Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 13: The Water of Life

"Alistair," Bronwyn said. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

Her party was dickering with the quartermaster: the two mages rather lively and spirited as the reality of escaping from the Tower became more solid with every purchase. Bronwyn paused in the doorway, watching them. Alistair looked up, smiling broadly, and excused himself.

"What is it? Are you all right?" he asked, his handsome face concerned.

"Come in here." She led the way into the little room they had used shortly before, and she shut the door.

"What's the matter?" he asked again. "You're upset."

"I'm very upset. I've had to do something I don't like, and I wanted to tell you first."

"Go on."

She took a deep, furious breath. "Knight-Commander Greagoir obviously thinks I need his help. He's forced a recruit on us, and in a way I couldn't refuse. He made it clear that if I tried, the departure of those thirty-five mages would be unavoidably delayed."

"Blackmail? Is he out of his mind? This is no time to play power games!"

She ran a hand over her face, and impatiently pushed some stray curls aside. "You know that and I know that, but Greagoir thinks our new recruits are too dangerous to leave without a keeper. He's given us one of his Templars. Released him from his vows and all that, but he's to come with us. That was his price. I couldn't say no."

"Ri—ight." Alistair leaned against the wall, thinking. "There's something I should tell you about the Templars. The Chantry keeps a pretty tight rein on them. Ever wonder how all those lady-like priests control the big scary armed men?"

"Now that you put it that way, I do."

"Well..." he grimaced, and then went on. "Yeah...well...why not give away the store? It's not like they've ever done anything for me. Not to put too fine a point on it, Templars are all given lyrium to enhance their mage-fighting abilities. They end up addicted. The Chantry controls the lyrium trade. And there you are."

"Are you saying that the Chantry deliberately addicts their Templars to lyrium? That's obscene! I can't believe it!"

"Well, they do, and it is, and you should, because it's all true," he said bluntly. "Another reason I'll always be grateful to Duncan for saving me. They start the dosing just after the Templar takes his vows, so I just missed it. Thank the Maker."

"So you're saying that we're saddled with a lyrium-addicted slave of the Chantry?"

"That's—pretty much exactly it."

"I imagine he has orders to spy on us."

Alistair laughed. "At least."

"And after what that poor girl has gone through, the last thing she'll want to see is a Templar."

"So where is our new brother?" Alistair asked.

"Waiting back by the apprentice dormitories. We've got to take him, Alistair. Those mages need to be on their way to the army as soon as possible."

"All right. Fair enough. We have to take him. I wonder if Greagoir knows he could die in the Joining."

"Any of them could die in the Joining, but I hope they won't." She bit her thumb, thinking. "And what are we going to do about the lyrium addiction?"

He shook his head. "I don't think there's much we can do at the moment. I don't even know if it can be cured. We'll probably have to give him a potion or two every day."

Thinking it over, she felt her resolve hardening. "We can do that. I wonder if he already has a stash of lyrium on him, with promises of more in exchange for information. I'll have a word with him as soon as we're across the lake. Meanwhile, we've got to get him kitted out, and get rid of the Templar gear. I hope the quartermaster has something he can wear, because otherwise he's going in his smallclothes!"

She was disappointed but not surprised when the excited looks on her new recruits' faces evaporated, and their expressions became guarded and then fairly horrified when Bronwyn and Alistair returned with the newest addition to the party. Cullen, however, was a recruit, too, and Bronwyn could not see any point in publicly insulting him.

"The Knight-Commander has released Cullen from his vows. He wants to join us, so we'll need something suitably raffish and unTemplar for him," she said lightly.

Cullen put in, a bit shyly. "I wanted to go with you—to fight. I heard your speech, and I thought I might be of use."

"Wonderful," Anders muttered. "Our very own stalker." He glanced anxiously at Tara, and whispered a question in her ear.

She would not look at Cullen, but shook her head and whispered back at Anders. The tall young mage looked relieved, but still suspicious.

"—I'm pretty sure, anyway," Tara added in a low voice. "They always kept their helmets on."

"Oh, that is a picture I did not need in my head," Alistair said to Bronwyn.

The quartermaster had some armor that would fit Cullen: a very nice set of silverite scale that was far better than Bronwyn's own chainmail. Gritting her teeth, she reached into her money belt for the gold, since she had not really been serious about taking a recruit along in only his smallclothes. The Knight-Commander had done well for him otherwise, at least. Cullen had been given time to neatly pack his belongings, and had a tent and a bedroll of his own. Other than the expensive armor, he would not be a great drain on Warden funds.

"Go and change," Bronwyn told Cullen, nodding toward the small room off the entry hall. "Bring whatever else you want, but leave your life as a Templar behind."

She filled up the time by making some small purchases, and by chatting with her other recruits about their backgrounds.

Tara did not remember life before the Circle. She was obviously an Alienage elf, but as she had been brought here when she was four years old, she had forgotten her family, and in fact did not know which Alienage she had come from. She said very little to Bronwyn directly, and appeared to be in awe of her.

Anders' story was very different.

"My mother helped me keep my magic hidden until I was fifteen. Then she died, and I was sent off to live with her brother and his wife." He smiled grimly. "May they die in a fire. They turned me into the Chantry so fast that my head is still spinning. They took all my mother's money, and her house, and all her things, too. Very pleased with themselves, they were. Righteous and richer all at once, you see."

"I think the Chantry means well—" Leliana said to herself.

Alistair hardly knew what to say at all. His Chantry conditioning made it difficult not to regard magic as dangerous, and those afflicted with it in need of people to protect them for their own good, but he knew what it was to be locked away against his will. Would he have run away? Probably not. They would have filled him full of lyrium, and he would have danced to their tune until his brain rotted like every other Templar's did in the course of time.

Cullen was back, looking very tentative and uncomfortable—and younger and smaller too, without the massive plate armor. He had a big two-handed sword sheathed at his back, and Bronwyn hoped he knew how to use it.

"Nice armor," Alistair commented. He hefted Yusaris, newly cleaned and in a new scabbard, and Bronwyn and Leliana shifted some of the other purchases to waiting arms. Cullen gave them a hesitant smile.

"Take this, please," Bronwyn said to Cullen, passing him a parcel of potions ingredients. "Yes, very nice armor indeed. Let's get moving. You need to meet the rest of our companions."

Complicated as Bronwyn's life had just become, there was more in store, as they walked through the wide doors of the Circle Tower.

The young elf stepped out into the sunlight and staggered, green eyes bulging, looking up wildly at the blue dome of the sky over the vastness of Lake Calenhad.

"Too big," she gasped, and promptly vomited into the straggling weeds by the doorway. Moaning, she covered her eyes and retched again.

Anders put an arm out to steady her, but she was already collapsing to her knees, curling up in a tight ball of fear and misery.

"Too big," she moaned. "Too big." She began trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

Bronwyn looked at Alistair, who looked back at her, blank and helpless.

"Poor thing!" cried Leliana. "She must be very sick."

"She told you she doesn't remember anything before the Tower, and since she doesn't, she won't remember what it's like to be outside," Anders told them, smoothing the girl's hair back. "Come on, Tara. You'll get used to it. Keep your eyes shut and we'll get you out of here."

Cullen had come up on the girl's other side, his face anxious, his hands reaching out hesitantly. He stepped back a little at Anders' fierce glare.

"Get away from her!"

"I want to help…"

Bronwyn pushed the former Templar aside, and knelt beside her new recruits. "Tara, we need to get you to the boat. Can you walk if Anders and I help you?" The girl nodded quickly, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, gagging. Her eyes were shut tightly, her other hand groping out for them.

Bronwyn thought about telling Anders to carry the girl, but that would not be the most impressive way for the girl to begin her career in the Grey Wardens. Instead, with Anders on one side and Bronwyn on the other, they led the girl to the boat and helped her in.

She jerked her head at Cullen. "You can help by carrying their things."

He instantly swept everything up, trying not drop the odd bags.

He seems biddable enough, Bronwyn sighed to herself. But he's going to be a very tough sell to a lot of my party. Morrigan already had problems with Alistair, who had been trained by the Templars. What would she make of Cullen, who had actually been one?

The old boatman had been napping as he waited at the dock. Now he snorted awake and frowned, trying to figure out the group. He clearly recognized Cullen, which seemed to give him some reassurance.

"Little elf girl's come over queer, has she? I seen that before. Not used to the big sky over the lake. A fine sight. Never get tired of it myself."

"I'm sure she'll be better once she's had a chance to wash and rest," Bronwyn said, trying to hearten her new recruit. "Maybe this would help," she said, offering her silver flask of Tevinter brandy.

Anders took a sniff, "Ah, aqua vitae, the drink of the Old Gods themselves! Come on, elfkins, drink up! It'll put hair in your ears!"

The elf, eyes still screwed shut, took a sip and coughed. "Anders, you ass!"

At least she laughed, and the rest of the them did too, more or less.

Bronwyn managed a weak smile. She felt like a fool. Recruiting the elf because she was sorry for her had been a stupid thing to do, but she knew she could not have left the girl to her fate. Somehow, she would have to find a way to make this work.

Seven people in Kester's small boat left it low in the water. Bronwyn removed her gauntlet and let her hand idly trail in the chilly lake. Tara rested against Anders' broad shoulder, shading her eyes, trying to slow her breathing. Bronwyn hoped she wouldn't have to deal with a full-blown panic attack in the cramped confines of a boat in deep water.

There was a period of silence, broken only the sound of Tara's gasps and the gurgle of the oars slipping in and out of the water, when Cullen spoke up.

"Are we going to Ostagar?"

Bronwyn shook her head slightly. "We'll talk when we're all together at the inn. We have a different mission. How are you on horseback?"

"Pretty good." He seemed interested. "You have horses?"

"Enough."

"Oh, wonderful," Anders groaned. "Horses."

"Not a fan, I take it?" Alistair asked.

"I've never ridden a horse," Anders declared, "but I have been kicked by one."

"Well," Alistair explained, with an air of great wisdom. "Riding and being kicked are two entirely different skill sets. We'd like you to focus on the riding bit for now."

Bronwyn said, "We're waiting for a boat to take us across the lake to Gherlen's Pass, so we'll have time for some riding lessons before we go."

Kester's attention was drawn by that. "Waiting for the Lady of the Lake, are you? That's the biggest in these waters. Put in here a month ago—no, I tell a lie—it was two months ago and the skipper said she needed looking to. Might be awhile before she puts in."

"Really?" Bronwyn was displeased. "How long?"

"Can't say. Might be a month, might be tomorrow."

"Lovely," she sighed.

"There's the inn," Leliana said. "We're almost there—Tara, isn't it?—We're almost there. It's very comfortable. I'll order baths for us, and you will feel much better."

"Thanks," Tara managed, gritting her teeth against the skull-burning terror of all this space.

"A bath would be nice," Bronwyn agreed. "And tonight we should have some entertainment. A story, I think—and Alistair—"

"Oh, Maker save me," he muttered.

"Yes, Alistair, I think tonight's the night for you."

"Oh, what fun!" Leliana enthused. "I look forward to it so much."

"And you, Leliana," Bronwyn said. "If it wouldn't be an imposition—would you consider playing your lute for us?"

Leliana smiled, brilliantly. "I shall consider it, yes!"

The boat knocked against the pier and was made fast. Tara was helped out and gently urged toward the inn.

Their approach had been noted. Sten and Scout were waiting for them by the shore.

"I must speak to you, Warden," Sten said grimly, in contrast to Scout's happy tail-wagging and frolicking.

"Go on, take Tara in and get settled," Bronwyn said, waving on the rest of the party. She gave Scout a reassuring pat. "Yes, Sten? Is everything all right?"

"The horses are safe and I have seen no enemies approaching. All is well. There is something else I wish to discuss."

"Of course."

"You may have wondered what a Sten of the Beresaad was doing in a human village in the middle of Ferelden."

"I wondered, yes, but I thought it best to let you speak of it in your own time."

"That is well. I came with my fellows on a mission from the Arishok to answer a question."

She waited, only raising her brows.

"The Arishok—the military leader of my people—wished to know 'What is the Blight?' By these shores—I think south of here—we were surprised by a large party of darkspawn. I alone survived. At length I was found by humans. How I came to be in the village is a story for another time."

"Your—Arishok— must be expecting your report at some point, I take it?"

"Indeed. But I cannot return. I have lost my sword, and my people would call me soulless, and slay me."

"Your sword?" Bronwyn tried to understand the story. The Qunari were just so different—so incomprehensible. "You might have dropped it where you fought. You must have your sword in order to return to your people?"

"It is so."

"Well, we'll have to find it—"

"I have word of it." Seeing her waiting patiently, he continued. "There is a scavenger—a looter of lost things—whom I came upon. He came to sell some of his findings to the innkeeper here. He was one of those who robbed the bodies of my brothers. He says the sword was taken by a trader, by name Faryn, who was on his way to Orzammar."

Pleased that it fell in with her plans, Bronwyn said, "Well, we are going to Orzammar, so we will look for this Faryn. There is a big trading post outside the gates of Orzammar, I'm told. They have a fair that lasts until the dead of winter. We'll find this fellow Faryn, I'm sure. Oh—" she said, reaching down to scratch Scout's ears. "I don't pretend to fully understand how important your sword is to you, but I do sympathize. While we are looking for it, perhaps you would consider making use of a fine weapon we were given at the Circle…" She led the way back to the inn and a much-desired tankard of ale.

"So here it is—" said Alistair, gathering the new recruits at a table at the Spoiled Princess. Bronwyn was speaking outside with Sten, and he had a few minutes to talk before she returned. The innkeeper brought them a round of drinks, which were seized on eagerly by everyone.

Alistair told the innkeeper, "It's awhile until supper I imagine, so if you could bring us some snacks—just some bread and cheese—that sort of thing, you know—"

"—And we'll want baths as soon as we can have them!" Leliana added.

The innkeeper nodded and bustled off to the kitchen. Alistair took a long swallow of ale before going on.

"I don't know how much any of you know about the Battle of Ostagar—"

Cullen was nodding, but Tara and Anders looked fairly blank. The elf's color and condition had much improved, once within four walls and covered by a roof. She could even enjoy looking out the narrow little windows at the Circle Tower, now safely in the distance and separated from them by a fair stretch of lake.

She said, "I heard about the darkspawn invasion, and that the King had taken the army south. That's just before I got locked up."

"You know more than I do, elfkins," Anders said.

"Right." Alistair took a deep breath. "The darkspawn invaded, the King went south, and there was a huge battle. This is the bad part, now: all the Grey Wardens but Bronwyn and yours truly were killed. We were sent to light a signal beacon at the top of this huge old Tevinter tower—the Tower of Ishal. We got there, found it was already taken by the darkspawn, and Bronwyn did this big heroic thing of climbing the tower with a rope and fighting an ogre single-handed at the top and lighting the beacon. It was a tremendous victory from the King's point of view, but we still lost most of the Grey Wardens. That's why we're recruiting pretty aggressively."

"Lucky for us!" Anders remarked. "Except for the whole 'killed in battle' thing."

"Anyway," Alistair continued, an edge in his voice, "my point is that Bronwyn is the real deal—she really is brave and smart and heroic—and she deserves your respect. She's in charge, and I'm here to back her up, and that's the size of it."

"Is the Qunari a recruit, too?" Tara asked.

"Yeah. We picked him up in Lothering, along with Leliana here."

"Bronwyn is a very nice person," Leliana agreed. "And her swordsmanship is admirable. I like the way she does her hair. Well, I do!" she said to Cullen, seeing his strange expression.

"The way she talks—" Tara muttered into her tankard. "—it's kind of fancy. She sounds like the First Enchanter."

Alistair shrugged. "Well, her brother is the Teyrn of Highever, and she's a highly educated lady."

"I should have known," Anders sighed. "A noble."

Cullen was very impressed. "The sister of a teyrn? Shouldn't we be addressing her as Lady Bronwyn, then?"

"Hey! We're all equal in the Wardens," Alistair declared. "We don't use titles. And since I've got you all together, let's go over the rest of the basics…" He broke off. "Oh, good! Cheese!"

Bronwyn came in to find Alistair taking care of the recruits' orientation. He was doing perfectly well at it, so she took the tankard the innkeeper offered, and devoted herself to drinking for a moment. Sten joined the others, pleased to see that the tray of snacks the landlord set on the table included cookies.

"But if Ostagar was this big victory," Anders was saying, "Why is there a problem? The darkspawn were defeated, right?"

She didn't want to hear the bad news repeated, even though it stalked her dreams. Instead, she nodded to Morrigan, coming in through the door from the upstairs.

"The Chantry scholar has departed," Morrigan told her, "so I secured his room in addition to the others. 'Tis a great deal larger, in fact, and should —are those people with us?"

"Three new recruits." Bronwyn gestured to her and they stepped back into the hallway. "Two mages and a former Templar," she whispered. "Don't look at me like that. The Templar was a concession to the Knight-Commander, so he would permit the departure of a mob of mages we recruited for the army. I'm more concerned with our new mages at this point. I know you despise the Circle and its inhabitants, but go easy on them—especially the girl. She helped a friend escape and was caught. She was in the dungeon when we found her, and in a very bad way. It's quite impossible that you would hate the Circle more than she does. She had problems leaving the Tower, since she could not remember ever having been out-of-doors. The man is reportedly an outstanding Healer, but was also in the dungeons-for a year in solitary confinement—because he made repeated escape attempts. I think he's the pick of the bunch."

Rather acidly, Morrigan replied, "Then I shall handle them with velvet gloves. I had hoped to have a room to myself, if only to escape your nightly adventures in the Fade."

"Maybe Leliana can bear with me. If you don't object, I'd like you to share a room with Tara, and I'll share with Leliana. If the other room is larger, we'll put the men in there, and ask the landlord to lay some featherbeds on the floor. I expect to be here a least for a few days. No one knows when the boat I want is coming. I'll be giving the mages some riding lessons anyway, and I hope you will join us. And now, come with me, and I'll make the introductions."

As Bronwyn could have predicted, they did not go very smoothly. She caught the men's looks of admiration at the sight of Morrigan in her revealing robes: Anders very open about it, and Cullen very guilty. Tara looked at her with admiration too.

"You're a mage?" she asked in wonder. "A mage who has never lived in the Circle?"

"That I am," Morrigan declared proudly. "Templars came and went, but my mother and I were never caught. Never even in the least danger of it, in fact."

"An apostate!" Cullen stared in horror. Bronwyn did not like the curious blue glow gathering around him.

"Uh—Cullen," Alistair nudged him. "Don't do that. She counts as a Grey Warden ally. Remember what I told you?"

"But—"

"I'd like to speak to Cullen for a moment," Bronwyn said pleasantly. "Why don't you all get situated and washed upstairs? Tara, you will be sharing a room with Morrigan, and I'm sorry, Leliana, but it looks like you will have put up with me. Alistair," she said quickly, cutting off whatever remark Anders was about to make. "Alistair, Morrigan took Brother Genetivi's room for us, and since it's much bigger, I think all the men can go there. Ask the the innkeeper for more bedding."

"I cannot wait to have a shave," Anders said dreamily, following after Sten and Alistair. "Ale, cheese, and a shave. I call that the good life. All I need now is permission to shoot lightning at fools and a harem of pretty girls...oh, wait, we've got that..."

Bronwyn smiled at the sound of his voice, fading as he went upstairs with the rest. She remained smiling as she sat down at the table and faced Cullen. She gave a nod to the innkeeper, and he hastily departed in the direction of the kitchen.

"Cullen." She sat back and regarded him, keeping her face pleasant. "Please listen very carefully to me. I don't know what the Knight-Commander had in mind, or what orders he gave you. They don't matter. He is no longer your Knight-Commander. I command the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and you are my recruit. I'm sure Alistair told you of our mission."

"He said we were to go to Orzammar to enforce the treaties against the darkspawn," Cullen ventured. He added, uncertain as to her title, " Commander."

"Call me Bronwyn. We are not formal in the Grey Wardens. We are going to enforce the treaties, yes, but that is because our ultimate mission is to kill darkspawn, by whatever means necessary. Did Alistair say those words to you?"

"I don't recall—"

"Then I shall repeat them. 'By whatever means necessary.' Our late commander, Duncan, emphasized those words to me. Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them, because the darkspawn are the supreme danger to the safety of the people of Thedas. Understand that as a Grey Warden you will not be fighting unarmed, frightened eight-year-old boys, or exhausted, escaping lone mages. Darkspawn are strong and savage, and they hunt in packs, and they eat people!"

Her voice had risen involuntarily. She took another sip of ale, thinking the man was looking sufficiently cowed. Of course, as a former Templar, he was accustomed to women telling him what to do.

More quietly, she continued. "We are not the Chantry Wardens, Cullen. We are certainly not the Shining White Wardens. If an apostate wants to stand with us and fight darkspawn, then she is our ally. In fact, I don't ever want to see you using Templar skills on any of our mages. Save them for the darkspawn."

The words, once spoken, disturbed her. She remembered the night before Ostagar: the council of war under the ruined arches of the ancient fortress, and Uldred offering a magical alternative to the signal beacon. The Revered Mother had rudely cut him off, telling him to save his spells "for the darkspawn."

"I think there is so much you can do to help us save this country, Cullen," she told him kindly. "We need brave hearts and generous souls so very badly. But we must keep on mission, Cullen. The darkspawn are our enemy, and anything that prevents us fighting them. The darkspawn, Cullen. Do not let yourself be distracted by anything else. Have you ever seen darkspawn yourself?"

"Never," he said softly.

"Well, you'll be seeing them if you stay with us. Keep your sword sharp. And remember that the Grey Wardens are brothers and sisters to one another. Alistair is your brother, and Anders is your brother, and so is Sten. Tara and Leliana are your sisters. We are your new family, whether we are warriors or mages or human or Qunari or elf."

"And you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're my sister, too."

"Exactly right," she approved. Then she gave him her most winning smile. "Just remember though, that I'm your older sister, and I get to tell you what to do."

"Yes, Command—I mean—Bronwyn."

"And furthermore," she added gently. "When you need lyrium, just tell us, and we'll see to it."

"You never lived in the Circle," Tara repeated. The room was gorgeous, and she would be sharing it with only one other person. There was a big bed, and a writing table and a chair, and their own fireplace with a fire in it, and chests for storing things, and well...everything. And the servant had come in with a big pitcher of hot water, and Tara could have a bath, standing in the wide basin in the corner. Irving had healed her, but she was still filthy from imprisonment and too many faceless men.

"No, I never have," Morrigan answered carelessly. "My mother taught me my magic, and taught me well."

"You are so lucky," Tara told her. "You must not even have a phylactery!"

Morrigan frowned at the unfamiliar word. "A phylactery? Why would I have such a thing?"

"When we come to the Circle, the Templars take some of our blood and put it in a phylactery vial, and that's how they track us," Tara told her. "When I helped Jowan escape, we went to the storage cellars off the dungeons to destroy his." She added glumly. "Mine had already been sent to Denerim."

"The Templars track you using your blood?" Morrigan asked with incredulous amusement. "Such breathtaking hypocrisy astonishes even me. You are saying that the Chantry, that bastion against the evil maleficarum, uses Blood Magic itself? And regularly, too?"

"Yes," Tara ventured uncertainly, "I suppose you could say..." She stopped, enraged and betrayed and murderous. "Yes, they do! Those bastards!"

She caught Morrigan's eye, and shook her head, laughing and crying at once. "Those utter bastards!"

"This is wonderful," Anders proclaimed, digging into his shepherd's pie. "I haven't had much but gruel for months."

"It is good, isn't it?" Tara agreed. It was such a pleasant, strange way to eat. It was like a family, almost, or at least the way she had imagined a family. There was the mother at the head of the table, and the father at the foot—or was it the other way round? Well, Bronwyn was in charge, so where she sat must be the head. There was plenty of food and drink and people were talking nicely to each other, and no one was standing guard. She was a little afraid of the big dog sitting on the floor by Bronwyn, but she was told that Scout was a friend, so she managed a frightened smile and put a piece of meat from her pie on the floor by him to buy his favor. She had never seen a dog before, and had not imagined them being so big.

Scout regarded the meat with a certain disdain. He had been informed that the small creature was pack, but it was clear that she was a low-ranking member, and she smelled of fear. However, meat was meat, after all...

"I cannot believe how much you two look like each other!" Leliana cried for the tenth time, smiling at Alistair and Anders. "You really could be brothers!" She turned to Sten. "Don't you think they look alike?"

"All humans look alike," he rumbled, carefully leaving room for cookies.

"You do," Cullen put in hesitantly. "There really is a resemblance, now that Anders is shaved."

"I do not look like him!" Alistair insisted. "He's all pasty—and—and—magicky!"

"Woooooo!" Anders threatened, waving his hands in weird patterns. "Magicky! I like that! I suppose nothing is impossible. I'm a bastard, after all. We could have had a mutual sperm donor—not to insult your no doubt worthy father."

Bronwyn stopped eating, and set down her fork. Alistair turned red and looked at her from the other end of the table. She smiled lightly and said, "Where are you from, Anders? You mentioned your mother and how you avoided the Circle until you were fifteen."

"From Gwaren. I'm told my father was a soldier, but Mother wouldn't say much. She was always putting me off 'until the time was right' as she said, and then she was killed in a fall. so now I'll never know. I don't worry about it much. If my father had been worth two coppers, he wouldn't have left her in the first place."

"Maybe you're right," Alistair muttered. "I think I'm done," he said, pushing away his plate.

"Not until we have our story!" Leliana told the others, "We have made a pact. Everyone has to tell a story. It's Alistair's turn tonight!"

"Oh, very well," he groaned. "I might as well get it over with. I heard this from a minstrel at Redcliffe a long time ago and I liked it. I'll try to get it right..."

Alistair's story of The Water of Life:

There was once a king who had three sons. The king was proud of his two eldest, but the youngest son he thought a fool, and he was called Witling, instead of having a proper name.

The King fell sick, and everyone thought he was going to die. The King told his courtiers, "In a far country is the Well of the Water of Life. Unless someone can bring me a draught of that, I shall surely perish."

The eldest prince said, "I shall soon find it." He was given a white horse and a scarlet cloak and a famous sword, and trumpets rang as he rode from the castle. He rode until he came to a deep valley, surrounding by high rocks. On one of the rocks was perched an old man with a staff and a bright red cap, who called out, "Whither so fast, my prince?"

"What's it to you?" sneered the prince.

The old man was a mage, and he was furious at the prince's rudeness. Suddenly the prince and his horse stopped, spellbound and asleep. The rocks and trees and vines surrounded the prince and hid him from the world.

After a time no one had heard from him, so the second prince said, "Sire, I shall find the Water of Life." To himself he said, "My brother is surely dead, and now the kingdom will fall to me."

So the king gave him a white horse and scarlet cloak and a famous sword, and trumpets rang out as he rode from the castle. He rode until he came to the deep valley, and the mage was there, and called, "My prince, whither so fast?"

"Mind your own business, you old busybody," sneered the prince, and instantly he was struck by the spell and vanished from the world, sound asleep.

When he did not return, the youngest brother went to his father and asked for leave to find The Water of Life.

"How could you, a worthless witling, hope to do what you brothers could not?" said the king, but nonetheless he was afraid of dying and gave his leave.

Prince Witling was given an old nag, and a rough sheepskin to keep him warm, and a rusty sword from the armory. No trumpets rang for him, but he rode out with high hopes all the same.

He came to the deep valley where the mage was waiting. The mage called out, "Prince, whither so fast?"

And the prince said, "I am going to search for the Water of Life, because my father is dying. Have you ever heard of it? If you can give me any help, I would really appreciate it."

"Well!" said the mage, "since you ask so nicely, I will help you. The well of the Water of Life lies to the north and the well is hidden in an enchanted castle. Follow the Dragon Star and you will find it. Here is an iron wand. Strike it three times against the gate of the castle and it will open for you. Here are two loaves of bread. There are two bears standing guard just inside the gate. Throw one of these loaves to each of the bears and they will let you alone. Walk through the castle until you come to the inner courtyard, where lies the well of the Water of Life. There is something else there too, but I believe in pleasant surprises."

So everything happened as the mage foretold. Prince Witling struck the door three times and it flew open. There was a bear to the right, and a bear to the left. The prince threw a loaf to each and they were satisfied. He walked through the great castle, and stepped outside to a broad courtyard.

The courtyard was full of flowers of all colors, and in the middle was the well, but the prince saw something even more amazing. Standing beside the well was a beautiful queen. She welcomed him joyfully and told him she was under an enchantment; but if he could come back here after a year and day had passed, she would be free of the spell, and she and this castle and her whole kingdom would be his.

To seal their betrothal, she gave him a sword and helmet of dragonbone. The sword could cut through any armor, and the helmet rendered the wearer invincible.

"Take these, think of me, and be ever victorious," said the beautiful queen.

Rejoicing in his good fortune, he filled his flask with the Water of Life and bade the beautiful queen farewell, promising that he would return without fail.

He rode home and on the way he met the mage in the red cap who had helped him, and thanked him for all he had done. The mage smiled when he saw the sword and the helmet. "You have won noble prizes in your travels, my prince," he said, "but I think that the best of all is what is yet to come."

The prince agreed with that, of course, and then asked the mage if he knew anything about his brothers.

"I have punished them for their pride and arrogance," the mage said, "and they are bespelled with sleep."

The prince was sorry for his brothers, and begged so hard that they be released that the mage agreed, but he warned Prince Witling: "Take care. They have bad hearts."

But the prince was happy to see his brothers again, and told them he had found the Water of Life, and showed them the flask. He also told them of the beautiful queen and his promise to return and lift the enchantment after a year and a day. The older princes smirked at each other, and while their younger brother slept, they took the Water of Life from him and put it in another flask. Prince Witling's flask they filled with scummy pond water.

When they reached their home, Prince Witling brought his flask to his father. The king drank the dirty water, and spat it out, furious. The other sons pretended to be horrified, and said, "Father, if we had known that this fool meant to poison you, we would never have allowed him to return!"

The king did not think Witling clever enough to poison him, but he thought him an embarrassment. He ordered the youngest prince banished and told him that if he ever returned to the kingdom his life would be forfeit. The older sons watched him off and then hurried to take their father the Water of Life, each wanting to get the credit for saving their father's life, each hoping to be made the heir of the kingdom.

Meanwhile, Witling sadly rode away. He spent many months traveling, and everywhere he found battles and bloodshed. He used his sword and helmet in countless fights, and saved whole kingdoms of innocent people.

The queen in her castle far to the north waited for him, and while she waited she caused her servants to build a road of shining gold from the forest to the gate of her castle. She said, "Only he who rides down the middle of it is my true prince: let no one else pass the gate."

At the end of the year, the eldest prince decided to ride north and gain himself a queen and a kingdom. When he saw the golden road he thought it a thousand pities to ride upon it, and so he turned his horse to the left and rode up on the dirt beside it to the castle. When he came to the gate, the guards told him he was not the true prince, and to go about his business. And so there was nothing for it but to just go home.

Then the second prince saw his chance, and rode north hoping to gain a queen and a kingdom. When he saw the golden road he too thought it a thousand pities to dirty it with horse's hooves, so he turned to the right, and rode up alongside it to the castle. But he fared no better than his brother: the guards told him he was not the true prince, and to go away. And so he had to go on home, too.

The king their father was amazed when many embassies came to him with presents, praising his son Prince Witling for saving them. He wondered, "Could I have been wrong about him?" And he searched for his son, but he never found him, for the prince was wandering the world until the time came to claim his queen. And the other brothers never told him about the castle and the queen, because they were too embarrassed.

When the year was quite gone, the prince rode north to the Castle of the Water of Life. As he rode along, all he thought about was his beautiful queen and how much he wanted to be with her. He never even saw the golden road. He cantered down the very middle of it, and the guards opened the gates to him at once. The queen kissed him, and told him that he would be her king and lord of all she possessed. So they were married amid feasting and celebration, and they lived happily ever after.

"Happily ever after!" Morrigan scoffed.

"Yes," Alistair maintained loftily. "They lived happily ever after to the end of their days. Deliriously happy, in fact. Couldn't have been happier."

"And the old king never knew what happened to his son?" Cullen said, almost to himself.

"No, never!" Anders interrupted. "Why should he? He was quick enough to throw him away when he didn't think him of any use. Serves him right, I say."

Sten frowned. "Did the prince continue to fight? Or did he fall into sloth and gluttony, fawning over the woman like a fool?"

"Hey!" Alistair objected. "He fought! Lots! People were always coming to him to help them out, and he did, but when he wasn't doing that, he was having a very nice life with his queen."

"It's a beautiful story, Alistair," Bronwyn said, liking the golden road bits especially. "Thank you. Don't be too scornful, Morrigan. Your turn is coming soon!"

"Well, I can assure you that any story I tell will not end with the words 'happily ever after!'"

"There are many different kinds of stories," Leliana granted. "All of them have their merits. Variety is very important."

"So..." Bronwyn sat by Leliana, looking at her expectantly, "are you going to play for us tonight, or not?"

Leliana smiled, and gave a slow nod. "Yes. I am ready to play again at last."

Notes: the story is adapted from "The Water of Life," collected by the Brothers Grimm.

Thanks to my reviewers: Aoihand, Amhran Comhrac, almostinsane, Persephone Chiara, Eva Galana, Shakespira, Zyanic, Piceron, SotF, khaos974, mutive, mille libri, Sati James, Lunarfox's Silverdusk, Angry Girl, Costin, kart87, Have Socks Will Travel, Porphyra, Sofaspud, ByLanternLight, WellspringCD, and Remenants. You are my inspiration.

We will return to events at Ostagar in the next chapter, while Bronwyn and her party wait for the boat and practice riding,