The Keening Blade:

Chapter 40: Stardust Dreams

Anders bounded into the War Room. He stood at the threshold, arms spread wide, and shouted, "Sela Petrae!"

A bemused silence followed.

"What?" Loghain demanded.

"I think he's happy about something," Maude guessed. "Not sure what. But definitely happy. I like happy people."

Morrigan pushed past Anders, glancing at him in scorn. "Let us shut the door." She did so, and shoved the ebullient Anders toward his usual chair. "He is capering like a noddy about that Qunari blackpowder."

Anders smiled luminously. "The last ingredient!"

Loghain tapped his fingers restlessly. "You mentioned charcoal and drakestone. And this sela petrae is also essential?"

"Absolutely essential," Anders grinned. "But that's it. Only three ingredients!"

"What is Sela Petrae? Maude asked. "Is it rare? Is it hard to get?"

Anders' grin, incredibly, broadened. "Couldn't be cheaper and more common."

"We can mine drakestone from the Deep Roads," Loghain said impatiently. "Where do we find this Sela Petrae?"

"All we need," Anders chuckled, "is a lot of piss. And it doesn't matter whose."

Another bemused pause, and then Anders explained the process of evaporation and crystallization in more detail.

"We can also use birdshit and batshit, if we want to bother to collect the latter when we're in the Deep Roads. It would work really well."

"So what it 'boils down to,'" teased Maude, "is that the ingredients are cheap and easy to come by. What about the process itself?"

"More to the point," said Loghain, "have you succeeded in making gaatlok yourself?"

Morrigan sat back, looking smug. Anders grinned.

Loghain raised his brows. "I take it that is a 'yes.'"

"It needs more work," Anders admitted. " We can give you a demonstration in a few days. The stuff we made isn't as powerful as the Qunari kind. I'm sure it's the process, though, not the ingredients. We've even considered infusing it with lyrium—"

"With great caution," Morrigan emphasized.

Maude shifted her pregnant bulk, grimacing, and then said, "I think we should call it something different. We shouldn't use the words 'gaatlok' or 'blackpowder.' They'll attract the wrong kind of attention. The minute the Qunaris know we have this, they'll attack. I'm sure of it. We need a different word."

"Like a code…" Loghain considered, already devising the necessary protocol for collecting chamberpots and storing the urine in barrels… in a place where no one would confuse it with the cider...

"Like…boomstuff…" Maude said dreamily. "Or Dragon Ashes, or Wrath of the Maker, or gunk, or stardust…I like stardust. It gives no clue whatever about its actual composition…"

"And we could use it differently than the Qunaris do," Anders said. "For one thing, we could wrap some of it behind arrowheads—or ballista bolts. Then if a mage sent a fireball at a target, it would ignite, and make the fireball immensely more powerful and explosive."

Loghain nodded, following the idea, but not wanting to limit the use by needing magical assistance. "The Qunari must have some other way of igniting it."

"I saw some of their grenades," Maude volunteered. "Had them thrown at me, too. They had a fire going, and they lit something like the wick of a candle that was attached to the grenade. Then they threw it before the wick burned down. Sometimes the wick was long enough that I could throw it back and surprise them. That was a lot of fun."

Loghain imagined the substance's use in traps, smiling quietly. The trigger could be one of the usual fire traps, attached to a much large bomb. The trap would be laid…the darkspawn lured in…a powerful explosion. It could be used to collapse tunnels and destroy whole lairs, much as that lyrium bomb had destroyed the breeding grounds of the Mother's minions…

And of course, its use would not be limited to underground. It would be kept in reserve, as a grim but satisfying surprise for any invader…

"You've done well," he complimented the mages. "Extremely well. Continue your researches, but don't blow up the fortress or yourselves. I agree that we must be discreet, but I want a demonstration in a sevenday."

"So—" smirked Anders. "Stardust?"

"Why not?"

"I do hate feeling helpless and incompetent," Maude sulked, hand on her swollen belly.

Loghain, reading at last through the First Warden's letter Maude had described as "stupid," snorted unkindly at the very idea of Maude being incompetent. She might not be her unnaturally quick self with a blade at the moment, but she'd undoubtedly find a way to make fools of people in every other way, if it proved necessary or entertaining.

"Well, I am!" she insisted. "Look at me!"

Loghain looked at her, and shrugged, turning back to his letter. "You look beautiful."

"That's not the point! What if I had to fight a dragon?"

"You don't have to fight a dragon right now, Maude. You just have to let me read this."

She flopped—cautiously—into a chair. "The First Warden is such a buffoon. We shouldn't pay any attention to him."

"He's a buffoon with a great deal of influence and power, and he appears to be very put out with me at the moment."

The First Warden, it appeared, was extremely displeased at Loghain for writing to his peers and making suggestions and plans that should be the sole purview of the First Warden.

"That Peyrolle in Orlais ratted you out," Maude said. "Just for that, he gets an extra helping of darkspawn."

Loghain read on. The First Warden, Loghain was assured, would disseminate any intelligence pertinent to Loghain's duties. Loghain was not to concern himself with the tactical situation of any command other than his own. He was not to concern himself with overall Warden strategy. The other Wardens-Commander had been likewise advised.

"I am to adhere to the chain of command in future," Loghain sneered.

"He's a dickhead,' Maude agreed. "And I don't think he has a strategy, or even a tactical grasp of what's going on. He's too busy trying to run the Anderfels. As far as I can see, the strategy of the Wardens has always been "Whack a Mole."

Loghain stared at her. She sighed dramatically.

"You know what I mean! If darkspawn show up on the surface, react. Deal with the immediate problem, but not with the source in any serious manner. Go into the Deep Roads to initiate your new recruits and do the occasional training patrol. Send your older Wardens there all by themselves, so they can be the next generation of Hurlock Generals and Broodmothers. We mustn't run out of darkspawn, must we, and thus make ourselves obsolete? Wouldn't be prudent. Maintain the status quo at all costs."

"There may be a great deal in what you say," Loghain said slowly. "Institutional inertia and ossification might also factor in. The First Warden probably became a Warden as a young man. He was indoctrinated by others who had also been Wardens all their adult lives. They do things the way they have always been done."

"I suppose," Maude laughed. "And he can claim it's worked out really well: after all, the Wardens destroyed the Blight in less than two years this time! That proves his 'strategy' is brilliant!"

Loghain chuckled himself. He could imagine the self-satisfied attitudes in Weisshaupt. At least he had received some useful information from the other Warden posts, before the First Warden shut him down. Or had he? If he quietly continued to write to like-minded peers, like Sainsby in Ansberg and Hector Pentaghast in Nevarra, what could the First Warden actually do about it? Good luck if he tried to replace Loghain with one of his own. As to the Orlesians, well...

He smirked, consigning them to the rubbish heap of Warden history.

"Have you heard from Leliana recently?" he asked. It would not be a bad idea to keep some sort of watch on their supposed brothers across the border.

"Not in months," Maude said. "I'm a little concerned. I'll write her, and ask what's going on." She made a face. "I suppose I should be careful about what I tell her is going on here. I can't tell her about Stardust, or about all the money we made from dragonbone... No. I can the latter, I suppose, since the Orlesians already know about that because of the blabbing wannabe Orlesians in Kirkwall. So, all right. I'll tell her a bit about my lovely holiday in Kirkwall and about Bethany and how nice she is. I can tell her a bit about Soldier's Peak and that it's going well. I'll tell her about the Great Hall. It's so pretty. She'll like that. I wonder if she already knows about the baby?"

Loghain frowned, a little concerned. "Peyrolle probably does. From the moment we made the announcement at Highever, we have to presume that word was winging its way to the ears of the Empress and her favorites. I'm sure they can't wait to share it with the First Warden."

"Actually," Maude brightened. "I think we should send an official report of it to the First Warden ourselves. He won't find me as easy to bully as Alistair's poor mother. He'll probably cut off my stipend if I don't leave the baby in a basket on the Chantry doorstep, but I daresay I can manage to survive without his coin!"

She pulled a chair up to the other side of the writing table and began scratching at a parchment with her drawing pencils, humming to herself. Loghain shook his head, and went back to his correspondence.

There really were markedly fewer darkspawn at large throughout Ferelden—at least in the places that had troubled to reply to him. He saw no reason to guess that those places that had not—Orlais and the Anderfels—were much different than anywhere else.

That was evidence that there was not an infinite number of darkspawn: that their numbers were not so vast as to make any initiative against them doomed from the start. If they had been so numerous, why had not the Archdemon Urthemiel called a million darkspawn to the march on Denerim? Any opposition to the horde would have been hopeless, and there would have been decades—even centuries—or darkness.

Instead, as far as Loghain could reckon, the Archdemon had amassed perhaps fifteen thousand darkspawn in all, and many of those had come long distances, lured by the Old God's song. Perhaps there had been more: perhaps twenty thousand was closer to the mark. It was difficult to get numbers on the darkspawn killed by the dwarves. They really must learn more about how the darkspawn multiplied.

The ogres were particularly interesting. It was believed that ogres must be the offspring of Qunari women. There were no ogres in the historic records in past Blights. The first reports of them were from the Steel Age, over a hundred years after the Fourth Blight, and about fifty years after the Qunari invasion of Thedas. The gigantic horned appearance of ogres could stem from no other heritage known in the world. Ogres were comparatively uncommon. There might be only one or two Broodmothers who had spawned the entire population of them. Did the Qunari know of this? Did they care?

They must, to some extent, or they would not have been curious enough to send Maude's old friend Sten of the Beresaad to investigate. Of course, investigating the Blight was a splendid and plausible cover story for a reconnaisance preparatory to an invasion. Both reasons might in fact be valid. Loghain shifted in his chair, displeased with himself. He should never have allowed Sten to leave Ferelden alive.

But one problem at a time. The darkspawn were continuing to replenish their numbers. Darkspawn were born adult, and so there was no period of vulnerability and training. If they had sufficient Broodmothers, hidden away in deep caverns, they could soon be back to Blight numbers. Loghain could only hope there would be more internecine feuds to help hold down their population.

"I think I found a nest under Amaranthine," Loghain said, pulling out his working map. "Here."

"Seranni? Or some other poor woman?" Maude wondered, looking up from her parchment. "Who knows how many they grabbed when they were raiding the farms? If you think it's a Broodmother, we can't destroy her fast enough. Is that why you wanted a lot of archers? You'll need more than arrows to put down a bitch like that."

"I'm well aware of that. We'll use bombs and grenades. Possibly a portable nallista as well."

Maude nodded judiciously. "You can't have a much more stationary target than a Broodmother."

"Fimo and that new fellow Narik are fair engineers. We'll have five mages, too. I'm going to take all of them. If this is a Broodmother, it's too valuable a training mission for anyone to miss. I got the impression that very few Wardens have ever seen even one."

"Be sure to have Anders, Oghren, and Sigrun take a look at the poor thing before you mangle her to death. They're the ones who could recognize Seranni. I want to be able to check her off the list of possible threats." She scowled. "I wish I were going, but in a way I'm glad I'm not. Broodmothers are depressing. On the other hand, we've got to get them. I'll bet there are a bunch of them in the south. Let's take a good sized party with us to Gwaren and see what turns up."

That was exactly what Loghain was planning. If Maude was determined to bear her child in Gwaren, he must go with her. Once there, he wanted to secure his son's city from attack from below. They would descend into the Deep Roads there, explore the GwarenPassage and indeed see what 'turned up.'

Maude had returned to her project, charcoals scratching on parchment. Loghain puzzled over the meticulous way she was using her measuring tools.

"What that?" Loghain wondered. "Are you designing something?"

"Remembering something," she said, still focused on her work. "It could be answer to my problem."

"Which problem is that?"

"I told you!" she blew out a breath, exasperated with him. "Being helpless and vunerable and too slow to use a sword. It's horrible. I can hardly sleep at night, thinking about the things that happen to women who can't use their swords properly."

He got up and walked around the table, watching her work, stroking the glossy brown hair. "I really don't think you're in a great deal of danger at the moment."

"I could be," she disagreeed. "At this very moment, there might be an expeditionary force of picked Qunari of the Beresaad, landing at Breaker's Cove, getting ready to storm Soldier's Peak. What would I do then? Huh? What? Go run and hide in the cellars? Bake cookies?"

"They like cookies." Loghain pointed out. "It might indeed be an effective diversionary tactic."

She poked him with her sharpened charcoal. "...Or maybe some Orlesian spies have climbed the reverse slope of the Coast Range, and are in the orchard while we are speaking right now! Or intelligent darkspawn are tunneling up underneath our feet... Or the Templars are coming to arrest our mages... If any or all those things happen, I've got to be ready!"

She was looking a little wild-eyed, so Loghain decided that humoring her was the safest tactic.

"What do you intend to do?"

"I need a serious weapon I can use. Right now. I saw one in Kirkwall that would do, and I think our dwarven smiths are clever enough to reproduce it."

Loghain leaned over the table, studying the plan. Maude was a surprisingly good draftswoman, though he supposed he should not be surprised at her doing anything well. The object taking shape on the parchment was complicated, and reminded him of the mechanism for a dwarven barrier door: all screws and gears. There was also a long spring of silverite in the center of a barrel, and a wooden handle of some sort, and then a trigger device, which looked like...

"Is that a crossbow?"

She shook her head quickly, neatly shading in the background. "Varric calls it a crossbow, but it's really not. It doesn't use a bowstring. Instead, it's got a powerful spring, and a gear switch on a screw that cocks the thing. You can even load it with multiple quarrels. It's neat. Varric does major damage with his. It's his primary weapon. It has an amazing range and accuracy, and it's really, really powerful. He can knock down a genlock with it.. He had a sighting device built into it...see there? And he had some explosive bolts for his that made targets literally turn inside out. It was beautiful."

"If that cousin of the Glavonaks can forge that spring, I suppose it's possible." Loghain looked at the nice little diagram more closely. "Let me know what happens with that. It could be useful."

She nodded again, like a serious child engaged in absorbing play. He snorted. "You could load it with your little juggling balls, I suppose. Those would hurt."

That made her smile, though she still did not look up. "Maybe at short range," she agreed. "And hollowed out and filled with explosives or poison. What fun!"

"Is that another part of the mechanism?" he asked, puzzling over some spirals and swirls.

"No. That's where my name will be inlaid in gold when it's complete. It's going to be gorgeous."

Today, the mages were entirely too pleased with themselves. The workroom at the top of the Mages' Tower was a far more comfortable place since the broken windows were reglazed and the holes in the floor filled in. There was a strong smell of drakestone, and a lingering odor of rotten eggs. Morrigan and Anders were smirking at each other, which was even more ominous.

The biggest worktable was arranged with mortars and pestles, with shallow metal trays, with assorted rags of silk and linen, with crumpled parchment, with copper bowls, with tubes of bronze and iron and dragonthorn wood. One of the largest tubes was fixed to a mount to hold it rigid. There was a heavy urn, filled to the brim with coarse black powder.

Loghain picked up one of the tubes to examine it. A hollow cylinder, open at one end. A very small hole was drilled into the closed end. It was blackened by scorch marks.

Morrigan, in an insufferably superior tone, began. "We discovered why the Qunari powder was so coarse-grained—"

"—completely by accident," Anders confessed. "We spilled water on a batch of the powder and it dried out that way. It's a lot stronger now."

Morrigan huffed her displeasure. "That's as may be," she said haughtily. "Nonetheless, we believe we have reproduced—in miniature—the principle of the Qunari cannon. We read various descriptions—invariably written by those who ran away from them. However, certain details are uniform: large metal cylinders, fixed on wheeled mounts; the use of fire and wicking to ignite them; the heavy recoiling jolt when the gaatlok explodes and the missile is shot from the cannon. The smith Glassric made the metal tubes for us. We are no metalworkers, to devise well-forged cannons, but we have succeeded in reproducing the explosive powder, with only the simplest ingredients and no magic infusing it."

"Though we will try adding lyrium eventually. But before all that...well..." Anders grinned. "Look at the wall over there!"

He moved a screen aside, revealing something that resembled a archery target. It was a thick sack of wool, a bullseye painted on the coarse, torn sacking. The tears, examined more closely, proved to be holes, much like those made by an arrow.

"Not very impressive accuracy," Loghain snorted, disapproving of the pattern of hits.

"Look at this," Anders smirked, pulling the heavy woolsack away from the wall. Behind it, the wall itself was scored and chipped. Maude, aflame with curiosity, hurried over to examine it. Loghain followed, frowning. They chipped a stone wall with these little toys?

"What did you use as a missile?" Maude asked eagerly.

"All sorts of things!" Anders said, waving his hands. "We tried little glass balls, but they shattered within the test cannons, and exploded in a fine, dangerous dust. Stone shattered, too, and wood splintered."

"What about lead?" Loghain asked. "It's cheap and malleable."

"That what we've used. It's also interesting to see what it looks like after it hits something. And we tried lots of little round balls crammed in at once. It did this!"

He dragged out another wool stuffed target. Maude and Loghain gazed on the damage in silence.

"I like that," Maude said. "I think that has possibilities. I want to see it done."

The fixed tube was quickly arranged in front of the target and clamped to the table. Morrigan carefully spooned a measure of the coarse black powder into the cylinder, pushed in a lsmall lead ball, and then crammed in some torn bits of silk, tamping everything back with a stick. Meanwhile, Anders slipped a length of candlewicking into the small hole in the rear.

"This is that part I really like," he muttered, lighting a splinter of wood from a brazier. "Everyone, stand behind the cannon, now..."

Morrigan rolled her eyes, as he touched the burning splinter to the wicking. It fizzed a little. Loghain wondered if they had impregnated the wick with some of their powder. It burned down, down...

Bang!

The crack of the gaatlok forced a flinch from Loghain. Nothing in nature sounded quite like it. Another big hole appeared in the target.

Not anywhere near the center, Loghain noted with a snort.

Maude jumped, and then squealed with joy.

"I want to do that?"

"Of course you do," Loghain muttered. Her new spring-loaded crossbow was quite fanciful enough. He hoped she would not take it into her head to want to swagger through Ferelden with some sort of miniature Qunari cannon strapped to her back.

The dogs were not so pleased with the demonstration, and made their discontent perfectly clear.

"It's very noisy, I know, darling boy," Maude soothed Ranger. "But those big bangs will kill simply heaps of darkspawn. You'll get used to it."

Ranger squinted at her with such manifest skepticism that Loghain burst out laughing. Topaz simply seemed appalled. Onyx lay down and put his paws over his ears.

"Just one more," Maude said eagerly. "Show me how!"

Loghain pulled up a bench and gathered the dogs by him, showing them by his unconcerned manner that this was nothing to fear. Anders moved the target a few inches to the right. Meanwhile, Maude went into a frenzy of powder-measuring and rag-stuffing, while Morrigan hovered. Anders showed her the wicking and allowed her to light it. Loghain scowled at the mages until they pulled Maude back away from the object. It banged again: short, sharp, and painful, and yet another hole appeared, this one a little more respectably near the middle of the target.

Topaz stood up and looked at Loghain with pitiful reproach.

"We're not done yet," he said sternly. He turned to Anders and asked, "What about bombs and traps?"

This demonstration he found more practical. Developing anything like Qunari cannons would clearly take years. A worthy project, when they could conscript some well-trained smiths and engineers, but not something that they should waste their best mages upon to the exclusion of all else.

One of the old experimental openings in the floor was used for the demonstration. A crockery jar was filled with some of the black powder and an assortment of metal scraps. and over that was a standard fire trap, set off by a pressure plate. Another sack of wool was carefully laid over all.

"For safety's sake," Morrigan told them, beautiful face serious. They were made to stand back, and Anders rolled a stone ball toward the hole in the floor, It trundled to the edge, disappeared, and thumped onto the wool sack with a thud.

And a crack of thunder shook the room. Bits of wool fluff and shredded sacking blew into the air, in a blizzard of destruction. They stood stock-still until their ears stopped ringing, and then they walked cautiously to the opening and looked in.

"Now that," Loghain remarked, "is what I like to see. No legends, no stories, no make-believe. Just good, sound engineering."

"Good, sound, destructive engineering," Maude agreed, very impressed.

The hunt for the Broodmother would be their last mission before First Day. Maude was determined that the holiday would celebrated with maximum festivity. There would be a feast; there would be games; there would be entertainment. Loghain wondered how far she would go, but after listening in on some of his people's conversations, Loghain agreed that it would be good for morale.

As long as she doesn't try to make me play any bloody games. I hate games.

But before the reward must come the mission. Once finished there, he wanted to stop at Vigil's Keep and see if he could get Delilah's agreement to his defensive proposals for the North. A letter to that effect was sent to her, giving her the approximate dates he could be expected.

They had a final briefing before their departure, and an additional, more detailed meeting with the mages, who would be key to this operation. Once the plans were clear to everyone, the meeting dissolved into general conversation. Bethany seemed to be getting on better with her cousin, their new Warden Ambrose. As Loghain learned more about the man's situation, he had begun to feel some sympathy. Amell had been a friend of that blood mage Jowan, and had been caught up in the fellow's spectacular escape from the Circle. Amell himself, unfortunately, had not escaped, and had been horrified at the revelation that his friend was actually guilty of exactly the crime the Templars had suspected. That did not save him from a harsh punishment indeed.

Loghain, in light of what was going on in the Circle at the moment, wanted to know as much as possible, and so asked the man for the whole story.

"Well," Amell scoffed, "my story isn't particularly interesting. I came very, very close to summary execution, which would have ended my story pretty damned quick. Instead,Irving negotiated leniency for me from Greagoir, on the grounds that I had been tricked by Jowan—like many others. Also, he was pleased to imagine that my heart had been softened by a tale of young love. Jowan, you see, dreamed of escaping with his girlfriend Lily, a Chantry initiate…"

Loghain rolled his eyes. Maude was amused. "A mage and a Chantry initiate? This just gets worse and worse!"

"Lily had been pledged to the Chantry against her will, so she was already willing to run. She might have done, too, but for the blood magic. That revolted her, and she was caught. Greagoir sentenced her to be taken to the Aeonar Prison, but I have absolutely no idea if that happened or not. During the Blight, everything was in such flux, I'm not sure they would bother to arrange a transport detail, just for one foolish initiate. Jowan and I used to speculate about the Aeonar, anyway. Is there really such a place at all? Or do the Templars just use the name to threaten people, but really take them out in the woods and lop off their heads? 'Killed trying to escape' seems to work for them pretty well."

"Very interesting point," Maude agreed cheerily. "Something to investigate. Anyway, what happened to you?"

"I was sentenced to the cells below the Tower. Anders knows about them. Solitary confinement, supposedly for a year. However, with the uproar at the Circle, nobody had time to release me. I was lucky that they even remembered to feed me. Anders got away during the rebellion. I was much lower down, and had three iron doors to get through. I survived, though, and found out that Greagoir retired after the big battle and the Chantry had sent a new man to take command. The Chantry's very upset about the number of mages who slipped their grasp during the fighting. They're not admitting how many got away, but it was a lot. Some joined the Mage's Collective, and word is that the Templars have come down hard on them. Others have gone to ground. Some have gone south to find what's left of the Chasinds. They may be barbarians, but they respect mages. Others are living as regular people. Some have tried to make a run for Rivain or Tevinter."

"It's true there's been a big uptick in apostates," Maude said thoughtfully. "Good for them. I like being free, too."

Loghain was not so pleased. "Mages are Ferelden's last, best defense. I don't like the idea of losing any. Tell me more about this new Knight-Commander. Who is he, anyway?"

"His name…" Anders paused, struggling not to smile…"Is Ser Berengar de Malsange."

Loghain punched the wall. "Well! There you are! Say no more!"

"Say no more!" echoed Maude, eyes glassy with anticipation.

"Please, say no more," Morrigan muttered, "but I fear 'tis far too late!"

It was too much. Loghain snarled, "Who thought it was a good idea to give Ferelden a bloody Orlesian as Knight-Commander?"

"The Divine," Maude explained gently. "She likes Orlesians. All her best friends are Orlesian, including herself."

"I thought Greagoir was a hard man," Amell said, "but that only goes to show how naïve I was. Greagoir was sweet reasonableness himself compared to Berengar. Remember how you used to complain about the lack of doors in the mages' quarters, Anders? How it diminished out dignity to have no doors? Well, everybody has doors now. Doors that lock."

"I know," Anders said. "I saw. Mages are locked in when they're not engaged in a scheduled activity. They have to have passes to use the bloody library!"

"It really does sound like a prison now," Bethany said softly.

This of course, explained why the Circle had sent no replacement Healer to the Queen of Ferelden. Loghain decided the Templars' heads were getting entirely too big for their ridiculous helmets.

"So how nasty was this Berengar to you, Anders?" Maude wanted to know. "Did he get the whole Warden thing?"

"He was aware that he was not supposed to lock me away with the rest of the prisoners, yes," Anders snorted. "Let me see or talk to the mages in the Circle? He had a problem with that. I'm a bad influence, you see."

"Of course you are," Morrigan snapped, impatient. "You are not a snivelling drone."

Anders looked at her, eyes alight. "Sometimes you say the nicest things, Morrigan."

She scoffed at that. "This Berengar must go. 'Twould be an easy matter."

"You mean…" Bethany hesitated. "…we should just go… assassinate the Knight-Commander?"

Loghain growled, "He is hindering our mission. That is not permissible."

"Assassinations can be like fun," Maude agreed, "but people can't know it was us. A pig like that is bound to piss off somebody with a faster sword. Or," she sighed wistfully, "maybe an accident would be best."

"If he was so strict," asked Bethany, "how did you get Ambrose out at all?"

"I wasn't someone he was particularly concerned with," Amell said bitterly. "I was exactly where he liked me. He had decided to make my residence in the dungeons permanent. Easier than sending me to the Aeonar, and he wouldn't have to send a Templar detail away from the Tower. No one would have remembered I was locked up, if Anders hadn't asked for me by name. He could palm me off on Anders without the rest of the mages even knowing the Wardens were in the Tower."

Anders scowled fiercely. "And I think that Berengar would have laughed me out Kinloch Hold, if Keenan and the rest hadn't been there, heavily armed, to back me up. Berengar was pretty smug, saying that we shouldn't need any more mages, as there wasn't likely to be a need for Wardens for another few hundred years. Told me not to bother to come back."

"That's it," Maude's eyes were blazing. "After all I did for the Circle? He's a dead man!"

"Not immediately," Loghain judged. "But soon." He thought a little more. "Eamon Guerrin has a son in the Circle Tower. How does he feel about the new regime?"

"That is something we need to find out," Maude said, grasping his meaning instantly. "Also, when I've had the baby, and I'm back in shape, I think what I should do is find where the phylacteries are and destroy them all. They're probably in the Cathedral somewhere. That's really the essential step for loosening the Chantry's manacles. Right now, if we went in and got the mages out, theTemplars would just track them down again. And, of course, some don't want to leave the Tower. It's all they know. I wonder how deeply involved the Grand Cleric is with all this. I know she didn't like Anders attending Anora's birth, but I'm not sure if that was just Anders or the general fact he was a mage."

"Based on what I'm hearing from the other Warden posts," Loghain said, "it appears to be the policy of the Divine. This is a comprehensive crackdown throughout Thedas—or at least the part of it that the Divine thinks she rules."

"Well…" Maude considered. "She's old. That's the good thing about Divines. They're mostly old, and so if' you don't like one, you can usually wait five years for the next. I do think at the spring Landsmeet, someone is going to have the raise the issue, however. I'll bet there are heaps of nobles out there, unhappy because their court mages were rounded up, or because they couldn't get a Healer when they needed one. With luck, we won't have to be the ones to start something." She paused, and her eyes lit up. "Wouldn't if be tremendous fun if it was Arl Eamon who did?"

Sigrun was not sure that the Broodmother they killed was Seranni. It was hard to tell. The creature was so changed by her metamorphosis that her head had distorted and stretched, altering her features. The thing's hair was pale, and the young were shrieks, so it had certainly been an elf once. The elves in the party were deeply horrified by the experience. One, young Thenyra, seemed traumatized. Some of her clan, Loghain learned, had disappeared, and she feared the worst for the women. Sadly, her suppositions were probably spot on.

"We must hunt them down!" she shouted. "We must kill them all!"

"That's the plan," Darrow told her in his bracingly best sergeant's manner. "Innit, Commander?"

"Indeed it is," Loghain replied. The girl was horrified, but she was thoroughly motivated now, which could only be a good thing.

Loghain was immensely pleased at the success of their new tactics for killing Broodmothers. Their "Stardust" was not yet ready for field tests, but even so, the initial volley of fire arrows and poisoned bolts had been brilliantly effective. The monstrous creature had been seriously damaged before the swordsmen and axemen moved in. Ultimately, Loghain would prefer to kill Broodmothers entirely at distance. To do that, they would need more archers, or more powerful poisons, or various explosive powders and grenades. Stardust bombs should work quite well. The light ballista had proved useful. Broodmothers, as Maude wisely said, were a stationary target. Once the engineers had the distance— and as long as those operating the ballista could be protected—a ballista was an excellent weapon.

Afterwards, they emerged from the Deep Roads, and marched to Vigil's Keep.

Delilah was there, and with her Bann Nathaniel. The three of them had a long and fruitful conference about security issues. They were in agreement on the main points. Nathaniel advised Delilah against accepting the full amount of the loan offered by the Wardens, but they did agree to take enough to improve coastal defenses. The harbor would have a stone rampart and improved gatehouses protecting the city of Amaranthine from an attack by sea. The rest of the loan would go to build and man some new watchtowers: one at the tip of the Blackmarsh peninsula, one at Anselm's Reef, and the third at Forlorn Cove.

"And while we're talking about defenses," Nathaniel said, "I want to bring up the Alamar Archipelago. I can see the bloody islands from my bedroom window! It's time the pirates and marauders there were put down. They're supposed to be part of Ferelden, for Maker's sake!"

"I've tried to do something about the islands in the past," Loghain agreed, "and each time, the issue was tabled because of some greater crisis. Are they more lawless than usual?"

"Probably," sighed Delilah. "I know that a number of our refugees fled to them, and I suspect the weaker have been cruelly exploited and the stronger have turned to banditry. Perhaps the Crown could resurrect the title of Bann of Alamar. Perhaps if someone reliable had a stake in establishing order there, it would be an incentive."

"Or each of the three larger islands could have its own lord," Nathaniel suggested. "Brandel's Reach is huge. Not very fertile, I'll grant, but there's good pasturage there and plenty of harbors of a fishing fleet. It could be a splendid fiefdom for someone of energy and initiative."

Obligingly, the young man rolled out a map. Loghain leaned over the table, studying the lay of the land. There was the broad stretch of Brandel's Reach, and just to the west of it, the much smaller Fair Isle, which was less than ten miles from the harbor of Amaranthine. Further off to the east was Alamar Island, half the size of Brandel's Reach. and which boasted the only town in the archipelago of any size, also called Alamar. Another small, round island, Mourne, lay outside the mouth of Denerim Bay. Loghain has always thought there should be a fort on Mourne. It commanded the sea lanes to Ferelden's capital. In fact, there had once been such a fort, but it had fallen into decay nearly a hundred years before, and was now only roofless rubble. Mourne Castle should definitely be rebuilt, under the direct control of the Crown—or at least under their authority as lords of the arling of Denerim.

Loghain went home to Soldier's Peak, far lighter of heart. A Broodmother was dead and would spawn no more. He had the North behind him, and Ferelden was already a safer place.

The day after next would be First Day. They returned to a Soldier's Peak dressed for it: perfumed by evergreen boughs and decorated with painted silk banners. Loghain's own private welcome was particularly pleasurable, enjoyed in the privacy of his crimson bedecked quarters.

Maude was, of course, not his first pregnant wife. He would never tell her where he had learned the variety of positions and techniques that made her so comfortable and so very, very happy; but it would have been foolish not to put perfectly good experience to its proper use. Making her happy could only make him happy as well.

"Hmmm," she sighed, "I meant to show you how my spring-bow is progressing, but I don't want to get up and get dressed again. Maybe tomorrow morning."

"I can wait," he assured her, not inclined to get out of their warm bed either. "And you can tell me more about your sinister plans for First Day. What's this about a tournament? Anders won't like spending the day treating the wounded."

She wriggled back against him, a warm and delightful spoon. "Nobody's going to get wounded. I have a cunning plan that cannot fail. Now tell me about what Delilah said, or I'll wake up later and worry about it."

"It went extremely well." Briefly, he told her the substance of their conversation.

"I'm so glad," Maude approved. "Now we have to work on the King and Queen. I can't imagine why there are no lookouts at the north end of Brandel's Reach, if nowhere else. It's an obvious place to watch for invasion fleets—or even pirates for that matter."

"The Archipelago is full of pirates," Loghain grunted, wrapping an arm around his young wife.

"I know! But at least they're our pirates!"

That made him snort. "Delilah suggested creating some new new bannorns and freeholds out in the Archipelago. There's no doubt that would attract some young sons and daughters. Perhaps even some landless knights. I've never actually been there, myself."

"I think we should do something about that..." she murmured, half asleep. He was about to agree, but slept instead, deeply and dreamlessly.

Everyone was busy the following day, but down in the training room Maude took time to demonstrate a roughed- out version of her amazing new spring-loaded bow. Somehow Glassric and his team had been persuaded to put everything aside for the ten days Loghain had been gone, and had come up with a prototype. The stock was plain varnished whitewood and the gears were not perfectly smooth, but it worked after a fashion. For some reason Maude had named it "Roderick."

"Why Roderick?" Loghain asked.

"Why not?" she countered. "It looks like a Roderick to me. A good and faithful friend. Or it will be when Glassric tightens the spring a bit more. We haven't figured out the repeating mechanism and we don't have the sights quite perfect yet, but that will happen in time. Roderick is a work in progress. There's nothing wrong with that. We may replace the stock...or the barrel...or the mechanism...but Roderick will occupy the same space."

She flicked the cocking mechanism easily with one hand, and popped in another quarrel. She pressed the curved butt to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The quarrel hit the center of the target, and the younger Wardens—and some not so young—cheered loudly.

The missile had gone half-way through the padded target. "Good penetration," Loghain grunted.

"Well," she smiled radiantly. "You know all about that."

All of First Day was a feast. Maude had hired minstrels, who filled the Great Hall with music. Every resident of Soldier's Peak had a present. Some, like Oghren's little daughter Maddie, had more than one, since Maude had leaned on the dwarf to remember his paternal responsibilities in the matter of gift giving. Somewhere, Oghren had found a little painted horse on wheels, with a bright red string to pull it along. Baby Maddie was a little young for it, but she was able to sit up on a blanket and hold it in a pudgy dwarf-baby fist. In addition, the little girl had new warm infant's dress of fine wool, lavishly embroidered with griffons by the hand and needle of Maude herself. Loghain hoped Maude would not dress their son in anything so horrible, but knew better than to say so.

Quite a few of the other Wardens had given the baby gifts. Maddie was the only baby at the Peak, and something of a pet. There were hand-whittled whistles and tops, painted blocks and glittering geodes, and a soft cloth doll with yarn hair and a wide crimson smile from Sigrun. Maddie was a dwarf, after all, so it was only to be expected that someone gave her a tiny rock hammer. Felsi, wisely, put that away for everyone's safety.

In the Great Hall, a central area of the black-and-white marble floor was roped off.

"For the tournament," Maude explained. And then she displayed the weapons. "Boffers," she called them.

They were ridiculously oversized clubs of soft leather, stuffed with feathers. Maude demonstrated one with a cheerful Darrow, by smacking him in the face with it.

It bounced. Darrow kept grinning. It seemed impossible to actually injure anyone with one of the "weapons," unless. as Osbeck speculated, you emptied out the stuffing and used the leather cover as a garrote.

"Not allowed!" Maude pronounced. "No strangling, whether with boffer weapons or with hands. In fact, hands cannot be used to punch, pinch, poke, pull, or prod the opponent. In addition, you will fight in teams, with one member riding on his partner's shoulders. The winners will use the boffer weapons to force their opponents out of the designated fighting zone."

Loghain, who did not like games, admitted it was all fairly amusing, especially after his third cup of wine. Everyone wanted to partner with Osbeck, of course. Maude had not pronounced it illegal for him to simply walk over opponents, thus encouraging people to use a bit of cunning—or speed in avoiding his rush. As a further refinement, they decided to blindfold the "mount."

"It's a training game," Maude assured him. "It teaches trust." She raised her voice, trying to be heard over the screams of laughter and the shrilling of flutes. Fimo, on Brangel, was flailing away at Bethany, on Ambrose. For a mage, Bethany was impressively physical. She thumped Brangel in the face, disorienting him. Brangel then lost his grip on Fimo's legs, and the dwarf slid backwards precariously, hitting Brangel with his boffer. Brangel staggered backwards, over the line.

"Bethany wins!" roared Darrow and Kain in unison. "Bethany wins!"The girl waved her arms over her head triumphantly, and her hands glowed blue. Little snowflakes drifted down to the floor from her fingers, glittering in the candlelight. There was more applause, and a vigorous discussion with Sketch and Anders concerning a possible contest of magic. Loghain shuddered for the safety of the Peak.

In the midst of the hilarity, the door opened to admit some unexpected guests, a pair of men cloaked against the cold outside, who gladly accepted the hot wine pressed on them by the Wardens. They made their way swiftly to the Head Table, looking about them, evidently impressed at the splendor of the castle. Maude looked up and waved.

"It's Captain Winters!" she cried. "That's his first mate, Crawley," she told Loghain. "Over here!" She budged over, closer to Loghain, to make room for the men. "Have some dinner!"

The men bowed, and Winters spoke. "Many thanks for your generosity, Your Grace—and yours, Warden-Commander."

Loghain frowned at the men. "You bring news?"

"We bring a First Day gift," the captain replied. "The ship is complete and our voyage to Breaker's Cove a success. Your vessel is safely harbored and ready for your use."

Loghain wondered if he dared ask. "Our vessel?"

"My boat—I mean, ship!" Maude got to her feet, glowing with delight. "Didn't I tell you about that, Loghain? I must have forgotten. We have a ship. It's very nice. I had all this extra coin when I was in Kirkwall, you see, and it seemed silly not to commission that ship I need. The Wild Wyvern. We can sail to Gwaren in it. We can go anywhere, for that matter. Are you sure I didn't tell you about it?"

Thanks to my reviewers: Aoi24, MsBarrows, Draco664, Josie Lange, Enaid Aderyn, Juliafied, karinfan123, Zute, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, EpitomyofShyness, JackOfBladesX, Spoit0, Judy, Jenna53, Shikyo-sama, Shakespira, anon, Jyggilag, cloud1004, Tyanilth, mille libri, Phygmalion, graydevilforever, and Coldial.

Anders figures out gaatlok in DA2: therefore he figures it out here.

Roderick is the given name of Ser Gilmore, per canon.