking?
While the banns have been fairly cooperative, I cannot call them happy. They are quite put out that you are not with me, and in the High Seat where they believe you belong. There, have I fanned the fires of vanity sufficiently? Perhaps in Denerim they did not dare oppose the King and Queen, but here, in their home ground, I was told very plainly that they still considered you their Teyrn.
Indeed, as Bann Stronar so kindly explained, no one understands why you cannot BE teyrn, Warden or not, when a Warden sits on the throne of Ferelden. It seems to them unjust and hypocritical to acclaim one Warden as King, while saying that another must lose his title because he is also a Warden.
Well, that is perfectly true, so there was not much I could say, other than telling them that the duties of the Grey Warden-Commander and many and onerous; and it was the decision of the Landsmeet for our child to have the title. Of course, that raised the essential, pressing question, and I was forced to be very coy. It would have been very unpleasant for me, had I not known that we are not deceiving these good people.
But we aren't. So, ha. I know that at least one of the banns—Wiglaf—is reporting to Anora. I shall have to do some work on him. Meanwhile, I shall keep my private business private indeed.
I brought quite a bit of my personal coin to Gwaren, as you know, and have been spending pretty freely, so as to boost the local economy. The castle needed some repairs, but also a bit of refurbishment. No, I haven't gone wild, because Gwaren Keep has not been standing deserted for two hundred years. However, like other women in my condition, I confess to a certain urge to put my house in good order while awaiting the blessed event.
I have decided that it is no longer necessary to pour my own funds into the Wardens. Between the money from Weisshaupt, the Warden treasury, and what I hope to earn from the dragonbone, the Wardens should be on a sound footing while this age lasts, at the very least. And for quite a few to come, if the Wardens don't get involved in some lunatic dispute that gets them booted from the country again.
Thus, I hereby declare that all my future loot—including the ingot cast from the crown of the False Pretender Habren— is going to Gwaren and its little teyrn. I shall take care that it is substantial.
I shall arrive with the next shipment of lumber, but have promised to return to Gwaren in the spring. It would certainly be appropriate. Perhaps sooner, depending on the sailing weather. If possible, a visit in Drakonis would not go amiss. If the child could be born here, it would please his future vassals.
I think the Wardens should buy a ship. That is what I think. Something sleek and swift and shallow-drafted enough to be docked at Breaker's Cove. Large enough to essay the Waking Sea (which is quite narrow there, anyway), and maneuverable enough to skirt the rocky Ferelden coast. A Nevarran galley,crewed with paid oarsmen, or one of those Hercinian longships. I saw one once at Highever harbor. It was fast…very fast. It would be pleasant to travel between Soldier's Peak and Gwaren without the entire nation knowing my every movement. But that's just me.
Ever your
Maude
Mistress Woolsey, when approached, did not agree that the Wardens needed a ship.
"Paying for passage on a commercial vessel is far cheaper than maintaining a vessel and its crew," she declared. "Even purchasing cargo space costs nothing in comparison."
Well, Loghain could not fault the woman, since it was manifestly true. Besides it was not the Order that needed a ship, but Maude who wanted one. Personally, Loghain hated the idea of travel by sea. He hoped she would forget about her fancy for a ship. Sailing was a bad idea. Sailing had killed Maric. To this day, no one knew what had become of his body. The funeral held for him had been a mere matter of form without substance. Even thinking about the sea recalled that long, agonizing, futile search, and those nights spent wondering if his friend was food for fish, or had been shipwrecked on a remote island, dying slowly of thirst and starvation, or had been captured by vicious thugs who would not even trouble themselves to hold him for ransom. Then there had been the nightmares that Maric was the prisoner of the Orlesians, who would make use of him in their own malignant way.
That last possibility had kept him awake for years. It had died with the Blight. If the Orlesians had Maric, and had ever had the least intention of making use of him, the time right after Ostagar would have been the moment. Loghain had waited in fear and hope, and as the weeks passed, had accepted that if the Orlesians had ever had their hands on Maric, he must be dead by now.
But that was only one possibility. The Amaranthine Ocean was vast and largely uncharted. Aside from inhabited islands like Llomeryn and Estwatch, it was dotted with rocky islets, distantly glimpsed by sailors blown east of the safety of the charted coast, which every sane shipmaster hugged as if his life depended on it. As it did. Had Loghain not been needed to keep Ferelden functioning in those first turbulent years, he would have taken ship and looked for Maric farther afield. The sea was another world: one about which he knew little or nothing. He feared and resented it. Why could the wretched conclave of Marchers not have come to Denerim to forge an alliance?
He had sent ship after ship, but could not control how scrupulously they had searched. For all he knew, they had taken Ferelden's coin and spent it drinking and wenching around Rialto Bay. He pushed the thought of Maric aside, willing himself to believe in the best outcome: that his friend had died quickly in the first few moments of the ship's sinking.
As her letter promised, Maude arrived in Amaranthine, by way of a Gwaren merchant ship bearing yet more lumber. The breathless messenger brought word to Soldier's Peak the next morning. Loghain wondered if the experience of such a long voyage had quenched her enthusiasm for the sea, or fanned it into a blaze.
"She is in Amaranthine?" asked Morrigan, alighting in the courtyard, a few black feathers drifting in her wake. "And not before time!"
"Yes, she's there," Loghain told her brusquely, shouting at a groom to ready his horse, and saddle another for Maude.
"Good," Morrigan said, with a pretense of indifference. "We shall see what she thinks of this place. No doubt she will discover all sorts of things not done as she would like."
Anders arrived and heard the last, giving Loghain a shrug and a rueful grin. "Want some company on the way?"
"I'll go with you!" Valentine volunteered eagerly. "It will be so delightful to see her again. I hope she wasn't seasick... I'll bring some lavender water, just in case..."
They readied themselves quickly. Unlike Anders, Morrigan declined to ride, and took to the sky, skimming along a little ahead of them all the way, scouting for trouble. The Coast Road was busier and better-patrolled than ever, but it would stupid to be careless. Impatient at any delay, Loghain galloped down the hard, dusty path, the sound of the surf below the dizzying seacliffs blending with hoofbeats and heartbeats; longing for his crazy Maude in every bone and sinew. He knew he was probably not the most pleasant companion at the moment, but as long as no one tried to force him to converse, he probably would not hack off any heads.
She had managed to make a grand entrance, apparently, even traveling on a cargo ship, for the men at the city gates could tell them that the Regent of Gwaren was at Bann Nathaniel's mansion.
She would be, of course, though it worried him faintly. Maude and Nathaniel Howe alone in a room together seemed a fairly explosive combination. The Keep seemed intact, however, as he rode up. No ominous smoke arose from the topmost tower. The horses were taken away, and he was quickly shown in by the doorkeeper.
"The Bann and Her Grace are upstairs in the solar, my lord...er-Warden-Commander. Permit to show you the way..."
Loghain knew the way already, and outpaced the puffing servant, his Wardens behind him. They passed a guard room, where Darrow and Kain were stuffing their faces. The men bounded up like dogs who had seen their master.
"My lord!" Darrow hastily wiped his face and stood at attention. "Er...Commander! Her Grace is upstairs! Ser!"
Kain chimed in. "Brought back safe and sound! As ordered! Ser!"
"Well done. Follow me."
Up an endless stair, turning and turning, the sound of that one clear voice emerging from the pounding of booted feet... A door opening...
"Loghain!"
She charged him, a blur of green velvet, arms outstretched. Ranger gamboled around them, barking joyously. Nathaniel Howe grimaced, looking away, as Loghain caught Maude up in his arms and held her. Then she dragged his face down to hers and kissed him thoroughly.
"Ummm," she murmured, her dark eyes drowsy. "You've been riding by the sea. I can taste the salt on you..."
Howe said everything proper, welcoming the Wardens to dine with him and stay the night. Of course they would. It was that or the Crown and Lion, where Loghain had not the least desire to stay in this lifetime or the next.
"That's so kind of you, Nathaniel," Maude cooed. "I had a lovely voyage, but it's a pleasant change to be on solid ground again. And Loghain! I've got us some sylvanwood this time. It's gorgeous. Even if we don't need it all, we can sell it off in lots to joiners and cabinet-makers..." She smiled at him dreamily. "I haven't finished unpacking yet. Perhaps you like to help me?"
Everyone was shown to their rooms. As soon as they were alone, Maude worked on making their clothes vanish, while words bubbled from her like a fountain.
"Gwaren still has all those lovely, advantageous trade agreements that you settled with Rendon! Ha! It costs us practically nothing at all to unload cargo here! Amaranthine doesn't even have the right to inspect it! That's very convenient. You are so clever…"
In his distraction as they fell into bed, Loghain vaguely recalled that the agreements would last another eight years or so. Rendon Howe had wanted to keep him happy, and had tossed in the freedom of Amaranthine harbor. That was convenient indeed. It had been a minor matter during the war, but it would be a major advantage for the Wardens…
"Oh, Loghain!' Maude was urging him, breathless and flushed. "Do hurry…"
"I've learned absolute heaps!" she declared, smiling up at the paneled ceiling.
"Heaps of what?" he rumbled, running a finger along the shallow curve of her breast. She caught at his hand, kissing his fingers, and then put her palm up against his, amused at the difference in the size of their hands.
"Heaps about Gwaren. Heaps about the lumber trade. Heaps about dried and smoked fish. Ummmm. Smoked mackerel porridge for breakfast every day! Your housekeeper said it would make my hair shine. Do you think it's shinier? Heaps about the sea, especially around Gwaren. Heaps about mining salt. I went to Salt Island three times! I went there in a darling little boat with blue sails! It's a very nice island, with a pretty beach. Do you like to go there? I found your summerhouse. It's not in bad shape."
He paused, remembering. Celia had liked it, taking off her shoes, hiking up her gown, dabbling her toes in the cool surf. Her blonde hair had loosened in the breeze, and she had looked over at him, laughing...
"I went there a few times. Anora enjoyed it when she was little."
"Well, I like it too! I thought the water would be colder there, since it's farther south even than Ostagar, but it's not. Captain Winters—the captain of the Bold Sunrise—said it was because of the currents."
"Yes," Loghain said. "The ocean currents bring warm water there. It's a mystery, but the water is quite a bit warmer there than in Denerim."
"I liked Gwaren. Everyone there reminded me of you."
Loghain thought about that for awhile, wondering if there was a compliment in there or not. The men of Gwaren were a grim and dour lot: parsimonious with coin and words. Brave and hardy, of course...
She rolled over, still smiling, but her eyes were serious.
"Loghain, there's something I've got to talk to you about right away. You'd know anyway, when we go to gather up the lumber wagons for the trip home tomorrow."
What had she done? Adopted an orphan? Rescued yet another apostate? Stolen the royal treasury?
Gravely, she said, "I told the shipmaster to wait in Amaranthine. I gave him a retainer, because," she took a deep breath-"I'm going to Kirkwall in a sevenday."
"What?"
"Our dragonbone. I've got to cash it in. I have to go, and I have to go now. It's the only possible time. I have to be back here and able to go to Highever when Fergus' child is born. That's in late Harvestmere. After that, I'm afraid my body will let me down. And then I'll have the baby, and I won't want to leave him."
He lay there, angry, appalled, and winded. "Send a merchant."
"We'd be cheated of half the value. That dragonbone is a one-time windfall, Loghain. It's very important that we make the most of it. Who do you know who could get more for it than I can?"
"You just want to go messing about in boats again!"
She pulled back, surprised at his anger.
"I do like ships," she said, sweetly reasonable. "I think more Fereldens need to know more about the sea. I made Captain Winters teach me all he could about navigating, and I talked him into letting me copy some of his charts. It's very painstaking work. I'll show you, Loghain. They're just like maps, only of water instead of land! I'll learn a lot more on the voyage to Kirkwall, and I promise to finish and get back as soon as I can."
"What do you mean about your body 'letting you down?' Have you been ill?"
"No! I've been great! I think Grey Wardens only get sick from one thing. That said, when I start getting big, people will only see a weak and feeble pregnant woman and they'll all be out to take horrible advantage of me. And then I might not be able to fight so well, with a big bump sticking out my front, getting in my way when I'm trying to use my sword. Once I'm obviously pregnant, I think I'm going to have to—" she made a horrible face—"take it...easy."
Loghain barked a bitter laugh. "How about now? You take it easy, and I'll go to bloody Kirkwall, and take the gold out of their hides..."
She rolled on her back, laughing. "I'll bet you would! I want the Marchers' coin, Loghain! I hadn't planned the Sack of Kirkwall!" Her brows knit. "Though that might be very, very profitable..."
He was still cross with her at dinner, and said little. He supposed he could command her not to go, but he was not sure she would obey a direct command. Maude, truth be told, was not a particularly good soldier. A brilliant warrior—among the greatest in Ferelden—but not a soldier. She had lost her respect for the opinions and commands of others during the Blight, and he doubted she would see any point in obedience ever again. The fact was, of course, that she was absolutely right about the central issue. No one could bargain for coin like Maude, and the dragonbone was worth thousands in gold. She was the best person for the job. It could even be regarded as her duty to go.
Anders discreetly checked her out and assured them both that all as just as it should be. Maude, of course, took that as a sign that her voyage was under the protection of the Maker himself. Loghain, bowed under the weight of the past, found it hard to articulate to her all the reasons he hated the thought of her out on the incomprehensible sea, her only shelter a frail vessel of wood. If only they made ships of stouter materials: iron or silverite...
"I'm going to be fine," she assured him repeatedly, throughout the meal. "I'll introduce Captain Winters to you, and you'll see he's a competent man and a nice fellow."
"'Competent man' is reassuring," Loghain growled, "'Nice fellow' is not."
"I suppose that's true," she admitted. "In a crisis, I don't like men to be sweet and agreeable. I like them mean and heavily armed."
"Don't linger in Kirkwall. It's a rotten place."
"So everyone says. Lots of coin to be had, though. I promise I'll hurry back just as soon as I can sell the dragonbone. Really. I promise."
Contrary to Morrigan's predictions, Maude was enchanted with everything they had done at the Peak. The rose garden delighted her. The grandeur of the Great Hall satisfied even her boundless vanity. She was happy at Ranger's happiness when he was reunited with his mate and the adorable puppies.
Even the untended wilderness of the old orchards pleased her, for here was scope for improvement. And quite good apples, in the bargain. The Honeygolds were ripening, and the Wineskins were already perfect: a glowing rich dark red. Everyone from Warden-Commander to kitchen maid came out to pick them, filling basket after basket. Loghain and Maude walked among the trees, munching when they were not picking. The dogs nosed around, the puppies exploring the orchard, while Ranger and Topaz carried them back to their cozy blanket if they wandered too far afield.
"These are wonderful," Maude enthused, admiring the apples. "I hope they keep well."
"They'll keep best in the form of cider and brandy," Loghain told her. "We have a press, newly made by our engineers. That's the next project, once they're all picked."
"Ooo! Our own cider! I love cider. Apple brandy, too. Do you know how to make brandy?"
"Oghren does. He says he does, anyway, and I'm inclined to trust his abilities in anything pertaining to strong drink."
"Of course. Soldier's Peak Apple Brandy! We shall sell it and make our fortune..."
"We've already made our fortune." He took her by the hand, and made her sit with him in the shade of an old and twisted tree. "If you really and truly must make this dangerous voyage, we might as well make the most of it. When you are in Kirkwall, look about for a really fine stallion for stud. If you can find an Antivan Barb, that would be the best."
"Thank you for telling me what you'd like me to bring you from Kirkwall."
"What I particularly would like from Kirkwall is you."
"I'm going to be fine, Loghain!" Maude shook her head, polishing another apple on his loose linen shirt, offering him the first bite. "You really should believe me when I tell you things are going to be fine." She lay back on the grass, biting slowly and luxuriously into the firm, sweet fruit. "This is so nice..." She sighed. "I'm sorry to go and miss any of the autumn. And we missed the spring, too, when the trees were in blossom. Next year, though..."
He stroked a wayward lock out of her face. "Next year?"
"Next year is going to be different," she said thoughtfully. "Next year I'm going to be a mother. I'll be a mother for the rest of my life. When I was a child, I thought about all the things I could be: a warrior, a bard, a pirate, an adventurer, a treasure-hunter— a Warden, even!" She laughed. "But next year I'm really going to be a mother. I'll be pretty busy digging my claws into Gwaren, too. The Crown might not be so happy with me starting next year."
Loghain hoped she was not being prophetic. Anora and Alistair had little right to be disappointed if, when they granted a gift, it was accepted. Maude stood up and admired the view: the Coast Mountains rising around them, the green slopes like velvet and the sky a burning blue. Soldier's Peak shown in this setting like a big, rough-cut jewel: an ancient but vital link to the past. Maude waved her arm at the scene.
"I can't wait for Fergus to see this! And the King and Queen, too! I wonder if they'll feel like traveling before the spring Landsmeet?"
"I doubt it," Loghain said. "I doubt they'll do any traveling at all until afterward, in the summer. By then, even this—" he pointed to the overgrown orchard—"should be tamed."
"Not completely, I hope," she laughed, taking another bite of her apple. "I don't like anything to be completely tamed! Even you!"
I had to stop here, because the next chapter will be Maude's letters from Kirkwall, which are already written, and very lengthy!
When I thought about smoked mackerel porridge, I was thinking about Brandade de Morue: an emulsion of salt cod, garlic, and olive oil, pureed and eaten with bread or potatoes. Gwaren has lots of fish, and lots of salt. Hence the porridge. It would have a much coarser texture than a brandade, of course. We are accustomed to things like oatmeal being sweetened, but traditionally, such porridges were buttered and salted, since sugar was a rare luxury. I've thought about sugar in Ferelden. They might have sugar beets, and they have honey, but cane sugar must be prodigiously expensive. They probably eat a lot of Scottish-type oatcakes in Gwaren, too. Probably with the mackerel porridge. Yum.
For those of you who didn't read The Stolen Throne: "Gwaren" is derived from a dwarven word for "salt marsh." There is a sealed entrance to the Deep Roads near Gwaren, because there was a dwarven outpost there long before a human settlement—before the days of the darkspawn, too. The dwarves are long gone, but the name stuck.
Oh, and yes. The First Warden does in fact know where the Old Gods are.
In the most recent DLC rogue pack there's quite a bit of lore about Maric's disappearance at sea, and Loghain's two-year search for him, which is new to canon. It makes clear that the body was never found. It mentions a "Ferelden navy," which is a bit of a hoot. We otherwise have not the slightest indication that there is such an institution. I find it impossible to believe that there is. Navies are tremendously expensive to build, man, and maintain. At most, Ferelden might have a state ship or two. Fereldens do not seem to be much of a sea-going people at this point, though I feel that should change. Furthermore, if there were such a thing, the navy could have organized a more effective evacuation. There are islands off Ferelden (most especially at the mouth of the River Dane and the archipelago near Amaranthine, which it is likely that darkspawn cannot access. Alamar has only the small village of Alamar shown on it and Brandel's Reach appears to be uninhabited. That makes no sense to me. Shakespira, in her By A Sea Divided, has her Warden-Commander urge very sensibly for the fortification of those islands as a protection against naval invasion. Even if the islands are rocky and infertile, they could at least be used to pasture sheep, and the shape of Brandel's Reach suggest at least one very fine harbor. Perhaps their sovereignty is in dispute. It's also possible that they have been the habitations of outlaws and pirates. That should change. Some of those islands are visible from Amaranthine, and there should be a lighthouse, at least, to guide the way through the channel between the islands and the mainland.
Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, Zute, Cloud1004, Judy, Psyche Sinclair, Phygmalion, Shakespira, mutive, Eva Galana, JackOfBladesX, mille libri, Lehni, Jenna53, Kira Kyuu, Enaid Aderyn, Tyanilth, Sarah1281, pulchritudo in omnia, chocolatebrownie12, and sapphiretoes.