The Keening Blade
Chapter 36: Beyond the Sea
They had three new Wardens. The elf mage, Sketch, had survived. Loghain wondered if there was something in mages that gave them special protection. The elf was a whiner and a bit of a tit, but magic in battle was a mighty force. Morrigan was certainly equal to dealing him. Or rather, she did not, but shunted him off to Anders, with a sneer.
"Will you at least train him to be a shape-shifter?" Loghain asked.
"Of what use is a mouse?" she shot back, casting a scathing look in Sketch's direction. "Anders can teach him. I shall watch the results with interest. 'Tis so very easy for such magic to go disastrously wrong..."
Morrigan's scorn aside, Loghain was pleased with the other two new Wardens as well. Osbeck was a big man, whose heavy maul was not simply for show. He was half Avvar, and his back, shoulders, and arms were flourished with impressive tattoos. His mother's tribe had had no use for the son of a Lowlander after her death. Footloose by nature, like many soldiers of fortune, he had served a number of Fereldan nobles before ending up in the Amaranthine City Guard. Loghain remembered him from the battle in the streets as one of the guardsmen who had been putting up a solid fight while most of his officers had run screaming.
"Might as well be a Warden," Osbeck shrugged. "At least I'll be fighting. Better than garrison duty, I reckon. I like the Bann all right, but a man wants his life to have meant something, in the end."
The other man was a quick and lean knife-fighter, who used the name Brangel. He offered little personal history. Loghain guessed that he had been a mercenary or worse. Probably a bandit in the lean times, he supposed. It hardly mattered. Loghain had been a bandit himself, once. As Maude said, being a Warden paid for all. Brangel was very, very good with his blades, though Loghain wondered how well that style would work against darkspawn.
The six original recuits had been taken on a well-prepared expedition to map out the link to the Deep Roads from Drake's Fall. Maude was not there to be distressed by memories of the Mother, who indeed was now only scattered ash. The broodmother matter had dried up and was crumbling away. It was still a good place for training, for they found darkspawn there after some days: way down, down, in the Deep Roads.
There followed a stiff and desperate fight, for they had come upon a large band, with a pair of very powerful alpha genlocks. One of their recruits was killed, and they would have lost Oghren and Telamon without Anders' healing skills. The colony was destroyed and the darkspawn blood brought back to the surface for the Joining ritual.
Loghain had seen a failed Joining before, when poor Ser Mhairi choked out her last moments in agony on the stones of Vigil's Keep. He could not say it was any better at Soldier's Peak, but at least the dead could be given due dignity. Instead of being hustled away in secret like a shameful bundle of contraband, there could be a proper pyre, and then kindly disposal of the ashes in the cinerarium in Maude's rose garden. Loghain would not soon forget the last recruit's face, the young woman named Challa, who looked sadly at the cup of darkspawn blood, as if seeing her death in it. The young woman had been deeply depressed by her experience in the Deep Roads. She had not bothered with last words or even trying to put up a fight. She had simply accepted the cup and drunk deeply from it, as if relieved to have it all over at last. Loghain noted the names into the Warden rolls, with the traditional mark for those who Joined and perished on the same day.
After the new recruits awakened, it was time to give them the facts of Warden life. The three of them took it surprisingly well.
Osbeck shrugged, "It's not like I wanted to live forever."
That done, Loghain was off with Telamon and Sigrun to Denerim, for a bit of recruiting, and a bit of grandfathering, and most importantly, to warn Anora and Alistair about the Qunari.
His visit to Denerim was, alas, not perfectly satisfactory.
His little Princess Rhoswyn was, of course: a wonderful child, healthy and thriving. Her nursery was warm, clean, and comfortable to the point of luxury. Her nurse, Luana Nocking, was a good and pretty woman, and obviously devoted to her charge. Her parents were fond of Rhoswyn, too, and dutifully made time to see her nearly every day.
Alistair was very affectionate when the child was brought to see them in the Private Sitting Room, talking nonsense and making faces. Rhoswyn seemed to like the silliness well enough. Anora was far more serious, and made a point of speaking properly to the child when it was her turn to hold her. Loghain puzzled over it. She certainly not the same sort of mother Celia had been. Anora was busy; yes, Loghain understood that. He could not fault her for putting the needs of the nation first. In fact, he guiltily reflected, she was exactly the same kind of mother that he had been a father. Whether that was adequate parenting, he was not so sure.
Idly, he remarked, "You'll probably find her more companionable when she's walking and talking."
"Very likely," Anora said, peering suspiciously at him to detect a possible criticism. "I shall certainly oversee her education with great attention. For now, she does nothing but eat and sleep and soil her linen."
The nurse, sitting discreetly in a corner, looked at the floor, her face carefully blank. Anora did not notice it, but Loghain did. He wondered if the woman ever had the opportunity to see her own children, left behind when Mistress Nocking was granted the well-paid post of Royal Nurse.
"Oh, she does lots of things!" Alistair protested, in a ridiculously high, sing-song voice. "She does lots and lots of clever things! She makes bubbles and spits up on Daddy's velvet doublet! She cries and screams when the world is all wrong, and she's learned to melt Daddy's heart with her cute little smile." His voice a hint more normal, he said to Loghain. "When I look at her now, she looks back. I mean really looks back. I know she's sees me and knows who I am!"
"She knows," Anora said repressively, "that you are the man with the silly voice."
Alistair shrugged, not at all put out, and made more ridiculous faces at the baby.
They seemed happy enough as a couple. They jogged on well enough, at least. Alistair was the handsome, affable face of the Crown; while Anora was its razor-sharp mind. Loghain could see that they had become friends, of a sort. Too soon, Rhoswyn began to fuss and fidget and the nurse to look anxious. Anora signed to the woman to take the child away. The three of them were left sitting by the fire, and nursery talk was forgotten.
"I simply don't see, Father, where the money would come from to improve harbor defenses at this time," Anora said, spreading her hands for emphasis. "The tax revenues will be low for years. Maintaining essential services and paying the army takes nearly everything that is coming in. We do have the money from the Arling now, but that was needed to rebuild the bridges and repair the walls and gatehouse. I'm having to finance the University from my private funds."
Loghain did not want to hear about that ridiculous University, and had prepared some counter arguments. He even had diagrams and cost estimates, carefully drawn up beforehand.
"A simple boom that could drawn up to block the mouth of the River Drakon would not be prohibitively expense," he pointed out. "Then a small fort built out from the north end of the walls could use ballistae and catapults to launch attacks on an invading fleet..."
He knew that Alistair would never agree with him about anything, especially if Anora had already declared herself against it.
Sure enough, Alistair shook his head. "It's just that one Qunari ship that was wrecked, wasn't it? I mean, it could have been by accident. I thought Maude liked the Qunari!"
"Maude liked Sten," Loghain replied, trying to keep his temper. "The idea of a large number of Qunari occupying Ferelden, perhaps not so much." He added, "And Maude now recognizes that Sten was in Ferelden as part of a scouting party. The Qunari are aggressive by nature and by philosophy."
"Perhaps, Father," Anora said, "we should wait and see what happens in Kirkwall. These things take time. Perhaps a relief vessel will come, or perhaps not. Perhaps this Arishok will weary of waiting and purchase or build a new ship, and then depart. I agree that it should be watched closely. I have thought for some time that we ought to have reliable agents in neighboring cities. Kirkwall will certainly be a first priority."
"That's a great idea!" Alistair agreed, gazing at her in admiration. "We'll have somebody there to write to us. Once Maude gets back, she can tell us the latest, and we can take it from there..."
Anora smiled on her husband, and Loghain looked away, irritated by the sight of so much conjugal bliss and false confidence. Perhaps he would have better luck with Fergus and Delilah.
His Wardens had been a bit more successful in their own endeavors. Sigrun was bringing back two young dwarves, who had been impressed by the prowess of their Orzammar brethren. It had, however, been made perfectly clear to them that they would never be welcome in the dwarven kingdom, have long since lost their "stone sense," whatever that was. They had some skill with their axes. If they survived the Joining, then it was all to the good.
Telamon had something of an adventure in the Alienage. He had visited Alienages before, and knew what to expect. In his opinion, given to Loghain later and in private, the Denerim Alienage was far from the worst he had seen, especially since there had been so much rebuilding since the darkspawn invasion. He did not have any recruits at this time, but predicted that in six months, they would have several.
"I should return with you to Denerim for the spring Landsmeet," he said. "I think I gave them quite a bit to think about. Also, some practice weapons."
Of course, the Alienage elves had never met anyone like Telamon: a warrior-scholar in fine armor; well-spoken and well-mannered. The hahren had welcomed him with real pleasure, it was clear. The folk of the Alienage had wanted to see him and talk to him. The young women had tried to get their parents to arrange marriages with him. To Loghain's surprise, Telamon did not seem entirely averse to the idea.
"It might be very pleasant to have a wife up at the Peak. While Grey Wardens do not have many children, it might still be possible. Seen in certain lights, it might even be said to be my duty to marry and continue the elven race. There are some lovely young women in the Alienage."
"Just as you like, of course," Loghain replied, somewhat astonished. Thinking again, he was not so astonished. He had Maude, after all—or would, someday, when she came home from all her ridiculous gallivanting. It as only natural that his Wardens would want wives—or even husbands. And if Anders could do for Telamon what he had done for Loghain himself, they might indeed hear the patter of little elven feet.
A pleasant meal with his Wardens was interrupted by a summons from Anora.
"Beg pardon, Warden-Commander-my-lord," said the servant, "but the Queen requests you come quickly."
A thousand horrible images slashed like blades through his imagination. "Is she all right? And the Princess?"
"Yes, my lord! Her Majesty is in the Little Audience Chamber, concerned about some news or other..."
That was better, and Loghain's heart stopped racing as he strode through the passage to the Palace proper. He nearly ran into Alistair, clearly not yet changed for his own supper. He smelled of the kennels.
"What's wrong?" they asked each other. Alistair reddened and chuckled, and Loghain snarled in annoyance.
Anora was not alone in the room. A red-haired knight stood by a window, while Anora pored over the letter he had brought.
"Ser Perth!" Alistair called out, smiling.
"Your Majesty." The knight bowed ceremoniously. In a formal, rather stilted way, he said, "I bring grave tidings from Redcliffe. Arl Eamon's letter is already in Her Majesty's hands. I have also brought a personal message from Bann Teagan for you."
"Teagan?" Alistair asked, confused. Quickly, he took the proffered parchment and ripped open the seal. "Oh..."
"Thank you, Ser Perth," Anora said in her cool voice. "The seneschal shall see to your comfort while you are with us. We shall, of course, have a reply ready for you by tomorrow. We thank you for your speed and courtesy."
When the knight had left the room, Anora said crisply. "Arl Eamon has his new heir to the Arling of Redcliffe. A daughter was born to him on the third. Her name is Rowan, and he has asked me to be her godmother. I shall agree, of course, all the more so because of the circumstances..."
"Arlessa Isolde is dead!" Alistair burst out, waving Teagan's letter. "She died in childbirth!"
Teagan's letter was far more informative than Eamon's strained and formal epistle.
—and as the Arlessa was a most devout and pious woman, she refused any suggestion of magical healing. She feared its possible influence on this child, and declared that she would rather die than by her own weakness and cowardice cause another child of hers to be cursed with magic. The bleeding could not be stopped, and her fever waxed hotter in the days after the birth. Her sufferings, I regret to say, were great; though at the end she was no longer in her right mind, and appeared to think she was a young girl at home with her mother and father. It seemed to comfort her, though it pained my brother greatly that she did not recognize him. She died surrounded by her family, and attended by the Revered Mother. A letter has been sent to Connor at the Circle. I hope to visit him in the future.
Habren was greatly upset by the Arlessa's last days: all the more so as she is apparently with child herself. We had come to witness the birth, of course, and I am glad I was there for my brother. The blood was too much for Habren, and she screamed and swooned. Afterward, she could hardly bear to bid farewell to the Arlessa's remains, and needed to be supported and assisted when poor Isolde was given to the fire. Now she has demanded that I summon the Queen's Healer, Warden Anders, at once. I explained that he was not in Denerim, but has gone north to Soldier's Peak with the other Wardens, and was not in any way subject to my authority. This information made her hysterical, and she has begged me to petition the Circle for the assignment of a Healer to Rainesfere. I have done so, but there has as yet been no response. Obviously, I cannot leave my brother at this time. We shall come to Denerim for the spring Landsmeet and hope to have the child's ceremonial naming then.
Little Rowan seems strong and likely to live. I pray that she does, for losing her would be too much for Eamon to bear. Urge Her Majesty to consent to be her sponsor, I pray you, Alistair: it would comfort Eamon greatly. He spends much of his time at his child's cradle, fearful of those evils that can carry a tiny babe away in the blink of an eye...
There was a long silence. Loghain had disliked the woman, but no man worthy of the name would gloat at a woman's death in childbirth. At her age, she had been a fool to refuse the aid of magic.
"I would have sent Anders to her, had she asked," Loghain finally said. "It is a heavy thing for the child to be without her mother."
Rowan. Rowan Guerrin. There was now another Rowan Guerrin in the world. The very name made Loghain's heart beat faster. A surge of nostalgia for what had been— and what might have been— made his throat constrict painfully. Rowan Guerrin. He would like to see her.
"Rowan," Anora considered. "How proper to remember Queen Rowan, Arl Eamon's sister. Such a lovely name. I do hope the child thrives. She would be such a suitable companion for our Rhoswyn. Almost exactly of an age! They might even be friends. I shall write immediately and give our condolences."
Alistair was quite shocked at the letter and sat staring at the fire for some time. "Poor Isolde! I wouldn't wish that on anyone. That poor little girl! Growing up without a mother! No wonder Lady Habren was frightened. It must have been awful. I hope the Circle sends someone to them right away. I should go and see Arl Eamon..."
Loghain saw Anora's brief grimace. It was mastered, and his daughter said quietly. "I suppose you ought to. It would be very appropriate. Take my letter and my consent to be the child's godmother. We must send something very nice as a gift to little Rowan, as well."
After all that drama, Loghain rode back to Soldier's Peak, half-hoping that Maude will already be there to welcome him home. A vain hope. Indeed, there was not even a letter awaiting him, which was absolutely alarming. Days passed, and no letter came.
Or at least, no letter from Maude. Instead, he received a very friendly and informative letter from the Warden-Commander of Nevarra, and almost equally useful letter from the Warden-Commander of Tantervale. A brief missive from Antiva gave some details of the lack of darkspawn activity in that country over the past year. His campaign by correspondence was bearing fruit.
But they were nearly to the middle of Harvestmere, and there was still no letter from Maude. Dread soured Loghain's temper to the point that Morrigan told him he could take himself off beyond the Waking Sea, if he could not speak civilly to her.
Only Topaz understood him, her brown eyes soft and sympathetic. The puppies were doing very well: one of them, Madcap, had taken to sitting with Telamon in the library, and then following the elf out to the practice yard. It was too early to see if it was a true imprint, but Telamon was all right, and would take proper care of his mabari.
He rode to Breakers Cove one more, glaring at the insolent sea. He had never thought to do it, but if necessary, he would hire one of the wretched boats to take him to Kirkwall, and see what the City of Chains had done to Maude. She was with child. She might be ill. Perhaps she had taken on too much in her fragile state. Perhaps she was a captive, and not up to hacking her way free. If one more day passed without word from her...
His affairs were put in order, and he was on the point of making travel arrangements, when his couriers from Amaranthine galloped up the tunnels to the Peak, bearing an ill-favored specimen whose trembling hand held a letter...
2 Harvestmere, Dragon 9:32
This letter is brought to you by Dabney Prynne, who is delighted to go home to Ferelden, and has been promised three sovereigns. He is from White River, and is returning there. The three sovereigns are to make his wife happy to see him again.
First of all. I am perfectly fine. I am sorry I could not come home when I received your letter, but events intervened. I AM FINE. So anything you read in this letter should not disturb you unduly. I shall be home a few days after this letter.
The consortium has come through, and the Wardens look to be ten thousand sovereigns richer. The delay comes from the dwarves having to actually scout up that much gold, rather than fobbing me off with a Letter of Credit, which I was assured would be just as good as gold anywhere in the civilized world. Ha!
I pointed out to them that I am from FERELDEN, and practically nobody there even knows what a Letter of Credit is. They sulked, but I had the upper hand…especially after giving a few of them a little nudge. You know what I mean.
So I am victorious, and was all set to return home as soon as the gold was delivered, when an unrelated crisis blew up that I had to deal with.
I told you about that Hawke family, and how I was trying to assist them. I've had a few amusing adventures with the brother and sister and their interesting friends. One of them involved the Qunari and was very interesting indeed. Certain details I shall give in person, but basically I went with them to the sea shore hard by the city-the place that is called the Wounded Coast. We had some errands there, among them ridding the coast road of renegade Qunari, more properly called Tal-Vashoth. Naturally, we were successful.
I got to know more of the Hawkes' friends on our little jaunt. Two of them were elves. One, Merrill, is an exquisitely pretty mage, formerly of the Dalish, who left her clan due to some unspecified difficulty. She is now exploring life in the Alienage, and very disagreeable she finds it. She is a sweet, innocent creature, but a powerful spellcaster.
The other elf is even more extraordinary. Have you ever seen an elf wield a two-handed blade? I now have, and was very impressed. The elf's name is Fenris, and he hails from the Tevinter Imperium. Well, "escaped" is more accurate than "hails." He was the slave of a magister, and has little memory of his life there, due to the various enchantments of his former master. The enchantments were remarkable, and have caused Fenris to hate mages even more than you hate Orlesians.
Really.
Think about it.
Fenris is spectacular with that greatsword of his. Ordinarily the weapon would not be appropriate to the size and strength of an elf, but Fenris is unusually tall for an elf—above the height of an average human male— and his master's rituals have given him exceptional strength and some unique abilities. (They are actually magical fighting abilities, but I cannot say that in Fenris' hearing, for hearing that he is magical would drive him mad with rage). They were extremely painful rituals, evidently, which tattooed lyrium into his skin. The effect is eerie but beautiful, and Zevran would be jealous.
He fought so well that I considered -–very seriously- conscripting him, but decided against it. He is so embittered by his years of slavery and torture that any form of compulsion would be odious to him. He would likely lash out or simply run away. If he did not, he would be very, very difficult to deal with. Only the strongest bonds of friendship or love could hold him, and I cannot offer him those. Reluctantly, I put aside the idea of using that dose of Avernus' potion I carry with me at all times. A pity, for in addition to his superb fighting skills, he has a most beautiful and refined speaking voice. Listening to it is a pleasure. I suspect, that were his heart in it, he would sing very well.
At any rate, our business on the Wounded Coast was conducted successfully, and I went with the Hawkes to be presented to the Arishok. That was also a very interesting experience.
He hates being in Kirkwall. That much is clear. He loathes and despises the place so much that I suspect he would like to erase it completely from the world,, for all that the Qunari claim never to waste anything. I discovered that Fenris speaks Qunari, and my own few Qunari tags proved useful.
And the Arishok knew who I was! That was rather exciting. Sten had apparently spread my fame to his people as a "matchless warrior." I assumed my most dignified mien, since Qunari are deplorably lacking in anything resembling a sense of humor.
The Arishok questioned me, wondering if I was not horrified and disgusted by the disorganization of Kirkwall, and if they would not all be better being assigned roles in accordance with the Qun. I refrained from remarking on how parochial all people—including the Qunari—are in thinking their own home customs the best. Instead, I replied that I myself, as a Warden, had an assigned role of supreme importance and uncompromising demands. He seemed to respect that, as he respects Hawke's prowess and Fenris' good manners, but he considers the rest of Kirkwall a basket case.
Personally, I agree with him, though obviously for reasons of my own. Kirkwall is a mess and needs a real Viscount to put it in order. It's quite beyond Dumar's abilities. If I had been exiled here after the Blight, I can assure you that things would already be quite different. However, this is not my home, and Ferelden, Gwaren, and the Wardens are quite enough to engage my time and energy.
I did want to leave my friends the better for knowing me, however. The night before I planned to leave I had a nice talk with Viscount Dumar. He may be on the rack between the Chantry and the Qunari, but there are still things he can do in his own city. He signed the transfer of title of the Amell mansion to Adam Hawke, whom his son looks upon as a friend, the transfer to be effective the day I vacate it. In addition, he produced a signed appointment for Adam to serve as his son's Gentleman of the Bedchamber.
Believe me, that is a perfectly respectable title in Kirkwall! It doesn't mean what you think it means. Kirkwall, for all its hatred of Orlais, still keeps a few of its customs, and among them is the custom of people of noble birth waiting on higher-ranking people of noble birth. Sort of as if I were Anora's personal maid. I know, I know: but it's the custom HERE. Anyway, what a Gentleman of the Bedchamber would be in Adam Hawke's case would be Saemus Dumar's personal bodyguard and companion—someone who is very reliable with a sword, but who is acceptable in polite society as well. Something like the dwarven idea of a second, I suppose. The post would be quite remunerative, believe it or not, and would keep Mamma and Bethany in fine style in their charming home.
So Ranger and I paid a call on the "hovel' in Lowtown to give the family the good news. I arrived, and was greeted by Widow Hawke's anguished wails. Those two idiots had gone off to the Deep Roads anyway. I had not given them the maps, but I had shown them to them, and they had made their own maps from memory. What a catastrophe! Mamma was only a little comforted by news of my good services. Mostly, it was "Oh, Grey Warden! Save my children!"
All right, you ask: why did I show them the maps in the first place? The answer, obviously, is that they had information that I wanted, and I had to bargain with them.
What information, you ask? My dearest, sit down when you read this. It is very alarming.
I learned how the Hawkes left Ferelden one night. The two sons (for there was another son, who was killed by darkspawn), were in the Lothering irregulars. After the battle, they dashed home to their family (perfectly understandable, as Ceorlic's officers had already departed), and they gathered up Mistress Hawke and Bethany. They joined forces with that soldier who is now the captain of the city guard and her husband, and made a run for it. Not fast enough, as Adam tells me. They were surrounded by darkspawn, and as good as dead (the brother was indeed dead, as was the guardswoman's husband, who was one of those married Templars). Quite suddenly they were rescued, just as in the old legends, but not by a hero.
FLEMETH arrived, in her dragon guise, and slew or drove off the darkspawn. Then she transformed back into human shape and spoke to them.
Oh, yes, it was Flemeth, all right. Though her appearance sounds handsomer than anything she showed me, the manner of speech they describe is all too familiar. This must have happened after Alistair, Morrigan and I left Flemeth behind, and had departed from Lothering itself. I'm surprised the Hawkes were so slow off the mark, but there were a lot of people dawdling in Lothering when they should have been running.
Anyway, so Flemeth arrived, and saved them, and offered to take them to Gwaren, where they could find a ship bound for Kirkwall.
In exchange for this very great service, she asked only the smallest of favors in return: that they take a certain amulet with them, and give it to a Dalish Keeper named Marethari whom they would find in the mountains hard by Kirkwall. Obviously, they agreed.
So they arrived in Kirkwall, and at length, true to their word—the idiots—they found the Dalish and this Marethari. She knew what they were there for apparently, and on a mountaintop the little mage Merrill performed a ritual with the amulet, and Flemeth appeared. Apparently, she had anticipated the possibility of being killed, and this amulet contained enough of her essence for her to be reborn. She then transformed back into a dragon and flew away. The Hawkes were mightily impressed.
Very disturbing, I say; and I'm quite sure Morrigan would put it even more strongly. Flemeth is thus definitely alive and on the loose. We can only hope she stays on the north side of the Waking Sea. I have no idea if a High Dragon can fly across or not. Morrigan and I once speculated if Flemeth was entirely human, and based on some cryptic comments to the Hawkes, I think it's fairly clear that she is…not at all.
To get this story out of them, I did indeed show them that part of the Deep Roads near Kirkwall, emphasizing the extreme danger of the place. I thought I was persuasive, and perhaps I did persuade young Bethany. Adam let me think he was convinced, but I now realize that he is as difficult to work my wiles upon as you.
So Mamma was screeching and wailing that she was a Dead Woman, and a Dried Husk, and a Used-up Gourd. One must respect a mother's feelings, and I said I'd do what I could. The Hawkes had gone with their friends, including the dwarf Varric and the fair Isabela, both of whom are useful in a fight, but who have no experience of the Deep Roads. They had not even taken Adam's mabari, instead leaving the dog to protect their mother.
I had to leave quickly, and of course I had Valentine, Kain, Darrow, and darling Ranger. Captain Aveline (whom I thought a pompous sort, considering that she is a deserter from the Ferelden Army) did not feel she could abandon her duty, but Merrill heard of the situation and joined us, as did Fenris.
It was very difficult to get him to come along when he saw that Merrill was to be of the party, but I leaned on him with every bit of power I possess. He grudgingly agreed, and we hastened off after Widow Hawke's lost chicks. I took a dirty sock of Adam's, and Ranger had no trouble tracking them at all. And of course, I had the maps.
The Deep Roads around Kirkwall are interesting, and not like the thaigs around Orzammar at all. The style is very different. Anyway, you know about the Deep Roads and fighting darkspawn and I shall not bore you with the details. We found that the Hawkes and their friends had been abandoned by Varric's greedy older brother, Bartrand. and that was dealt with, but then I had to find the Hawkes.
They had actually done very well, and found some remarkable loot, including a grotesque idol fashioned of—believe it or not—RED lyrium. Bartrand had trapped them in a thaig after stealing the idol. Ranger growled at the thing, and refused to permit me to keep it. Since he has never forbidden me loot before, I took his warning seriously. I found a vertical mineshaft and dropped the offending object down it. Bartrand was completely off his head, and threw himself down the shaft after it. Not his best idea, as he was decapitated in the course of the fall. All very sad, I suppose.
After Bartrand's sticky end, I eventually tracked—what am I saying? RANGER tracked Adam down. He and his companions had come upon the old treasury and were weighed down with gold. So it was quite a success, from their point of view, other than needing a bit of rescuing.
Except that darkspawn carry disease. I arrived to find Adam, Varric, and Isabela knocked about but basically all right. Bethany, however, was infected with the Taint, and clearly dying. I had to make a quick decision.
Had I intended to conscript either of the Hawkes, Adam would have been my choice, for he's a clever and ruthless lad, and a fine swordsman. I would have been willing to bet my mother's fur cloak that he would survive the Joining. Bethany, young and gentle as she is, I would not have considered.
However, it was conscript her or give her a merciful death. At that, while failing the Joining looks awful, I'm not so sure it's really worse than a slit throat, so I told them that the only possible cure was becoming a Grey Warden, and she was so far gone that it might not work. I made them move away into another chamber, and I gave it a go.
She survived. I was a bit surprised, but quite pleased, as you can imagine. So I am bringing home another mage for the Wardens. I'm sure that Morrigan would like to have an apprentice of her own—or what did Avernus call them? Acolytes? Yes, tell Morrigan I am bringing her her very own acolyte back from Kirkwall for her to tyrannize over. She should enjoy that, and Bethany seems a quick study and likely to do well. Our Warden lads all approve of her and are glad to have her as a sister.
So back to Kirkwall we went, and gave Widow Hawke the good and the bad news. I explained that Bethany was a Grey Warden now, and would return with me to Ferelden. To emphasize that, I had her join me in the Hightown house, and installed her in one of the lovely upstairs rooms. The Widow and Adam will have them soon enough.
Of course the Widow wailed, though not quite as much as I had expected. Adam comforted his mother, pointing out that Bethany need never fear the Chantry again. The Widow agreed, and added that she was happy that Bethany would be associating with the very noblest in Ferelden—meaning me. Which is true.
Once we were back in the house and could speak privately, Bethany wept, missing her family, but really distressed by what she perceived as their relief in having got rid of her.
"They're the ones who never need fear the Chantry again. I've been such a burden to them! Our family has had to be so very, very careful all these years, and all because of me! Now Adam and Mother can live the life they want and deserve, and they don't have to worry about the Templars breaking down the door. They're glad I'm gone."
I did my best to calm her, and I said that while that might be a little of what her family was feeling—and I did not want to argue the point, since it would be only too human for them to feel that way—Adam and her Mother also were very sad to lose her, and that they obviously did love her. Furthermore, they were just being sensible, because being a Grey Warden was actually a very good thing for her. She would be able to develop and use her wonderful abilities without fear or disguise for the good of all Thedas. And furthermore, she would have a lovely room of her own in the mage's tower of Soldier's Peak and a stipend, and could write to her family as often as she liked.
After all the hurly-burly, I need a bit of time to get all my affairs in order. The dwarves are delivering the gold tomorrow. I hope to be home within a sevenday, and as you have read, not alone.
Ever your
Maude
"Riders in the Tunnels!"
Loghain heard the shout, out on the curtain wall, arguing with Voldrik Glavonak about crenellation size. A hope flared in his heart. There had been no word of storms in the Waking Sea…
There she was, bright as sun on the snow of the Coast Mountains, riding possibly the finest horse Loghain had ever seen. Beside her on a grey palfrey was a young girl with dark hair, looking about her rather uncertainly. Maude leaned over to smile and gossip. The girl smiled back. She was pretty, Loghain noted, and did not look obviously like a mage. Loghain, dwarves and fortifications forgotten, quickly descended the fighting steps and made his way to the gate.
A ginger cat dashed out into the courtyard, paused a split-second, and then darted under a woodpile. Morrigan, black hair unbound, followed a moment later, and shot a cantrip after the fleeing cat. She glared up at Loghain, and shielded her eyes with a hand against the sun.
"Is that Maude at last?"
It was, and Morrigan was clearly glad to see her, though unwilling to admit it. She had been as testy as Loghain lately, as indicated by her blow up with Anders. Perhaps she needed some fighting to work out her temper. She had not taken the news of Flemeth's resurrection at all well.
She saw the young girl riding by Maude, and smirked. Loghain was heartily glad he would never face being her "acolyte."
Everyone was coming out to see Maude, in triumph, leading her Wardens and her guards and her servants and a stout wagon pulled by two oxen. Mistress Woolsey had a little notebook, already prepared to start totaling the newly-won treasure.
"Well met, Grey Wardens!" Maude shouted, and the courtyard cheered. Loghain felt rather like cheering himself.
Instead, he strode to her horse and lifted her down, kissing her soundly, ignoring Morrigan's rolled eyes. Anders was back in human form and coming forward, eyes and wand assessing his patient. Ranger barked excitedly, glad to be home.
As soon as her feet touched the ground and she caught her breath, Maude was introducing their new Warden and telling Loghain of her latest adventures.
"Warden-Commander, this is Bethany, our little sister. I told you that you don't bow to him, Bethany! Morrigan, be nice, and you won't regret it… Yes, this is Morrigan, the Senior Mage Warden. She will have charge of your training, and you're very lucky, for she's the best mage anywhere! This is Anders, our brilliant Healer! You'll be introduced to everyone in due course."
Valentine, cheerful and handsome, was leading a string of excellent horses. Loghain nodded to him, very pleased at the acquisition. He took a moment to assess the stallion Maude was riding. Perfect conformation, noble head, strong—everything he could hope for. The horse fixed Loghain with dark and intelligent eyes, and Loghain, not ordinarily one for flights of imagination, could foresee a long line of first-rate riding horses. He reached out to stroke the sleek black coat.
"He's magnificent."
"Yes, he is," Maude said with satisfaction. "Loghain, meet Shadow. The Antivan horsedealer named him Sciagurato, but Shadow didn't like that name. He's a very intelligent fellow, and helped me get him at a good price. He had something of a bad reputation, but I explained to him that I was going to get him out of Kirkwall and off to a land beyond the sea where he could run as much as he liked and meet lots of lovely mares. He's a pure Antivan barb, but he understands the King's Tongue perfectly well. Ranger vouched for me, and we all agreed Shadow would be better off in Ferelden."
Loghain shook his head at all this fantasy. Anders winked at him. Morrigan merely peered at the horse with great interest. Darrow and Kain were coming up to salute.
"Warden-Commander. Your lady is safe and sound. Ser!"
"As ordered! Ser!"
Maude beamed at everyone, and said, "Presents for everyone from Kirkwall, and heaps of gold for the treasury!"
"Might I have my present now?" Anders teased, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"No, you may not! Warden-Commander first, and in due course, because the presents are under the meal sacks to guard them. At dinner. I want to get the coin locked away and Bethany settled in and have a moment to talk to Loghain…"
"Bethany shall come with me, then," Morrigan commanded. Loghain wondered if she would treat the poor girl as Flemeth had treated her. Surely Maude would prevent that. Still, the girl's trunk was unloaded and carried behind the two women as they went to the Mage's Tower. The Wardens and the crowd melted away. Mistress Woolsey gathered a group of workmen to carry the heavy chests to the treasury. Anders seemed inclined to follow Morrigan, when Maude caught him by the sleeve.
"A word of advice, Anders," Maude whispered. "Don't even think of flirting with that little girl. Really."
Anders sighed, obviously regretting the opportunity to charm yet another female. "I suppose. She'd end up dead, and I'd end up gelded, and you'd probably only scold Morrigan." He shot her a grin, and sloped off, back to the Tower.
"Not so little, really," Loghain remarked, cocking his head.
"She's a year younger than I was when I was conscripted, and I was much too young. It's a shame it had to happen the way it did, but she seems in fairly good spirits, considering. She had time to get used to her separation from her family, and it was done somewhat gradually, so I think she'll be fine. And she can kill darkspawn like nobody's business, so it's all good. She can kill Templars and priests, too," she said lowering her voice, "which was lucky for me."
"What do you mean? Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm all right and the Little Teyrn is fine. A day before my departure, the Chantry—meaning Meredith and her toadies—tried to use me for their own ends. It's a long story, and involves a Qunari Saarebas—that means 'mage' in their tongue—and what they wanted was for me to be murdered and to use the murder of a distinguished foreign guest as an excuse to attack the Qunari. Idiots. I told that bitch Sister Petrice that they didn't need an excuse. If they wanted to attack them, then they should get to it, but Maker fuck it if I was going to be used like that. So I killed the Qunari and I killed Petrice and her Templar, too. Very neatly done, if I say so myself. Nobody's even likely to find the bodies. Meredith will be very puzzled."
Loghain kicked at a rock. "Maude, I am never letting you out of my sight again!"
"Sounds fine to me," she laughed. "How about letting me into your sight in private?"
"As soon as we get this lovely big fellow to the stable. First things first."
The horses were treated like the precious jewels they were; the crates; sacks and trunks were bestowed appropriately; a prize Vimmark ram was given into the care of the awed Sintons. Maude had brought some people with her, too: some artisans who had to be lodged and settled. When at last Loghain had Maude to himself in the privacy of their very own bedchamber, they were both too impatient to stand on ceremony, and neither of them bothered to remove their boots.
Their clothes were torn off, and Maude's smalls ended up somewhere near the chessboard. Loghain tripped over the rug and they fell together onto the bed, already one. He had missed her, missed her; and could not stop even when in this ridiculously awkward position, Instead he pressed on and on until she was crying out, over and over again. Bliss rushed through him into a single point of perfection, and he was done.
As they caught their breath, Maude gave him a warm and thrilling kiss, and began putting herself in enough order to get under the covers of their elegant bed. She tugged off her boots, and then turned and gave him a look of triumphant mischief.
"One present before we meet the others, Loghain."
She pawed through her trunks, while Loghain drew off his own boots and stretched out onto the bed, enjoying the view of her smooth and muscular backside. He had just about decided to go over there and make something of it, when she came racing back, waving a disreputable leather pouch.
Maude scrambled onto the bed, and then carefully loosened the drawstring. "Guess what this is!"
Loghain scowled at her quizzically. In the bag was a coarse black powder "More Ashes of Andraste? Or Maferath?" He wrinkled his nose. "It stinks."
Then his mind clicked. Coarse. Black. Powder.
"This is it? The Qunari Black Powder?"
"Yes! What they call gaatlok. I scrounged it from the campsites of the Tal-Vashoth we killed on the Wounded Coast. Everybody else was looking for coin. It doesn't look like much, but altogether I got enough that maybe we can figure out what it is. Some of it must be charcoal, but I don't know what makes it stink like that."
Loghain took a small pinch of the powder, crumbling it carefully, and then smelling his fingers. "It smells something like rotten eggs."
"And that's what everyone says it smells like when the smoke from the qunari cannon fills the air! Rotten eggs! Let me show you something. I've been experimenting."
Loghain did not much like the sound of that, but Maude pulled out a shallow silver bowl and sprinkled a little of the powder at the bottom. Striking a flint she tossed a bit of flaming tinder into the bowl. The powder sizzled up, sparking and fizzing. Loghain frowned. That was not was he was expecting.
"Wait!" Maude said, bouncing about rather delightfully. "It does something different when it's enclosed!"
She produced a tube of heavy parchment, with one end sealed. She poured in a little powder and stuffed a rag into the tube. Then, eyes bright and excited, she tossed it into the fireplace.
A muffled bang! startled Loghain in spite of himself. The smell of rotten eggs filled the room.
"It's gaatlok, all right," Maude declared smugly. and then waved at the offending odor. "I know! Ugh!"
Laughing, she pounced on Loghain who flipped her over and set about ravishing her thoroughly. The odd, penetrating smell of rotten eggs was to him the smell of victory: of enemy ships splintered and sinking, of darkspawn disappearing in a red mist, of the walls of Orlesian fortresses collapsing like sandcastles.
"You do give the best presents, Maude," he murmured, on the high road to rapture.
Notes-Thanks to my reviewers: Zute, cloud1004, JackOfBladesX, Psyche Sinclair, karinfan, Phygmalion, Dante Alighieri1308, Josie Lange, Gene Dark, mutive, Juliafied, Shakespira, Lehni, Kira Kyuu, Tyanilth, Enaid Aderyn, Jenna53, and mille libri.
I realize that Bethany in canon really, really hates being a Grey Warden. However, anybody would hate it, being swept off without a hint of decent compassion by Stroud, and not being allowed to see her family until years later when it suits the Wardens in Ansburg. Being recruited by Maude is an entirely different affair.
Sciagurato=wicked, wretched, unlucky