Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 14: A Parting Glass

Ostagar was beginning to have the look of a small town, or at least a permanent outpost of the kingdom. Wooden huts and barracks were in the process of being constructed. The quartermaster's stores were now under permanent cover. If they stayed through the winter, the King and his nobles would have to take up residence in the Tower of Ishal, which was being readied for that contingency.

The darkspawn had been thwarted at every turn, but they had not been eradicated. Soldiers did not wander off alone from the camp, for darkspawn appeared in small packs at frequent, random intervals: pressing, probing; always challenging the defenses of the army at Ostagar.

The threat was not so great as to spread the rot of fear through the army, fortunately. Morale was fairly high. So Loghain thought, leaving the King's tent for his own. Higher than ever, of course, since Bronwyn Cousland had sent them her extravagant gift.

The arrival of thirty-five mages in their six wagons had astonished the entire army, from King down to foot soldier. Some soldiers had been intimidated. Most however, were glad—especially at the arrival of so many Healers to work in the infirmary. And the mages certainly seemed enthusiastic. Without exception they were genuinely glad to be here.

Thirty-five mages! That was an amazing contribution. If the young Warden accomplished nothing else, that alone was worthy of commendation. He had imagined she might double their number, or perhaps, if she were particularly persuasive, send them ten more from the Circle.

The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander had not responded so generously to the King's call for assistance. Idly, Loghain wondered exactly how the girl had wheedled the mages away from those two stubborn old men. Had she scolded them, charmed them, counseled them, mocked them? Perhaps all of the above, sweetened with that smile of hers. It was amusing to imagine.

He hoped that the bastard was proving of some use to her. The boy had followed her like a puppy, those days between the battle and their departure. He smiled to himself. It reminded him a little of Anora and Cailan, at least in childhood, when the palace was their world of adventure.

A burst of laughter from the tent beyond distracted him from his thoughts. Fergus Cousland seemed in good spirits.

"Ha! I can't believe it! She took his horses, too!"

Another man laughed, saying something unintelligible, but Loghain recognized the voice as Leonas Bryland's.

Who could "she" be, if it was a matter of interest to Cousland, and who could "she" be, if it involved horses? They must be speaking of his sister. Curious, Loghain walked around his tent to hear the news.

Fergus Cousland, his tent open to the air, was lounging about reading, red-faced with mirth. Bryland was laughing too, putting his head in his hands in mock despair. The men looked up to see Loghain staring at them.

"Oh! Sorry, Loghain. Ha!" Fergus tried to compose himself. "I'm reading through Bronwyn's enormous letter to me! Practically a novel, this, telling me all about her adventures."

Loghain paused. His paperwork could wait, surely.

"Come in and sit down," Fergus was saying, still grinning. "No doubt she was on her best behavior in her letter to you. Have a drink! Dariel!"

Bronwyn had written to him, indeed: a very proper, very clear report of her activities and her progress with her mission. Once again, he regretted that she would never be his officer. She was of course, under his general command, and there was satisfaction in that. In combat, he felt that she could be trusted to do as she was told, and improvise when needed without compromising his own strategy.

Yes, an excellent report: respectful without subservience; witty without flippancy. He could almost hear her speaking the words.

The tent still bore a certain air of her having been there, or perhaps it was simply the well-trained Highever servants. He accepted the cider, and sat down in a folding chair by Fergus, wanting to hear about the letter. It was certainly thick enough.

Loghain remarked, "She told me that she had seen only scattered patrols of darkspawn: one a day south of Lothering, and then some up around Lake Calenhad."

"Right—Lake Calenhad. I've only scanned the letter. It looks like I've got entertainment for a night or two here," he laughed. "Bronwyn's practically sent me a diary of her adventures!" He bowed to his cousin, "She began with sending her best love to all her relatives, of course."

Bryland bowed back, "Of course!"

Loghain snorted into his cup. Cousland and Bryland had certainly begun their drinking early today. Or perhaps it was simply the letter.

"She must have left the humorous bits out of the report she sent me," Loghain said dryly.

Fergus wiped his eyes. "Not so much humorous as outrageous. Our Bronwyn has been a very high-handed girl. I'll probably have to settle things with Bann Ceorlic eventually, but I can't blame her for taking all the horses he left at the manor."

Loghain looked up in surprise. "She did what?"

"She requisitioned them—gave the seneschal a promissory note and all, but clearly she saw nothing wrong in it. Come to think of it, I think I'll let her do the talking when Ceorlic comes calling. She can be all doe-eyed and sweet and earnest, and I'll just stand behind her nodding solemnly. She'll probably get away with it."

"Did she say why?"

"Why she took the horses? She says that she recruited two Wardens in Lothering and foresaw that she'd need more mounts. She picked up another three at the Circle: two mages and a Templar who's been released from his vows. She says that—Ahem!" Fergus' voice grew higher and lighter and considerably more polished as he read. "'It would seem that my words struck home with a great many of our mages.' That means, I take it, that the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander were so ill-advised as to let Bronwyn address the troops, as it were, and she laid on the charm as only she can. Hence the five wagons and the thirty-five mages. Bronwyn's awfully good at getting her way. Mother was about the only one who could resist the big grey eyes and that little throaty tremor in her voice—but of course that's because Bronwyn learned how to do all that at Mother's knee. Surpassed her, though—and early."

Bryland laughed, with a touch of melancholy. "Your father could never say no to her, certainly."

Fergus' smile became rueful. "I don't know. He managed to put her off from time to time. A flat 'no?' Well, perhaps not."

Loghain saw no reason to complain of her behavior, since she had sent him thirty-five mages. Ceorlic might never realize the horses were gone, or if he did, it might not be until next year. That sniveling coward should have given the horses to the army, anyway.

"Oh!" Fergus went back to his letter. "And she organized a militia in Lothering while she was there. Ceorlic may not like that, either. She was quite scandalized that no provisions at all had been made for the town's defense. She's got them keeping lookouts in the watchtowers and building a gate of the far side of town. She also cleared out some bandits while she was there."

"Oh, well done," Bryland saluted her with his goblet.

"—and some wolves, bears, and spiders. Spiders? She says there was a nest of unpleasantly large spiders in a hill south of town. Big as mabaris, she says."

"She's having you on," Bryland decided. "Never heard of a spider that big or even near it."

"I have," Loghain stated flatly. At that very Loghainish tone of voice, Bryland was silent. Loghain scowled, thinking it over. "Until her report, I had no idea they were breeding on the surface. That could be serious in itself. There must be details there she might not have thought to tell me."

"Well—" Fergus said, scanning the pages of the letter, "from what I can see, she was running into all sorts of unpleasantness. If she'd told you about every time she was attacked, her letter to you would be as long as this!"

"No matter," Loghain said, pouring himself more cider. "What exactly does she say? I need to know everything."

Bryland raised his brows and shot Fergus a knowing look. Fergus grimaced, and paged through the letter.

"All right. There was the little boy she ran into half a day from camp, whose family lived along the Fairbourne. She got the mother and children out, but the father was not to be found, and the darkspawn attacked just as they were loading the wagon. Killed them all, but the children took no hurt beyond a bad fright. Said there were others who hadn't evacuated when they were told, and were probably dead. She picked up some more refugees on the road, and then chased off some bandits south of Lothering."

"Chased off?" Bryland asked. "What does she mean?"

Fergus read a paragraph, and grinned again. "She told them that she had never met an old bandit, and that she would be vexed with them if she met them 'collecting taxes' again. They agreed with her, and cleared their rubbish off the road."

He took a sip from his goblet, and read down the page. "Lothering—everyone happy to see them, bought them drinks, and so forth. Some strange rumors passed on to her from the barman." He frowned, and passed over them without reading them aloud.

Could Arl Eamon have been poisoned? It seemed unlikely to Fergus. The man had been right here in camp when he died. Still, there were slow-acting poisons. Father had told him about the Crows and their tricks. It seemed impossible that a decent fellow like Teagan would be involved in something like that. He couldn't fake that kind of concern for his brother. On the other hand, Mother had always disliked Arlessa Isolde, and thought she was—what? 'A pious fraud.' There was endless gossip about Teagan being unmarried and some whispers about how possessive the Arlessa seemed toward her brother-in-law…

Loghain was looking at him, waiting for the rumors. Fergus, feeling himself flush, said, "There was some talk about Bronwyn herself that she thought silly. She hates that nickname—'Girl Warden.' She was more concerned about reports of people vanishing from their farmholds. It's probably what she saw at that place where she rescued the family. The darkspawn burst out of the ground and snatch up the odd captive. Very unsettling."

Loghain snorted, and agreed, with heavy sarcasm. "Very."

Fergus went back to the letter, "And then up to the manor, and everything very nice, and Ceorlic really is quite the sybarite, and oh—" he laughed again, glancing through the next few pages. "—This is all about Bann Ceorlic's bathroom, and isn't it a scandalous expenditure, but she really liked it, all the same." He rubbed his jaw, trying not to laugh at her. "Bronwyn's a sensible girl, but she's still a girl, and thus had to describe to me how very much she enjoyed washing her hair properly. I think we can pass over that bit."

He moved to the next page. "And she thought she'd get an early start, but she woke to half the freeholders in the bannorn pounding at the gate the next morning, wanting to talk to anybody who might know something, so she had to address their concerns and calm them down, and then she agreed to organize their muster, but first deal with the present threats."

He huffed, in sympathetic indignation. "She's quite starchy about the helplessness of the village, standing there watching while someone else dealt with their problems. A young lay sister of the local Chantry eventually showed up with a bow, and made herself useful, but she was the only one to actually do anything to help. She volunteered to go with Bronwyn—" he burst out laughing, "—saying that the Maker told her to. Bronwyn thinks this Sister Leliana is a bit bonkers, but very well-meaning, and a splendid archer. She's been recruited into the Wardens."

Fergus stared at the rest of the page. What was this? Lines of strange symbols and markings? Then he remembered.

Loghain saw his confusion, and asked, "What is it?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to puzzle this bit out. Bronwyn's written it in our old secret code."

"What?" Bryland laughed. Then he said, "I should have known!"

"No, really—" Fergus, explained, smiling. "—when we were children we made up a secret code so we could exchange messages that no one else could decipher. I'll have to sit down and do some scribbling, but it will come back to me, I'm sure. We got the idea from some story about the old Tevinters that Aldous made her read. It was a pretty good cipher, too: not just a mere substitution. She must have something to say that she didn't want any of the mages carrying the letter to see." He glanced through the pages.

"She uses it again in her bit about the Circle of Magi—at length, too. It may be important. Anyway—to get back to her story, she killed the men and monsters, and then the muster was blessed publicly by the Revered Mother in a very theatrical display on the Chantry porch. She appointed a captain—Captain Tobery, son of a village elder—whom she considers a sound fellow and a good swordsman—and laid out a plan to stiffen the village defenses a bit. Oh—and she also wrung the release of a prisoner from the Revered Mother—a Qunari, whom she also conscripted. She thanks me for the Nevarran horse, which was big enough for him, since the Qunari said that 'only a Ferelden would ride a dog to war.'"

"I've seen mabaris that were big enough," Bryland mused to himself. "They could certainly carry elves. Don't know how they'd take to saddles, though…"

Loghain glanced at the arl and rolled his eyes. "A rogue Qunari and a Chantry sister? That doesn't sound particularly promising."

"I don't know," Fergus shrugged. "She seems pleased with them. The Qunari puzzled over Bronwyn's being a woman for a bit, but she set him straight about Ferelden. Let's see: more abandoned houses, horse thieves, some wolves…the darkspawn patrol by Lake Calenhad… Alistair's Templar skills proved useful…"

Loghain muttered, "I'm glad he's useful for something."

Fergus wondered why Loghain was so down on the lad. "She doesn't say that much about him, but he seems to be doing well, other than being a deplorable cook. As bad as I am, she says, which means really bad. He made some sort of quip about the name of the inn at Calenhad Docks where they're staying—Ha! The Spoiled Princess!"

"Really?" Bryland wondered. "I wouldn't call Bronwyn spoiled, exactly. Certainly she's used to getting her way, but she's really a very nice child. Not always demanding things, like…well…she's a very nice child. Woman, I suppose, now. Spirited, perhaps…

Fergus read a little further, and looked amused. "At the inn, she met a scholar who wrote a book she liked about the Rebel Queen. Brother Genetivi is the name. It seems he knew our old tutor. The worthy brother is off on a mission of his own to find—get this—the Urn of the Sacred Ashes."

Bryland gaped. "You're joking! Or he is."

Fergus shook his head. "No. The man really and truly thinks he's found a lead. Here..." he turned the page. "She sent me a little map here of the land between Redcliffe and the Frostbacks." Seeing Loghain lean forward in interest, Fergus read aloud:

"I shall take great satisfaction in lording my superior knowledge over Teyrn Loghain, as his map does not include two villages that Brother Genetivi swears are within Fereldan territory. His present goal is the town called Haven, about which he knows little, other than that it is the human settlement closest to the alleged funerary temple of Andraste. I wondered that he would be traveling alone in such unsettled times, but he pointed out, justly, that Blights have sometimes lasted for decades, and he said something that struck me deeply: 'If not now, then when?' which is something I think we should all say to ourselves from time to time. So to this Haven—which I marked on my own map—Brother Genetivi is to go. About the other village, Honnleath, he knows nothing at all, other than the bare fact of its existence. Whether these places are the stuff of fantasy and daydream, I know not. I certainly haven't the time to investigate. I wished the good brother all success—and survival—but he is in the hands of the Maker now."

"The Urn of the Sacred Ashes!" Bryland repeated, in awe. "Wouldn't that be extraordinary, if it were true?"

"I am glad," Loghain said stiffly, "that your sister is too sensible to chase after myths and legends. May I see the map?"

Fergus passed the page to him, and went on glancing through the letter, while Loghain frowned over Bronwyn's hasty scribbles.

"All right then," Fergus said, "she made it to the Circle…some observations…lots in code…she was writing this just as she was about to leave…Right, she spoke to the assembled mages and then probably fluttered her lashes at them soulfully until they caved and enlisted. A demon!" He set down his goblet and stood up, pacing a little. "Listen to this! While she was there, a demon was loosed from the dungeons. What sort of place is the Circle? And…code, code, code…I think she's saying something about the Templars…anyway, she and Alistair rushed down and slew the demon while pretty much everyone else ran away. I can tell when she's unimpressed with people. Oh, and the demon was carrying a very nice greatsword called Yusaris, and I'm to find out what I can about it, because the First Enchanter gave it to her, but it's much too heavy and awkward for her, so she'll probably let the Qunari use it."

Loghain was still scowling at the little map. "Have you some parchment I can use?" he asked Fergus, a bit abruptly.

Fergus gestured at the writing table, and Loghain sat down to make a copy of the copy.

Bryland suppressed a grin, and said loudly, "So Bronwyn slew a demon! Isn't that extraordinary, Loghain?"

With a hint of a sneer, Loghain looked up from his work and said, "Believe it or not, I did hear that, Bryland. Bronwyn slew a demon and won a greatsword she cannot use, named Yusaris. All hail the Girl Warden! What about those recruits of hers?"

"Nothing gets past that man," Bryland muttered to Fergus, looking disgusted. "Yes, what about her recruits?"

Fergus sat down again, and found his place in the letter. "As I said, two mages and a Templar—that last is scrawled at the very end. It looks like the Knight-Commander surprised her. Most of this is code, and she underlined some of the bits. I wonder if she was angry…She says briefly that one of the mages is an outstanding Healer and just what she needed, and he looked more fit and healthy than anyone else she saw at the tower. The other mage is a young elf woman who Irving said was remarkably powerful. Code, code, code… She says she'll try to write again when she can, but she's waiting for the big lake ferry, and has no idea when it will arrive. Her alternative plan is to ride around the north end of the lake… She's very happy that she was able to send us thirty-five mages, and we're to use them well. Love to all. She must run now."

Loghain finished his cider and stood up. "When you decipher the rest," he said to Fergus, "inform me. I should have given her a cipher for correspondence before she left. What you have will have to do."

Fergus grimaced, rather annoyed that Loghain should feel entitled to know the details of his sister's private letter. He supposed the man might be right about some of it being of military importance, though she had not indicated she wanted it all shared. If she said anything that might cause herself embarrassment, he would simply not communicate it to Loghain. He needed to work on remembering the cipher…

"Loghain!"

The King was striding toward them, Bann Teagan in tow, their handsome faces uncommonly serious. Another man was trying to keep up with the taller men, a young fellow in common dress.

"No, don't get up," Cailan said. "You stay too, Bryland. I'll want advice about this, if I'm to leave the camp and go to Redcliffe."

"Go to Redcliffe?" Loghain growled, a trickle of suspicion chilling his spine. "Why would you do that?"

"I've had some bad news," Teagan told him. "Something's wrong there, and I need to find out what has happened. The King feels he should go as well."

"Well...Connor is my cousin," Cailan declared. "My only cousin—or first cousin, at least. If he's in danger, I must do something!"

"What sort of danger?' Loghain asked harshly.

"Perhaps, You Majesty," Teagan suggested, "It's best that Tomas tell everyone what he knows." He explained, gesturing the young man forward. "Tomas here is from Redcliffe, and a reliable young man. He came to me this morning with an alarming tale. Tell us your story, Tomas, and try to remember every detail."

The young man—really more a boy—was blushing like a maiden and stammering with nerves. "I'll—d-do my best, my lords—Your Majesty. I left Redcliffe three nights ago—"

"Did the Arlessa send you?" Fergus wanted to know. Loghain simply glared at the boy, wondering the same.

The boy gaped, thrown off his stride by the question. "The Arlessa?" he said confused. "No! I don't know if the Arlessa is alive or dead!"

The reaction to this caused Teagan to call out, "If you please—let the lad tell the story in his own way."

"Very well." Loghain sat back down, feeling very uneasy. Could this have anything to do with that other matter?

The boy swallowed, looking at the august personages waiting on him, wishing to hide or sink into the ground. Gathering his courage, he started, haltingly, at first.

"We were that sorry when the Arl's ashes were sent to us. Nobody expected it! Ser Perth and those others came back with the urn, and told the Revered Mother, and she led the prayers for his lordship. There was talk that the Arlessa took it hard—really hard: screaming and shrieking all over the castle. The mayor and some of the folk called at the castle, to pay their respects, and ask when there would be a day of mourning declared for the Arl, but she—I mean—" the boy blushed again, remembering his manners, "—I mean the Arlessa—wouldn't talk to them. Took to her bed, we were told. Had the urn with her, and was carrying on day and night. We asked after the little boy—I mean the new Arl—and he was shut away with her. The chamberlain told us to come back in a day or two, when her ladyship was feeling herself, and not to come in a crowd, like we'd done, because it made her ladyship's head ache to hear us all."

"Go on, Tomas," Teagan urged kindly. "They need to hear everything."

"Well," the lad went on, "I'm afraid your lordships won't believe me, but something is not right at the castle. Murdock the mayor and two others went back to the castle as they'd been told, and they never returned to the village! We waited, and then we wondered if they'd been needed for something. A few of us went up to the castle and the portcullis was down, and no one was in the courtyard, and we shouted awhile. After a bit the Chamberlain comes out, looking all calm-like, and asks, "What do you want, fellows?" in his high-and-mighty way. No disrespect, but there's no call to speak to free men the way he was, but he was sort of...off. We asked about Murdock and about the Arlessa. He told us that he knew nothing of any fellow named Murdock, and that the Arlessa was too busy to mind a pack of peasants."

The boy licked his lips. "We weren't having that, so we...sort of pounded on the gate a bit, and after a little more, who comes out but the Arlessa herself, all smiling. And she doesn't know anything about Murdock either, but when we asks her about a day of mourning for the Arl, she laughs in this fancy sort of way, and says there's no cause for mourning at all. The Arl's come back and he's fine, and they'll are very happy, thank you very much. She could see that we didn't...well...we didn't believe her, so she said to the chamberlain to raise the gate and let us in, and she'd show us that everything was all right now."

His listeners were utterly silent now, enthralled by the story. Tomas continued his account. "So the Chamberlain comes out and the gate goes up and he smiles and tells us to come in. And my uncle—he says to me, he says, 'Tomas, my lad, we'll go in and see what's what, but I want you to hide yourself in the corner there and wait. If we're not back in an hour or two, you run on home and tell the Revered Mother.'"

"And they did not come out, I take it," Loghain ventured. This was all wrong, horribly all wrong.

The boy shook his head. "Not then, they didn't," he muttered. "And when they did they weren't themselves, either." He cast frightened eyes at Teagan. "I told you how it was, my lord, how after nightfall a lot of those creatures came down the hill into the village. We all thought it was the darkspawn, but they weren't that at all. Like corpses, they were, with no weapons, but rending anything that moved with their bare hands. Folk ran home and barred their doors, and most of them were all right, but those caught out in the open were killed. I was in the Chantry, and we heard the growling and grunting and screaming. I peered through the windows—even though they're thick, and I thought that some of the creatures looked like people I knew," his voice shook. "I thought I recognized my uncle and—and Murdock and them all. They were dead, but they were walking."

"Do you have any idea what happened to the Arlessa and her son?" Cailan asked, horrified. "It didn't look to you like—I mean—the Arlessa didn't look dead, did she?"

"No, Your Majesty! Not dead, but not all right, either. Too smiling and pleased with herself by half! When daybreak came, we gathered the dead, and the Revered Mother said to burn them fast, because if the dead were walking, we needed to see that these couldn't."

"Sensible woman!" commented Fergus. Loghain nodded, still trying to imagine what had gone wrong. Had the mage...? Surely not.

The boy said, "Some of the Templars were in the Chantry, and they gave me a horse and told me to ride fast for Ostagar and help. Lothering was closer, but they didn't see as anyone there could do any good. They said they'd see that folk were kept safe, as far as they could. But if the dead came back, and me three nights gone, I can't answer for anyone still being alive there. All I can do is beg your lordships to come to our aid, or everyone in the village will be dead—or worse."

"I would think, Loghain," Cailan shouted, "that you'd let me go off on my own for once! It's just a village, when all's said and done!"

"Just a village under attack by the walking dead!" Loghain shouted back.

The other nobles fidgeted, embarrassed. Fergus hated the very idea of getting in the middle of this, but he owed it to everyone to mediate.

"We really haven't had much activity here in the past week," he said mildly. "And Redcliffe is not really all that far. Perhaps a strong company could investigate matters at Redcliffe."

"Well said," Loghain snapped. "It will investigate them under my command." If the worst had happened, and the mage had unleashed some sort of curse, Loghain felt he must be there to contain the damage and salvage whatever he could.

"Loghain—" complained the King.

"Your Majesty," Teagan pleaded, "Loghain is right. You are too important to risk yourself unnecessarily. I should be glad for you to come, but well supported. Perhaps it would be best if Loghain led the vanguard to explore the castle, and you could command the reserve. You would be on hand to reassure my nephew, but not in the forefront of danger."

"But who would command here?" Cailan protested.

"Teyrn Cousland is the ranking peer," Loghain said shortly, "and I believe he can be trusted. Arl Bryland and Arl Wulffe will support him. We will leave at dawn, taking two companies of Maric's Shield—"

"—and the knights of Redcliffe!" Teagan added.

Loghain grudgingly consented. "—and the knights of Redcliffe. We will also take some mages, as this is clearly a situation calling for their expertise. Senior Enchanters Uldred and Wynne, and perhaps some of their younger colleagues. With a forced march, and using the hill paths, we should be in Redcliffe within three days. And then we'll see what we're facing."

The camp was in an uproar as the expedition prepared to depart in less than twelve hours. Fergus alternated between anxiety and glee. To have command of the King's Army, even if only for a few days! He had been lucky in healing as soon as he had. And then there was a brief thrill of anguish. Father would have been so proud...but had Father been here, it was he who would have been in command, and everyone would have been confident in his leadership. Fergus admitted to himself that he hoped that nothing serious happened while Loghain and the King were away. Or if it did, he prayed he would have the wisdom to deal with it.

And he wished he could not hear the voices in Loghain's tent quite so clearly.

"But she didn't send me any Wardens!" Cailan was complaining.

"She sent you thirty-five mages, which is twenty-five more than I dared hope for. Very likely she needs all the Wardens with her," Loghain answered impatiently. "You should get some rest, Cailan. We'll be leaving before dawn."

"At least she wrote to me," Cailan was going on, a smirk in his voice. "Though I noticed her letter to you was longer."

"And her letter to her brother was longer still. I must speak to the captains, Cailan. Maker's Breath, get some sleep!"

The elves were packing with furious efficiency. Dariel and the others were nearly noiseless, as they helped Loghain's servants load a baggage wagon with a smaller, different tent, with supplies and arms, with parchment and maps and books. Loghain traveled light—for a great nobleman—but there were things he would not want to be without.

Fergus himself had been to see his own Highever men, and then to arrange details with Bryland and Wulffe. He had managed to puzzle out the rest of Bronwyn's letter-—

—just in time.

"Well, Cousland?" Loghain was standing in front of him, glowering.

"Loghain?"

"What did your sister have to say that she wanted to keep from strangers' eyes?"

Fergus looked about him uneasily.

Loghain waved him along. "Walk with me. We'll go down to the valley and talk to the captains of Maric's Shield."

It seemed that now that everyone could see them, no one would think of trying to eavesdrop.

Fergus still kept his voice low. "Most of the things about the Circle were her indignation at conditions there. She thinks it's a shame and an outrage that there are Fereldan children who have never seen the sun. They were all pale and sickly-looking, she thought; all under guard like criminals. She doesn't see why they can't be allowed outside to play now and then. She used words like "cruel" and "inhuman," and I'm sure the Chantry would not be pleased with her. The mages she conscripted were prisoners: both involved in escape attempts. Bronwyn said it appeared that the Templars seemed to care nothing for their vows of celibacy when a young woman was helpless and in their power. She didn't need much experience to tell her what the girl's injuries signified. I suppose that's why she conscripted her: she couldn't bear to leave her behind."

Loghain grimaced. "She'll get herself in trouble if she uses Conscription to right what she perceives are wrongs."

"I think she knows that, too, but that's the way she is." Fergus cleared his throat. And then there was the other bit. That alarms me more."

"What?"

Soldiers were greeting Loghain, and he was speaking to the older ones: the ones he knew. They moved beyond a row of tents.

"It's about the recruit she picked up in Lothering."

"The Qunari?"

"No. The Chantry sister. Bronwyn found it odd that the one person in Lothering who volunteered to help her had a pronounced Orlesian accent."

Loghain stopped dead, and fixed Fergus with a fierce glare. "A spy?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Sister Leliana had been at the Chantry for the past two years. Bronwyn checked her out. She's not a fool. If the woman's a spy, she was not sent there for Bronwyn, but is merely an opportunist. Nonetheless, it's a bit worrying, and Bronwyn told me that she would take great care not to let slip anything about her fellow Warden'—-" Fergus made a face, and then decided to come out with it plainly. "—Her fellow Warden's paternity."

A silence, and Loghain examined Fergus narrowly. "Has Alistair confided something significant to her?"

"He didn't need to. She's not a fool, I tell you. She also understands that in the current climate, Alistair's situation is not something the Orlesians need to know. She'll keep it secret."

"Will Alistair? Is this Orlesian woman pretty?" Loghain could well imagine the lad falling prey to a spy's cheap allure, just as Maric had. One would think that the company of a beautiful girl like Bronwyn would be enough for him, but Rowan had not been enough for Maric. Nor was Anora enough for Cailan, either. Much as he had loved Maric, there was something rotten in the Theirin blood.

Fergus had considered his question carefully, and shrugged. "Bronwyn didn't say. What matters to her is that the woman can fight and that she's either a bit mad or a spy. Either way, let's hope Bronwyn's cautious around her."

They returned to their tents to find that King Cailan had certainly not taken Loghain's advice. He was drinking with Bryland and Wulffe and Teagan, and banns and lesser nobles spilled out of the brightly-lit tent. Fergus and Loghain could hear the party before they entered the Royal Enclave. Fergus considered disappearing discreetly, but they were spotted before he had a chance.

"A parting glass!" Cailan called, flushed and joyous, his hair a golden nimbus in the lamplight. "Don't look so sour, Loghain! Come join us! We're drinking the ladies' health!"

Fergus smiled, thinking of Oriana. Loghain saw the exact moment that the young man recollected that his wife was dead.

Nonetheless, there was nothing for it but to take the offered wine. That was the worst of life in cam—-the boredom that led to the drinking. At least Cailan was drinking to Anora.

"The Queen! Maker bless her!"

"With children," Bann Loren muttered to Bann Stronar. Loghain scowled, wishing a lethal hangover on his son-in-law.

"And Fergus!" Cailan called eagerly. "Let's drink to your sister next! The highest-born maiden in the land, and a Grey Warden, too!"

Fergus managed a pleasant smile. "To Bronwyn, high-born and high-handed as she is!"

Laughter and lifted goblets. More ladies' names were called out. Bryland grabbed Fergus and pulled him aside. He might have thought he was being subtle, but he was a half-dozen drinks beyond that. "Well? What did he say?"

"Say?" Fergus frowned, stepping back. "Who?"

"Loghain! I saw the two of you taking counsel together." He tapped the side of his nose, winking. "No point keeping the poor girl waiting any longer! It hardly matters now if she's of age or not!"

Too many people were listening. Fergus smiled tightly. "I assure you, we were speaking about the army."

"And you were also talking about Bronwyn! Don't even try to deny it!"

"She's a Grey Warden, Cousin. I didn't even raise the issue. There's no point now."

Fergus extricated himself and stonily placed himself by Cailan's side. Bryland saw Loghain, and shrugged expressively. "Well, I think it's a shame. Bronwyn's a wonderful girl."

Loghain scowled at him, trying to understand him through the noise and the clinking of goblets. Bryland was so drunk it was a wonder he was still on his feet. "No one says she isn't."

"Eleanor and Bryce thought she'd get over it, but she didn't. It's a shame." He refilled his goblet.

"Perhaps we should not be speaking of her in front of everyone," Loghain growled, steering Bryland out into the cool air, far from the noble crowd. "I know about her 'inappropriate infatuation.' Are you saying she still feels the same way?"

"Of course!" Bryland regarded him owlishly, and quaffed down his wine. "Steady sort of girl. Gorgeous, too. Man would be lucky to have her!"

"Yes, of course," Loghain sneered. "Unless, of course, he was already married. That might not be so lucky for her!"

"But he's not!" Bryland objected, puzzled. "I mean...you're not. Are you?"

Loghain opened his mouth, and then shut it. Then he said, "She was not in love with the King?"

Bryland burst out laughing, and then put his hand over his mouth. Loghain backed away, expecting Bryland's wine to make a reappearance. With swaying dignity, the arl declared, "Not that His Majesty isn't a splendid fellow. No. Poor Bronwyn's heart has belonged to another since she was—what—sixteen. Every year at her birthday, Bryce would ask her if she'd changed her mind, and every year she said 'no.' That's why they didn't want her at Court. Bronwyn's good at getting her way, and I daresay she would have found a way to force the issue, even with you."

"With me?" He had made a ridiculous mistake. No, a perfectly reasonable mistake. It made him feel just the least bit...giddy. Perhaps it was the wine.

"You. Lucky bastard. Imagine being married to Bronwyn!"

Loghain did: in an instant he could picture that young, fresh face smiling at him under a wreath of Andraste's grace, a trailing laugh, long legs wrapped around him, and rapture.

Slurring his words a little, Bryland told him the rest. "Bryce promised her that if she still felt the same when she came of age, he'd open negosh-neg-he'd talk to you. We all thought that would be the first thing he'd bring up once he came to Osta-osta-osgar...'m tired..." Bryland sagged against a ruined pillar, slid down slowly, and passed out with a bewildered grunt.

Loghain considered the man and his revelation. With any luck, Bryland would remember nothing of this. Blowing out a breath, he decided to go back to his own tent and try to sleep. He would think on the matter tomorrow with a clear head.

If Cailan and Teagan and their walking dead will let me.

Thank you to my reviewers: Nithu, Shakespira, black mage wannabe, ByLanternLight, gaj620, motive, Piceron, Aoihand, Eva Galana, phoenixandashes, Sati James, YourOwnDream, bioncafemme, mille libri, Enaid Aderyn, khaos974, Persephone Chiara, Annara Ren, Have Socks Will Travel, Amhran Comhrac, Kizie, almostinsane, Lunarfox's Silverdusk, Costin, WellspringDC, dyslecksec, sleepyowlet, and qweenseeker.

Next up: Nights of Redcliffe