The Keening Blade

Chapter 44: A Letter to the First Warden

Morrigan and Anders were absolutely insufferable in the days subsequent to Knight-Commander Berengar's misadventure.

They were well known in Denerim already, and becoming better known yet, as they swaggered and swanned through the shops and streets and markets, spending freely and making no secret of the fact that they were mages.

In the Market District, their favorite diversion was to stroll, arm in arm in front to the Cathedral, waving at the Templars…all of whom they knew by name. The Grand Cleric had expressed her concerns to Maude.

Maude reassured her that the individuals in question were, after all, Grey Wardens, and that all was well. Not one apostate had been caught in Denerim in the course of the Landsmeet, which indicated, did it not, that there were none to be found?

Back in the privacy of the Warden Compound, Maude was thoroughly satisfied with herself. "I think the Landsmeet has gone fairly smoothly, once we got past the nasty broadsheets," she remarked to Loghain. "And this is nice. I'll have it framed, and hang it in the hall of the Compound."

'It' was the printed woodcut of the Royal Family. The Marcher artist Anora kept about had daubed a fairly decent portrait—though the baby, unable sit still, was a fairly generic baby. On Maude's advice, the King and Queen wore their crowns, a proud affirmation of their sovereignty. The work was done with impressive speed. The paint was not even dry when the printer's men used it to create the black-and-white images that were now all over Denerim. A copy had been given to every noble at the Landsmeet and to every foreign ambassador, and was being sent to even town and village in Ferelden, with instructions that it be prominently displayed.

Loghain had not decided what to do with his copy. Perhaps it would be appropriate to hang it in his office at the Peak, but that would mean seeing Chantry Boy on his wall. Not a very pleasing prospect. certainly.

Instead, he paid the painter for a portrait of Anora and Rhoswyn together. The result was quite satisfactory. With her baby on her lap, Anora seemed quite relaxed, and her expression in the portrait was very pleasant, very content. She looked quite lovely. That was the picture he would hang on his wall. The woodcut? Hmmm...

"You can have my copy," Loghain said to Maude, with a show of generosity. "There should be one in the private rooms at Gwaren Keep. The official one can be put up in the rogues' gallery with all the rest."

"'Rogue's gallery' you call it? It's a very nice picture gallery," Maude said. "I hadn't expected it when I arrived. All the teyrns back to the first Vorics, and a heap of Ferelden monarchs. Your portrait is lovely. Though I must say that some of the paintings are so dark now, I can hardly make them out. Still," she nodded. "Fair enough. I'll hang your copy in my private parlor. I'm glad it's been so popular. I reminded Anora to send a copy to the Empress. I'm sure she'll like it."

That made Loghain chuckle. Life was good, other than Maude's insistence that they, too, had to sit for a portrait, a process that Loghain found tedious. But why not make Maude happy? The monarchy had weathered the nasty little attack from individuals still unknown. The foreigners had gone to ground. Their Landsmeet gambit had rather backfired on them.

The Orlesian commander at the Circle was gone, and Maude had persuaded Her Grace the Grand Cleric to transfer Knight-Commander Harrith to the post at Kinloch Hold. Harrith, Maude informed Loghain, was a creature who could be bought for the right amount of lyrium, and...even better...would stay bought. The mages would not be locked away, but would have considerable freedom to work and travel, with Harrith's permits in hand.

There had been other reassignments. Knight-Commander Tavish, who had struck such blows against the Mages' Collective—an organization much admired by Maude—was leaving Denerim for Redcliffe, where he would fit in well with the pious court of Arl Eamon...and where he could do no further harm to the independent mages of Denerim. Maude had met with the remains of the Collective and told them what they could and could not do. She had arranged a situation of comparative safety and independence for them, but with the warning that if they abused it, it could all be revoked with stunning alacrity.

"I'm very proud of my work with my mother's old friend," Maude smirked to Loghain. "She now believes that she herself came to the conclusion that it was better for mage healers to operate under the Chantry auspices than for them to be working in back alleys. This way, quite a bit of credit for the cures redounds to the Chantry, instead of raising unpleasant questions about why the Chantry keeps this option from the people. She's set aside a little place in the Market District for a clinic. There'll be a pair of Templar guards, but I made her see why they should be pleasant, friendly types who won't frighten the children. If the mages handle this right, they'll be able to use the Templars as unpaid help."

In addition, a pair of mages would be posted at Fort Drakon to see to the health needs of the garrison of Denerim. If they did well—and did not incontinently transform into ravening abominations—there might be other postings in the army. Many soldiers had been healed by mages during the Blight and every healed soldier was a voice in favor of mages. There had been little sympathy for the recent repression.

In an irony typical of politics, Maude's most useful ally had been the Arl of Redcliffe, whose reputation for piety was beyond question. He gently urged the Grand Cleric to permit suitable mages to serve— as the Chant of Light commanded. Under enlightened supervision, mages could do so much to heal the country's wounds and serve the Chantry. Perhaps if Arlessa Isolde had lived, he would not have been so outspoken, but she was gone. and Eamon clearly had something in mind. The Grand Cleric trusted Eamon, at any rate, and his words had carried the day.

Maude speculated on his motives. "It could be that he hopes that Harrith will let Connor come home after his Harrowing. I suppose it's not impossible, if some sort of arrangement is worked out in which Connor can serve as a Healer for the town. Perhaps I'm too idealistic. Eamon would probably make him Court Mage at Redcliffe, with duties only to the family. From the way he talks, I can see he's starting to push for having a Healer with him, in case his little girl gets sick. Oh! Did you hear? Teagan was here today. He had to leave, since Habren's near her time. I expect if it's a boy they'll want him to marry Rowan someday. Keep Redcliffe all in the family."

Loghain grunted with disgust, and thought about more agreeable things than the Guerrin family.

On their way back home, they would bring the mages on the Isle of Mourne their good news. Petra would be officially the lighthousekeeper, the tower would be rebuilt, and there would be a stipend and supplies. If the mages could keep their abilities secret for a short time, they had a chance for a fairly normal life. Loghain was curious about whether they could make a go of it, or not. If they did their duty, he wished them well.

And then Fergus was announced.

"Where's Gareth?" he demanded. Looking rather cross and dissatisfied, he threw himself into an ominously creaking chair.

So Gareth was brought in, and given to his uncle, who seemed better for having a baby to hold. He set Gareth down on his lap and played with the tiny hands, smiling absently.

"I can't wait to get home," he said. "I've been gone too long. Cauthrien's written, of course, but it's not the same. I need to be home with her and Caradoc."

"Next year they can come with you to the Landsmeet," Maude comforted him. "I agree, though. I'm ready to go, myself. Alistair sent off to fetch young Robin Pommy back for you. "

"Is the boy at all like Alistair?" wondered Fergus. "Not that I object to fostering the King's nephew, but I hope the boy is something in himself."

Maude and Loghain glanced briefly at each other. Of course the boy was not like Alistair. He was actually no relation to Alistair at all. Nonetheless, in the interest of keeping Chantry Boy and Anora on the throne, they would maintain the fiction that Goldanna was Alistair's sister. Even better, Alistair and Goldanna believed it to be true.

Maude shrugged. "I really couldn't say. I met him briefly during the Blight, and he seemed quick and clever, but until last year he'd had almost no education at all."

Fergus scoffed at that. "Half of the nobles I know can barely read. Lazy sods. What do you think, Loghain?"

"About the nobles? 'Lazy sods' about covers it. About young Lord Robin? I've no idea. I've only seen him briefly."

No one really expected a nephew to much resemble an uncle, after all.

Later that day, Telamon and Sketch arrived at the Compound, coming down from the Peak to do some recruiting in the Alienage. With them was Madcap, the puppy—now rather more than a puppy—that had imprinted on Telamon. She was growing up splendidly, a strong and healthy young bitch with a shining yellow coat. The pale fur that given her that flowery name had not darkened much.

The dogs were enchanted to see Madcap again. There was much sniffing and nosing, and many "whuffs" and wags of approval. Loghain wondered what the Alienage elves would think of an elf with his own mabari. It might be intimidating, but it could only add to Telamon's prestige among them.

They brought a sheaf of letters with them.

"Anything that Keenan thought he couldn't deal with himself is here," Telamon said. "Some of them are from Weisshaupt. One of them's for you, Commander." Telamon smiled slyly, "And the other's for Maude. Keenan didn't think he should read her private letter."

Loghain heartily agreed, imagining what Maude would do to someone who snooped among her correspondence. Not a pretty picture.

"He did right," Loghain assured him, setting the letters aside. "Sit, and tell me about the Peak."

They had news and gossip about all the Wardens. The newest brothers and sisters were doing well. There had been some minor infractions—mostly young lads slipping down to the village without leave to visit the brothels that had sprung up to serve the Warden trade. Keenan had no trouble dealing with that sort of thing.

"We should tell him about Bethany's bad news," Sketch nudged Telamon. "We don't want her running back to Kirkwall."

"What happened?"

Before they could answer, Maude arrived to greet them. She brought Gareth with her. Telamon was eager to see the baby, and diffidently asked for permission to hold him. Sketch was manifestly less enthused.

"Yes, what happened?" Maude echoed. "You are so good with babies, Telamon!"

Sketch blurted out, "Bethany got a letter last month. Her mother's dead—murdered."

Maude frowned, "Did they catch the killer? Does she want to take leave to go home for awhile?"

Loghain repressed a sigh. He was very uneasy at the idea of allowing a Warden to leave for what might be weeks, but if Bethany had family business, he did not want to be a hypocrite. Nothing damaged morale like outright favoritism. Maude went wherever she liked, after all.

"It was bad," Telamon told them, a touch hesitantly. "She's taking it hard, and I can't blame her. Bethany got a slew of letters about what happened from her friends in Kirkwall, and in my opinion they told her a lot more than she needed to know for her own peace of mind. It wasn't just a random stabbing in Lowtown. Her mother was stalked by a madman and…well…" His voice trailed off, and he nuzzled the baby.

Sketch made a face, and took up the tale. "It was a mage. One of those rich Orlesian-descended apostates. His wife had died some time ago, and he wanted to…bring her back."

"Whoa!" Maude, even Maude looked shocked. Loghain gave the elf a sharp look, wanting the rest of it.

"So apparently this madman had been killing women for years. Some Templar had been looking into it, and then Hawke and his friends got involved. Killing women, and keeping the bits that resembled his wife. She had been cremated, of course, so he was putting her back together using…other women's…parts."

"Parts?" Loghain let the question resonate in the brief silence.

"And…Bethany's mum….her head…well, her face looked a lot like this dead maniac's wife, so he got her into his underground workroom and sawed her head off and sewed all…the parts… together. And when Hawke found her she was kind of alive, and knew him. Her head on top of the rest of the body, anyway. She was dressed in the dead wife's wedding gown. Hawke killed the mage, of course, and then the enchantments…wore off."

"That is seriously depraved," Maude said in awe. "That is just about the vilest thing I've ever heard an actual human do. He wasn't an abomination, was he? Not possessed by a demon?"

They were assured that no, the mage had been perfectly—or too imperfectly—human, while Loghain listened, revolted but unsurprised. An Orlesian aristocrat? No news there that such people would be the foulest sort of criminals. They had raped, tortured, mutilated, and killed as they pleased during their reign of terror in Ferelden. Their ingrained sense of entitlement made anyone else merely a thing to be used. And that world view combined with the power of a mage…a secret mage at that? There had been that mad Orlesian baroness in Amaranthine…

Kirkwall was a sick place. Everything he heard from that city confirmed his opinion. Horrible for young Bethany, of course. Her mother should never have made them travel there. Obviously, Hawke should have stayed with the Ferelden army, and Bethany should not have been exposed to the corruption of Kirkwall.

"It was bad," Telamon said again. "Her brother just told her that her mother had been stalked by a man she thought was an admirer. He sent lilies to the house the day he carried her off. They found out later that he always sent lilies to his victims. And then everybody else just had to give her the gruesome details. That uncle of hers is an idiot."

"That's true!" Maude agreed. "Probably wanting to share the guilt. Absolutely no reason to tell her all that. So…does she feel she needs to be with her brother for awhile?"

"She hasn't asked, not exactly," Sketch said. "Keenan said he'd forward a request to you, Commander, but she hasn't done anything about it. She's not in good shape, though. Sigrun's spent a lot of time with her, and that seems to help. She's got her cousin, too, and she's made friends with some of the newbies."

"I think she feels that she should go, but she doesn't want to," said Telamon. "She doesn't confide in me, though."

"I'll talk to her as soon as we're back at the Peak," Loghain decided. "And Maude, write that dwarven friend of yours about what's going on."

She nodded dreamily, apparently lost in thought. Telamon and Sketch left their letters and began preparing for their Alienage adventure.

"So..." Maude murmured when they were alone at last. "It's particularly bad for her because I could see that her brother was the favorite child, and Bethany resented it. Anyway, a new initiate for the Murdered Mothers Club. There are such a lot of us in the Wardens."

"It's a good thing someone as level-headed as Sigrun is there to help her get over it."

Maude gave him an odd, sad smile. "She might get through it, but she'll never get over it. No one ever gets over a mother's murder. You know that as well as I do."

He pushed back the memories with an effort, and said briskly. "We have letters from Weisshaupt. Keenan thought it best not to open them." He handed her the parchment with the heavy silver seal.

She raised her brows, and then lay Gareth carefully across her lap. "I am willing to wager Gareth's entire patrimony that there is nothing good here." But she was a brave girl, after all, and broke the seal. He did likewise with his own thick letter.

As usual, Maude was spot on.

His own letter was a demand that he send Senior Warden Maude to Weisshaupt, "for research and study." The Wardens, among other things, were extremely curious about her pregnancy. If the child was born alive, they wanted "it" as well. If he could not see his way to obeying orders, there was an implied threat that he would be required to step down and travel to Montsimmard for reassignment. More rationally, the letter also raised the possibility of an experienced Warden mage coming to Ferelden for an evaluation.

He stared at the letter for some time, collecting his thoughts. Obviously, he was going to disregard these orders. He was not going to Orlais. Why in the Maker's name would he go to Orlais? And the Wardens were not putting their Tainted paws on his son. They could send their people to try to enforce it, but it would not happen. Would not. He needed to do quite a bit more recruiting, obviously. And strengthen the Peak's defenses. If they sent one of their own people...well...that he might be able to accept.

Maude's voice drifted into his consciousness.

"My, my. What have we here?" She smirked at Loghain. "It seems I've been a bad, bad girl. Woolsey's been instructed to dock my stipend as an administrative punishment for 'dereliction of duty.' I am to report Weisshaupt along with my infant, 'if it lives,' and to be there, in fact by Summersday. I've been given a painstakingly precise route, beginning with Jader by the end of Cloudreach. Then Montsimmard "for evaluation," then Val Royeaux, Cumberland "where I will be met by my official escort," and then travel up the Imperial Highway to Vol Dorma, and from there to Weisshaupt. Failure to obey orders will result in my status being annotated on my permanent record as "deserter." She smiled, sweetly. "Fuck them. Is Alistair a deserter? If not, why not? Bugger them up the arse with a ballista."

She set the letter aside, gathered Gareth up in her arms, and said, "What we are going to do is send our reply to Weisshaupt. The Wild Wyvern will take it across to Cumberland directly, and we'll have someone pass it on at Nevarra. And we will tell those inept and pathetic cowards in their faraway mountain hideyholes why I will not accept their so-kind invitations."

Her composure calmed Loghain somewhat. What were the Wardens going to do? Invade Ferelden? The First Warden could do nothing that would cause the nations of Thedas to regard the order as a threat. Acting harshly against those who had stopped the Blight would gain them no credibility. His Warden correspondents were for the most part also dissatisfied with the quality of leadership and the kind of orders coming out of Weisshaupt. Yes. He would write. If they wanted to send one of their own people to have a look at Maude, that was acceptable. He would make clear that any harm to Maude or his son would be visited a hundredfold on the perpetrators. And he would send copies to all the Warden outposts too.

With so many meetings, so many councils, so many Maker-cursed parties, Loghain and Maude had little time for recruiting themselves, but the Wardens with them had not been idle.

While they spread their coin widely and freely, Anders and Morrigan particularly liked a shop called The Wonders of Thedas, the foremost purveyor of magical supplies and rare books in Denerim. Unsurprisingly, they saw other mages there, come to cautiously patronize the establishment. Cautiously, because the Tranquil proprietor regularly reported his customers to the Chantry, as part of a new policy instituted by the late and unlamented Berengar de Malsange. Nonetheless, it was a place where one could purchase all sorts of oddities and often, the only place with a reliable supply and dependable quality.

It was not surprising that something came of these acquaintances. One afternoon they returned to the Compound, wanting to see Loghain and Maude, and trundled into the Wardens' library with a pair of disreputable young men in tow. They looked altogether too thin, and both of them smelled a bit.

"They wish to Join the Wardens," Morrigan said crisply, obviously unimpressed with the day's catch. "They claim to be mages."

"Begged us, actually," Anders grinned. "Ran after us in the street when they saw us outside The Wonders of Thedas."

The lads flinched away from Loghain's stare. One looked at the floor; the other glanced longingly at the door. Maude leaned back in her chair, mightily amused.

Very handsome young men they were, Anders, gave their names as Damien and Corentin: the one dark and slender, the other fair and stocky. Their body language implied that they were quite devoted to each other, and Loghain hoped that one would not die in the Joining, leaving the other to grieve, because that would be depressing for everyone.

"Is this true?" Loghain demanded.

"Well…" Damien cringed.

The blonde boy elbowed him, hissing, "'my lord…'"

"Wha'? Oh. Right. Well, my lord, we did approach these Wardens. That's right. For career advice."

Anders burst out in angry laughter. "You little shirtlifter! You two chased us down, pleading with us to conscript you!"

Morrigan smirked, "Of course, they had had nothing to eat all day until we took them to tavern to talk it over." She gave the lads a raking look. "Loghain, these pathetic hedge mages did indeed beg our protection. We gave them a meal and they lost interest as their bellies filled. I think they are very likely worthless—"

"Here now!" protested Damien.

"Anyway," Anders ignored him, "We agreed that we'd let you decide whether to conscript them or not, and we told the lads they'd get another meal out of it if they came here with us. We could just put them out on the street, but even as toothless as the Templars are at the moment, they would have them in a day or two. At their age, that means summary execution."

"That would be a shame," Maude said, silvery voice vibrating with compassion. "It's much better for them to have a nice home with the Wardens and perhaps…some remedial training?"

"A great deal of training," Morrigan warned her.

Loghain looked them over dispassionately. Magic ability would prove useful, one way or another. Surely these two were good for something. "Very well, your wish is granted, and you are henceforth Grey Warden recruits. We'll wait to train you until you actually Join. Give them food and a bath, for Maker's sake!"

These were not their only recruits.

Loghain was astonished when Kain and Darrow, between them, rounded up over twenty candidates: sound men too. Or they had been. Peace had not been good for Loghain's lovingly constructed army. He railed at the Maker and Chantry Boy in private, but there was little he could do except take on the discharged soldiers himself. His sergeants had brought him the best of the best, a bit rough around the edges and given to drinking more than was good for them, but really splendid fighters. Even better, they all had a modicum of discipline. Loghain hoped that most would survive. These men had already fought darkspawn, and were willing to do so again, for a place to sleep and food in their bellies. Loghain was glad that the Wardens could do better for them that that.

And Telamon came through, in the Alienage. Two nights before they were due to leave Denerim, he and Sketch arrived with a half dozen elves: thin, shabbily dressed elves, their worldly possessions in ragged bundles, looking about with wide and shining eyes. Five young men and a pretty red-haired young woman. They were presented to Loghain and Maude for their inspection.

"She can fight?" Loghain asked, a little astonished, indicating the girl. She looked too gentle and mild for a warrior, and ducked her head a little fearfully, avoiding Loghain's eyes.

Maude elbowed him, with a mildly reproving look. Telamon was too polite to take any notice of Loghain's remark. Or his stares. Or Maude's elbow.

Instead, he said, "Warden-Commander, Your Grace, I present to you Liridon, Visar, Alek, Glindel, and Varagor. They wish to Join us. And this—" he took the girl gently by the hand and led her forward, "is my wife Lyris. We were married today."

"How wonderful!" cried Maude, pink with enthusiasm. "Congratulations to you both! I hope you'll be very happy together."

"I thank you, Your Grace," the girl said in a soft and pleasant voice, bowing low. She, too, was clutching a lumpy bag.

Loghain remembered that Telamon had expressed himself inclined to marry one of the girls that the Alienage elder was throwing his way. At least he'd got himself a pretty one. Maude, of course, was obviously already planning to give them a wedding present. Well, why not? If they could give presents to the likes of Habren Bryland and that appalling de Launcet girl, they could give a poor elf something, too. At least the girl wasn't shrieking in his ear.

Telamon led his charges off to find suitable accommodations. Maude rushed off to tell everyone about Telamon's new wife, and to arrange some sort of celebration. At such short notice, it did not amount to much more than wine for everyone, and a very nice fruit-and-nut cake, but the Wardens gave them presents: mostly loot, but very welcome. The bride's eyes grew enormous at the sight of it all.

"She's nice, I think," Maude said later the next day. "Very nice. Very quiet, but nice. And she has an inkle loom. I talked her into showing it to me."

"What?" Loghain scowled over his letters, not quite catching the word.

"An inkle loom," Maude repeated patiently. "For weaving ribbons and belts. Just a little thing, but with it she earned her living for the past few years. I got her to tell me her story, all the more easily because she knew me by sight when I visited the Alienage. Also, I'm a woman, and therefore not so terrifying."

Loghain set down the letter to listen. "Does she feel a personal grievance against me?"

"She's afraid of you, certainly, but you did fight to defend the Alienage. No, her life went downhill long before the Tevinters arrived. You remember that disgusting affair of Vaughan's?"

"The one you killed him over?" Loghain recalled that Maude had been offended by Vaughan's abduction and rape of elves at a wedding. "Was she one of the brides?"

"A bridesmaid." Maude said. "And she believes, with some reason, that everything that went wrong could ultimately be traced back to that day. Vaughan trooped in with armed guards to carry out his abductions and rapes...it's beyond disgusting. One of the bridesmaids was gutted for praying too loudly. They were dragged off for Vaughan's party, and naturally Lyris doesn't want to talk about that. She and Shianni limped back a few days later, badly hurt and very bitter, as you can imagine. It made Shianni angry and aggressive, but this girl shrank away from it all. There was more trouble because one of the brides put up a fight and a lot of guards were killed. Lyris doesn't know what happened to her. Some elves were arrested, like Soris—the fellow I freed from Howe's dungeons. He was mixed up in the failed rescue attempt and was lucky he didn't hang. Now he told me that the girl who put up a fight was killed, but he might have just been covering for her. Anyway, it was a hideous crime. If the elves weren't angry enough, the surviving girls had to pay out their entire dowries as a fine for "indecent behavior!" I wish I could kill that bastard again. No wonder the Alienage rioted!"

"That didn't go so well," Loghain noted.

"Not at all. Lyris' parents were killed in the purge that followed, and she couldn't manage the rent on her own, so the landlord threw her out. She was canny enough to avoid the Tevinters, because she was afraid of human men. So she eked out a living making ribbons, and slept in the corner of someone else's kitchen. She spent the battle huddled in a cellar with some other women and children. She had no dowry left, and after what Vaughan and his friends had done to her she was not considered particularly marriageable; but Telamon was offered practically anyone, and he fancied her. She thinks it's the best thing that ever happened to her. It probably is. It's a huge deal for her to have a room to live in that she shares only with her new husband. And to have an actual bed. It's all unheard-of luxury for her."

The last recruit was a young dwarf, and he came to the Compound dressed in his finest, with a trunk full of designs and a head full of ideas.

"Temmerin Glavonak, Warden-Commander," he introduced himself. "I believe you know my uncles."

The Landsmeet wound down, and at last they could escape. Loghain, on the deck of the Wild Wyvern, watched Denerim shrink away with a certain bittersweet relief. He was fond of Rhoswyn—very fond—but she belonged to her parents, and his life was elsewhere.

"I only hope Chantry Boy doesn't ruin her." He muttered to Maude.

"She's going to be the way she's going to be," Maude said, more philosophical, and not so closely related to the child, after all. "If she takes after Alistair, it will be unfortunate, but there's not a thing we can do about it. I think you need to work on your Garethopedia when we're back at the Peak. That will take your mind off Rhoswyn and her doting papa."

That was true. That was very true. He had an entire section yet to write about crop rotation and the benefits of the three-field system. A great noble was, among other things, a farmer on a large scale. Just as it was his responsibility to protect his people, he must see that they were fed.

He had never thought he would admit it, but he was glad to be sailing home. Otherwise, they would have ended up traveling part of the way with the Howes. Instead, they had made their farewells to them at the end of a formal dinner. Due to Anders' ministrations, the newly-made Lady Babette was in far better health. She was given a supply of potions to take for the next three months, and Anders promised to visit before Summersday. Nathaniel was grim-faced and ominously silent. That, too, was a situation far beyond Loghain's control, nor did Maude wish to involve herself, other than to converse quietly and sympathetically with Delilah. Loghain had no idea if the marriage had been consummated, and really and truly did not want to know.

The chest containing Nathaniel's hard-won thousand sovereigns was stowed in a heavy wagon would return with him to his keep in the city of Amaranthine, heavily guarded. That was the only thing that gave the young man any satisfaction.

"I feel like a whore," he confided bitterly to Loghain, when the two men withdrew to talk together briefly. "At least I know what my price is, now."

"Don't let yourself brood over it," Loghain advised him, not liking this train of thought. "You made a sound and canny deal and got the coin you need to put Amaranthine on its feet. You made a sacrifice, yes; but the arling and your city will be safer and more prosperous for it. And who knows? Now that your wife is around decent people, she may improve a great deal. Delilah is bound to be a good influence."

Nathaniel shot him a dark look, clearly unconvinced. "My...wife..." He grimaced, as if not liking the taste of the words.

What would happen, would happen. It was all the more reason to be glad that they would not be spending the next few days watching that calamitous situation unfold. Loghain took another deep breath of sea air. It was not so bad, really. One could get used to this. On this ship, he was surrounded by people he liked, and did not have to make political conversation with anyone, unless Maude got one of her ideas. She, however, was too busy for politics at the moment: busy with Gareth, busy with sword exercise, busy chatting up the new recruits, and busy comforting those who were already looking a little green.

Fergus, too, had perked up a great deal as they left the harbor. He was eager to get home and see his own family—to see the changes to Highever Town and the continuing renovation of his castle. There would be a brief stop at the Isle of Mourne, and then they would be out on the open sea with all the tiresome business of the Landsmeet behind them for another year.

It was well that the voyage would be of very short duration, for the ship was fairly crowded. Young Robin Pommy was sticking close to Fergus. Between the household steward and his tutor he had been well outfitted for his new role in life. and seemed to think the world of the Teyrn of Highever. Perhaps he was glad to get away from his mother and the mob of children at Prickleweed Manor, and start his life as a man. Loghain smiled wryly. In this case the 'man' was not yet thirteen years old, but many boys—and girls—were apprenticed even earlier. And Fergus had taken to him, too. Young Lord Robin was only a year or two older than his son Oren would have been, had Rendon Howe not killed him.

Loghain mused over the irony of it, but really, what did the boy's birth matter? Loghain was hardly one to care that the boy was not really a king's nephew.

Their visit to Mourne went smoothly, and they saw no signs of pirates in Denerim Bay. No trouble of any sort, in fact. The mage colony was given their supplies; Petra was given her commission; arrangements were explained as to when the builders would come to repair the tower. Anders embraced his old classmates, and the Wild Wyvern embarked once more, on a serene and dark-blue sea.

"It's pretty, but sort of…dull," Maude sulked. "How can I justify killing people and taking their stuff, if nobody will fight me? Where are all the pirates?"

"You have all the 'stuff' you need," Loghain said shortly, very glad that Maude had not taken it into her head to raid peaceful villages to satisfy her desire for plunder. "You have enough stuff already for you, Gareth, and all his future children. We have too much stuff, in fact."

"Maybe," she admitted grudgingly. "I should give everybody a lot of presents, and then I'll have room for more."

In four days they put in at Breaker's Cove, and were nearly home. They found that the village had grown in the months of their absence. It was becoming a real town; full of layabouts, thieves, drunkards, and whores. Loghain scowled, seeing some work ahead of him. Civilization was such a bloody bother, sometimes.

"Look, Fergus!" Maude cried, "There's the War Dog Inn! Won't you at least stop for a pint?"

"One pint," her brother agreed, "while you and your impedimenta disembark. Then I've got to go home. Cauthrien and I will visit this summer, I promise!"

That was the arrangement, anyway. The Wild Wyvern would take Fergus all the way to Highever, faster and more safely than he could ride. He had quite a bit of cargo, too, which was more easily shipped by water. The ship would leave on the evening tide. and by the following morning, Fergus would be in Highever, in the bosom—the impressive bosom—of his family. Loghain smirked. Cauthrien had been well-endowed from from her late teens. The ship would return as soon as possible, ready to take their letters across the Waking Sea.

The mob of nobles, Wardens, recruits, and dogs flooded into the War Dog Inn, earning the tavernkeeper enough to keep his family for half a year. Across the muddy little street, a barfight spilled outside from one of the brothels. Some of the Wardens watched the entertainment, but the Couslands were more interested in their ale. Maude glanced at the fight and then dismissed it.

"Amateurs," she muttered. "Don't look at them them, Robin, they're doing it wrong." She turned her attention back to her tankard. "Loghain, this is good ale. I'm so glad," she approved. "We don't want any horsepiss in Wardentown."

"Or anywhere," Fergus agreed, a bit of foam in his beard. "Except for…outside. When it's real horsepiss."

Loghain rolled his eyes and peered out the tiny windows at the harbor. There. Just west where the hills began. He'd put the watchtower there. And the men he'd put there wouldn't be simply watching the sea. No. Breaker's Cover was going to need a Village Watch to keep an eye on the people here. They certainly could bear watching.

Spring was ablaze on the foothills. Prickleweed starred with little yellow flowers, bright blue lupins, pink-and-white bindweed, and then shooting stars and buttercups as they climbed higher. A golden haze of honeygrass floated on the meadows, the scent still light and fresh, but soon to become heady, honey-sweet, and voluptuous in the summer heat. Sheep grazed peacefully, and a few young foals frolicked in the pastures. It was too soon for any of Shadow's offspring, but that too would come in time. Everything spoke of peace and plenty and honest hard work.

"Loghain!" Maude cried, "The orchards!"

Heavy with blossom, the orchards were a joy to see. Loghain eyed them critically, taking note of where the trees still needed thinning. Perhaps after Maude had finished enjoying the flowers; snow-white or rose-pink. If the rain held steady, they would have a fine apple harvest.

Keenan had been told of their arrival, and was there to meet them at the gate. All the Wardens had assembled to greet their returning Commander and the new recruits. Quite of few of them wanted a peep at the new baby, who with Oghren's daughter Maddie joined the ranks as a "young Warden." Telamon's new wife was greeted kindly, and she looked about her in dazed amazement at the splendor of the Peak.

Things were fine; everything was going well, he was assured. Here and there were some serious faces, like Mistress Woolsey, and Bethany looked sad; but most were in good spirits and appeared to have nothing serious they wished to hide from him. And he entered the Great Hall with a great deal of pride. He had almost forgotten how splendid they had made it. After a short respite, he was ready to settle down to work.

A training expedition for the new recruits to gather their darkspawn blood was the first order of business, and given their circumstances, it would be undertaken without delay. Five teams, led by Sigrun, Morrigan, Darrow, Kain, and Oghren, would take the recruits out. Loghain wanted an experienced mage in each team, and assigned Anders, Sketch, Bethany, and Ambrose to the duty as well. They were to be back in a week, while Loghain settled back into the Peak, played with his son, and wrote his letters.

Then he thought again, and decided he needed to talk to Bethany first. He had seen Maude speaking with the girl, holding her hands, and peering into her face in concern. With so small a command, it was really his responsibility to know the condition of his own people.

Before dinner, she was told to report to him in War Room, where they could be private.

She was a very pretty girl. He had always thought so. She looked a little sadder and older now, only a few months since he had last seen her, but that was the human condition, after all.

"I was very sorry to hear about your mother," he said at once. "A painful loss. Maude and I wondered if you needed to go home and spend some time with your brother. If you want leave, you have only to ask."

She looked desperately uncomfortable. "It's kind of you to say so, Commander, but no. I think I should stay here. I have work here, after all, and I don't want everything to fall to my friends."

Loghain narrowed his eyes, considering. "Would you prefer it if your cousin were to travel with you?" For that matter, he would not want a Warden to travel alone. anyway. "He might be glad to see Kirkwall again, and to meet your brother."

"There is that," Bethany admitted, "but I'm not sure what good I could do. I don't think Adam needs me, and I might just be in his way. Mother has already had her funeral—for what it was worth," she muttered. "The murderer has had justice. There's nothing really for me to do. If I had been there, maybe I could have made a difference—maybe I could have saved her. But I wasn't, so I'll never know."

"No," he said forcefully. "You will never know. Dwelling on might-have-beens is useless. If you think going to Kirkwall would give you closure, you should go. If you think it would be picking at scabs, you should not. Which is it?"

"I don't want to go," she confessed, worrying at her lip. "I hoped you'd tell me I couldn't, so Adam would blame you."

Loghain forbore to sigh. Ah, women. She was very young, after all.

"Tell him that your duties are too pressing right now, if you like," he said. "Perhaps in the future you'll change your mind. If you're going to be here, though, I expect you to be fit for duty. I want to send you with the recruits on their mission to collect their darkspawn blood. Are you up to it?"

"Yes," she sounded fairly positive. "I'd like to do something important. It's nice here, but I'll be all right if I go. Morrigan said something to me about those two new mages," she paused, since she was a well-mannered young lady, "er...needing training."

"If they survive the expedition and then the Joining, there will time enough for that. I'll send one of them with your party, and the other with your cousin's. Perhaps in the course of the expedition you'll gain some insight into what's needed there. The first priority, of course, is for you and your team to stay alive."

"I can do that," she nodded. "I'll be all right, Commander. Survival. One day at a time. I can do that."

"See that you do."

The teams departed two days later, and Loghain turned his attention to the group of Wardens who had joined in Firstfall. Training reports were neatly stacked on his desk, detailing each Warden's strengths and weaknesses. He had a good little force at his command now. But it was, in fact, a little force. There should be at least a hundred Fereldan Wardens. Their thirty-two recruits should help to add up toward that number. He hoped most of them would make it through the Joining. For that matter, he hoped that most of them would make it through the Deep Roads. He had ordered Morrigan to be certain that Temmerin Glavonak, their very own first-rate dwarven engineer, did.

And they had to sit down for a talk with Mistress Woolsey, the treasurer appointed by Weisshaupt.

"I don't give two hoots for the stipend, of course," Maude told her candidly. "But I don't think calling me a 'deserter' is at all rational, when I'm here and working like a maniac, training the newbies and planting gardens."

The woman's lips thinned. "I have my orders from the First Warden himself. He said you were to report to him."

"Well," Maude gently tried to help the woman understand. "I'm not going to. I'm busy here. I have work to do. And it wouldn't be good for Gareth to travel for thousands of miles for strangers to poke at him. Or, I suspect, do a great deal worse than poke. He's fine here. Anders can send them a nice report on Gareth's health if they're interested. Or they hinted they might send one of their own people here. That's not not so disruptive, but I really don't see how my little baby boy—who is not a Warden—is any of their business."

"I shall record that you have voluntarily renounced any remuneration from the Order," the treasurer declared stiffly.

"Fine!" Maude said, eyes guileless, hand up in perfect acceptance. "Fine! I make more in loot in a month than a whole year of the stipend anyway, or at least I did before I became a mother. Now I can rely on my son to support me in the manner to which I intend to become accustomed. He's richer than I am, anyway."

Their ship returned, and together they wrote their letter to the First Warden. The final draft was clear, rational, dignified, and persuasive. Copies were duly sent to all the Warden posts, and Loghain's cover letter varied, based on his opinion of the Commander. He felt it should put the issue to rest.

Still, Maude had never looked so happy, so radiant, so utterly blissful, as when she wrote her first draft in her most exquisite hand. Loghain chuckled over it, and then locked it away, never to be seen by other eyes.

Perhaps he should burn it, but he might need diversion someday...

And then, too... If the First Warden continued to give them trouble, perhaps he would print up some copies and publish it in every corner of Thedas.

To the First Warden—

Greetings from Ferelden!

F-E-R-E-L-D-E-N

That is a country south of the Waking Sea and east of Orlais. It is not part of Orlais, whatever those quiche-eaters tell you. They are liars. I am enclosing a clearly- marked modern map, in case you can't afford one.

We don't like Orlais. We are not part of their country. They invaded, and we handed them their arses. Confusing Ferelden with Orlais is a really stupid and offensive thing to do. Stop it.

Got that?

Now, then, to business:

So you think you can order me to come to Weisshaupt, you shithead? Suck. My. Dick.

You couldn't be arsed to stand with us during an actual Blight, and now you think I should come slinking north to you, like a naughty schoolgirl, bending over for the cane? Fuck you.

You think I should be afraid of a pack of useless cowards who hid up in your fortress while I gathered armies and faced the Archdemon? You're joking, right? Bring it on, Ghoul Boy. You'll never be the man I am. I am the Blightqueller, the Dragonslayer, the Darkspawnsbane. You, on the other hand, will never be anything but a guano-faced clerk.

As for handing over my child to you— Well, what can I say? I suppose he's the sort of enemy you're capable of dealing with. In a year or two, though...not so much. It's not going to happen. I don't know what you want him for, but I do know you to be completely without honor and dead to all shame. So, no. Not interested in an extended holiday in the lovely Anderfels this year or any other.

You dare to accuse me of being a deserter, you dickless wonder. How many dragons have you killed? No, I don't mean how many did Garahel kill or your umpty-great-grandfather or Emperor Kordillius. I mean YOU. That's what I thought. I've killed three High Dragons personally— and seven mature dragons, six drakes, and uncounted dragonlings. And then I ate them. I've killed two Broodmothers. No, I did not strike the killing blow that killed the Archdemon, but neither did you, fuckhead. At least I was there. My husband did that, by the way. He tripped me and cheated, but that's a whole other story. Anyway, he can beat you up. I can beat you up. In about six years, my son can beat you up, too. And the horse you rode in on.

I never wanted to be part of your crap Order, but I'll always be the best Warden in Thedas. None of you have done what I've done. None of you have been where I've been. None have you have seen what I've seen. For you to criticize me in any fashion proves that you farted your wits out your arse at your Joining. Keep your crappy stipend, tightwad, and hire a brain.

You don't seem to have a problem with the King of Ferelden being a Warden, so I guess your problem is that I'm a woman. Is that it? Do the Grey Wardens secretly despise women, and think of ways to make their lives hell? Think carefully before you answer that one, you tosser. I'm on to you. Sending female Grey Wardens alone into the Deep Roads to become Broodmothers is, was, and always will be just about the stupidest and vilest policy the Wardens ever came up with.

So I declare to you my refusal, my derision, and my everlasting contempt. You, the First Warden, who so utterly failed in your duty to resist the Blight, have dared to call me derelict in my duty and a deserter. I don't think those words mean what you think they mean, idiot.

If your tiny mind cannot grasp what I have written, let me make it simple for you: I don't consider myself bound to obey the commands of someone so hopelessly unworthy of his title. I defy you, wanker.

I am actually extremely busy right now, but if you really want to discuss this matter further, you are welcome to come to Ferelden. See what real Wardens do. I warn you, though: it might involve fighting darkspawn. Wear a nappie.

With all sisterly regard,

Maude Cousland MacTir

Senior Warden of Ferelden

Regent of Gwaren

Andraste's True Champion

Thanks to my reviewers: MsBarrows, Zemmiphobia, mille libri, JOdel, Sn0w0wl, Jyggilag, Josie Lange, Kira Kyuu, tgc goddess, Phygmalion, .heart, anon, Judy, Aoi24, Jenna53, JackOfBladesX, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, vertigomunchkin, riverdaleswhiteflash, Ellyanah, Mike3207, Tso Doh Nimh, Shakespira, Zute, EpitomyofShyness, Costin, KnightOfHolyLight, Sarah, and Gene Dark.

I decided to make the city elf bride's story congruent with canon from my other story, Victory at Ostagar. In this story, too, Melian Tabris (Adaia) put up a fight and escaped, hiding out in the cellar of her home. After that, I can only presume she was captured by the Alienage guards and taken north to be sold to the Tevinter slavers. I hope she eventually got away. However, the timeline changes a lot after Ostagar, and other things might have happened. At any rate, she was not in the Alienage when Maude came to confront the slavers.

To get the feel of Maude's unsent letter to the First Warden, I had another look at one of my favorite historical letters, the reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks to Sultan Mehmed IV. The unexpurgated version is available at Wikipedia. Maude's letter is much more polite. There's a cool painting of the subject by Ilya Repin that you might enjoy.