Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 16: Interlude by the Shores of Lake Calenhad

Days passed, and the boat did not come. Rain beat down for nearly the whole of a day, a mist of silver on the lake, and turned the earth to a morass. Bronwyn and her companions waited, and while they waited, their time was filled with food and talk, with the little tasks of daily life, and the great tasks of understanding one another and preparing for the journey ahead.

The mages learned to ride, after a fashion, falling now and then into the mud. Morrigan was the best and quickest at it, as she absolutely refused to dirty her robes. Anders just mastered the basics, and Tara, the Circle mage, was still afraid of her horse. Morrigan, however, was becoming quite a good rider in quite a short time.

"It's not so surprising, really," Alistair considered. "She understands animals. Really understands them. Maybe she's using some of that shape-shifting talent to understand that horse of hers."

Bronwyn laughed. "Nerissa certainly seems taken with her mistress, from the way she follows her around!"

They studied the maps, and sketched out their alternate route to Orzammar. If the ground dried out before the boat came, Bronwyn had decided they would have to move on, and head north around Lake Calenhad as soon as possible. It was interesting to discover which of her companions wanted to be included in the planning, and which were content simply to be led.

In the first group were Alistair and Cullen, because they clearly thought it was their duty. Anders joined them because he thought it was great fun.

"I love maps. Always have," he grinned. "Time was when I planned to run away to Tevinter and be properly appreciated for my magical genius and manly beauty. Being a Grey Warden works, too, though. I love traveling, especially as you, Fearless Leader, have promised that my journey will not take me back to the Circle. May I say that you're all right?"

"You may."

"You're all right."

There were many purchases to make-though not so many that they would unduly burden them. With one thing and another, it seems only decent that each of the companions should have something to wear other than armor or robes. There was a general store at the village above the lake bluffs, and there they found something for Tara: originally a dress belonging to a merchant's young daughter. The only shoes that fit her were, once again, a human child's, and they were a glorious bright red. Leliana, wishing the ensemble to look properly put together, searched until she spotted a flash of crimson silk piled among the merchant's wares: it proved to be one of the wide, corset-like belts that had lately come into fashion. Tara was perfectly happy, and admired the only clothes she could remember owning that were not mage's robes.

They also found other castoffs from the wealthy and the aristocratic. What they could not find at the store, they found in the cart of a dwarven peddler. Anders, Alistair and Cullen were nearly of a size, and laughed at the prospect of trading various items. Sten already possessed a fairly decent set of clothing from his days in Lothering, something that never failed to puzzle Bronwyn, until it was explained that he was dressed in these by the farmers who had cared for him when he was injured. Evidently the farmer's wife—whom Sten had later murdered—had actually tailored those clothes for him. The knowledge made Bronwyn feel very sad for the poor, well-meaning woman, whose charity had been repaid so brutally.

Leliana had found her blue dress. It did not fit her at all, but Leliana knew how to sew. A rather ordinary light wool dress in a rather ordinary shade of greyish-blue was turned into something quite striking by her clever fingers.

Bronwyn herself bought nothing. She had her breeches and her leather jerkin and her Grey Warden tunic, and she could not justify adding weight to her pack. Leliana mourned over a long-sleeved gown in dark red that she thought would have suited Bronwyn perfectly, but she was doomed to disappointment.

Bronwyn smiled and shook her head. "You and Tara and Morrigan will have to be the grand ladies of our company."

"Well," said Leliana, "If I slip into a town for reconnaissance, I can blend in better now."

That made Alistair laugh out loud. "Blending in?" He shook his head. "That's a noblewoman's gown."

Leliana frowned. "Really? It seems very plain to me. but it would be silly for me to try to pass myself off as a peasant. I still have this accent I cannot get rid of, and men sometimes feel free to trouble a poor girl. Better and safer to be in the middle ranks of society. Such a gown, in Orlais, would be worn by a merchant, or a rich farmer's wife..."

Bronwyn grimaced at the reference to Orlais, and decided she had talked all she cared to about their fashions. She gave them a brief smile, and went off with Scout to find Cullen and make sure he had taken his lyrium for the day.

Cullen was very good about exercising and caring for the horses, and spent quite a bit of time in the stables. He was there now, currying his own destrier, Dax: talking to it in a calm and quiet voice.

"You're fond of horses, aren't you?" Bronwyn asked, leaning against the door frame. The air was musty with damp hay and ordure. Little specks of dust floated in the breeze from outside. Scout nosed about, distantly friendly with the former Templar.

Cullen nodded to Bronwyn, his eyes on his mount. "Horses are good people. Not very clever, I suppose, but then, neither am I. I've always liked them. Taking care of them always makes me feel better."

"Then we're lucky to have you. How is your lyrium supply holding out?"

He understood what she meant. If they had to take the land route, the journey would be much longer. He set his jaw. "I'll make it last. I'm trying to take a little bit less every day."

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked, very seriously.

"I don't know," he confessed. "I don't what's going to happen. I thought I knew what my life was going to be like, but then everything changed."

"For what it's worth," Bronwyn said, "I'm sorry you were forced into this. It can't have been what you wanted."

"It's hard to say. I've never really been in a position to do what I wanted. I am a Child of the Chantry, you know."

"No, I didn't." A foundling, left on the Chantry doorstep, then. Probably his mother was a mage, or unmarried and poor, or he had two parents who could not afford another child. She smiled ruefully. "You fit right in, then. Most of us are orphans, it seems. All the more reason to hold fast to each other."

The local laundress they had engaged arrived, and there was a great to-do as everyone's clothing was identified and distributed. Then there was dinner, and Morrigan announced that she was prepared to fulfill her obligation as the night's storyteller. Bronwyn wondered what she would have to say.

Looking around, she could see she was not alone. Cullen looked nervous, as he always did in any situation involving Morrigan. Alistair looked wary, and Anders amused and eager. Sten was frowning like a judge. Leliana and Tara's eyes were shining with the prospect of entertainment. Scout, next to Bronwyn, sat up very straight, a model of attention.

With a smirk, Morrigan sauntered to a place in front of the fire.

Said she: "I am called to relate a tale to fulfill my promise. I did not promise that my story would be pleasant, though there is pleasure in hearing any old story. Nor did I promise that it would be true, though I think there is truth of a kind in it. I have this tale from my mother Flemeth, and where she heard it I cannot guess. 'Tis the history of the daughter of the Sorcerer of Wildervale. Listen well, for I do not intend to repeat myself."

Morrigan's story of The Sorcerer of Wildervale's Daughter:

Long ago, before the days of Prophet Andraste and her tiresome Chantry, there was a mighty sorcerer far to the north, in the Wildervale. He lived in a great castle of magic and marble, and lived there alone but for his daughters.

Seven daughters there were: all beautiful and skilled in magical arts. They served their father's every wish, and lived in fear of his wrath. Their mothers they knew not. No one had ever heard of the Sorcerer taking a wife or mistress. It was he and they, and that was all. Over the years the Sorcerer of Wildervale had amassed an enormous treasure, and knights and thieves and adventurers from all over Thedas came to win even a portion of the rumored gold. A great horn, mounted in silver, hung before the castle gate, and those who wished to challenge the Sorcerer had but to blow the horn to summon him. Many did, but they were fools, for none was a match for the power of the Sorcerer of Wildervale. He slew them all, and their bleached bones were their only memorial.

One day, a knight, cleverer or bolder than the rest, came to try his wits and strength against the Sorcerer. He did not challenge the Sorcerer outright, but by cunning he crept through the postern gate and wandered the castle until he came upon the youngest daughter, at her work in the stillroom, brewing potions and perfumes.

She screamed out, jumping to her feet, for she had never seen a man other than her terrible father. But the knight was tall and fair of face, and he spoke to the maiden, and comforted her, and gained her favor. She had never imagined a being so pleasing and delightful, and when the knight cajoled her to take him to her bed, she did not deny him, and they lay together in great joy and bliss.

"Oh, that we could be always thus," the knight said, kissing her fondly.

"That would be wonderful indeed," agreed the maiden, "but my father would never allow it. Do not challenge him, for he will surely slay you. I shall keep you safe in my chamber, and none need know that you are here, for the castle is vast, and I do not see even my sisters every day."

The knight sighed heavily. "Nay, that cannot be. I must challenge your father and claim you as my bride. My honor demands it. If he were slain, we two would rule this castle together, you and I."

"My sisters would not mind, I think," said the maiden. "My father is cruel, and they would be much happier if he were gone."

"Very well, my love," said the knight. "Your sisters will remain here with you always, if that is your desire, but I must find a way to defeat your father."

He asked many questions about her father: did he use arms like a warrior, or did he rely upon his staff? Did he have other items of virtue to lend him power? The maiden answered as best she could, and the knight considered her words.

At length he said, "It seems hopeless. My weapons are as nothing to his, so the fight would be an unequal one. There is a great armorer in my city of Kirkwall. If I had sufficient gold, he could make me armor that would withstand your father's power, and a sword that would cleave even his shield of magic."

"But there is gold in plenty in my father's vaults!" cried the maiden. "I shall give you all you need, if you will only deliver me from his cruelty. I shall give you a sack of gold and jewels besides. Only swear that we shall be together!"

"We shall be together in life or death!" the knight declared, hand on heart. "Let the shadows witness it!"

So the maiden crept into the vault and gathered a great sack of treasure. She gave it to the knight, and he departed through the little postern gate, promising to return when he had the weapons.

The knight was very pleased at the result of his cunning, for he had won a great fortune without even having to fight for it. He returned to Kirkwall a wealthy man, and spent the gold on pleasure and sport, on wine and women and horses. He had gold enough to live well for a long time, but then he thought he had not enough, for more gold would buy a great estate, and then he would be rich forever. So after a time he thought that the foolish maiden could be tricked again, and soon he went north to the Sorcerer's Castle.

The little postern gate was open, and he slipped inside and made his way to the maiden's room.

She was there and greeted him, looking older than he remembered, and sadder. Nonetheless, she did not say him nay when he led her to her bed and lay with her.

"I have been waiting for you a long time," she told him after. "Where is your armor, and where is your sword with which you will challenge my father?"

"Alas, my love, the wretched armorer is a hard man. He has taken the gold you gave me as money down, but he will only give me what he has made if I can pay another such sum to him. Only one sack of gold stands between us and freedom!"

She said, "You shall have your gold. You are a strong man and can carry more than I. Come with me to the vault, and you shall have all the gold you wish."

The knight was pleased with her, and followed her into the heart of the castle. An iron gate stood before them, and it opened at the maiden's touch. Down, down they traveled to a vault below. Another pair of iron doors opened and the maiden stood back, while the knight stared at the treasure in awe.

For gold was within: gold covered the ceiling, and lined the walls, and paved the floor; gold overflowed from great chests, and amongst the gold sparkled great jewels, and long ropes of pearls gleamed like reflections of moonlight. It was the mightiest treasure of its day, and all of it lay before the knight.

"There is yet more to see," murmured the maiden, given the knight a gentle nudge. Nodding, he stepped into the chamber and then froze, bound by terror and by magic.

For before him stood the Sorcerer of Wildervale himself, tall, pale, and smiling. On a golden bier lay another maiden, dead some months, her dried flesh clinging to her bones.

"You have done well, my daughter," said the Sorcerer to the maiden standing by the knight. "Go now to your tasks, and remember the fate of the betrayer."

The maiden left, tears glittering in her eyes.

The Sorcerer came close to the knight, who struggled in vain against the strange lethargy.

"You could not even tell the difference between them," mused the Sorcerer. "My youngest daughter gave up her life for you, and you did not even trouble yourself to remember her face. You might even have escaped my vengeance had you not returned, for I did not deem you important enough to pursue you. But here you are, greedy for more of my treasure. You shall have all you desire, for should not a father give a dowry worthy of a beloved child?"

"A dowry?" stammered the knight, his jaw stiff with the spell.

"Indeed," said the mage. ""Did you think I do not know all that transpires within the walls of my own castle? Did you not bind yourself to her? Did she not embrace you as your affianced wife? Did you not swear that you should be together in life and death? " He came closer still. "You swore it before the shadows. And I, listening in the shadows, heard. You shall keep your word."

He stepped to the door of the vault and turned, saying. "Bless you, my children. May you be happy."

He was gone, and the iron doors shut, leaving the knight, the dead maiden, and all the treasure within.

"What a powerful story," Bronwyn said. "I really did not see that coming."

Morrigan smirked at Alistair, "And they lived happily ever after!"

"Don't!" he waved her away, "That's disgusting!"

"That is why we Qunari cut the tongues from the mouths of our mages, and keep them on leashes." Sten remarked. He frowned, "I refer to the story itself, not to the witch's telling of it."

Tara started up, eyes blazing. "Oh, really? It seems to me a brilliant story. I've read that the hearts of men are full of deceit, and I know that everyone thinks mages are less than human. That poor girl loved the knight, and he tricked her and got her killed. No doubt he thought it was just fine, because she was only a mage, after all!"

Sten was a little taken aback at the little elf's fury. She got in his face, shouting, "Yeah! Big warrior with the big sword! 'Oh, those wicked mages! How dare they try to protect their own treasure! Let's laugh at the lonely, stupid mage girl!'"

Anders caught at her hand, "Calm down, elfkins!"

Bronwyn got up and led her to the chair by her. "That's what I meant about it being a powerful story. It's the sort that arouses very strong feelings! Thank you, Morrigan. I'll never forget it. I would point out that the older mage was not the injured party, but rather the young girl, who was victimized both by her lover and her father. At least in Ferelden, fathers cannot lock their daughters away!" She winced, remembering how Rendon Howe treated Delilah. "Completely."

Cullen was dissatisfied by the story for other reasons. "It seems to me that all the knight needed to do was take the poor girl with him that first time. They could have escaped together..."

Leliana was excited by the idea. "And then they could have had a 'happily-ever-after!'"

"Unless the cowardly knight," scoffed Sten, "deserted the maiden once he had reached safety, or worse, treacherously sold her to a brothel!"

"Not even he would do that!" Alistair countered hotly. "'Sell her to a brothel!' Nobody would do something like that!"

Dismissing that remark as too naive for comment, Anders said calmly, "Nobody could get away with trying to sell a mage anyway. If the knight tried it, he'd be sorry." He gave Tara a reassuring grin. She settled down a little, and ate a cookie from the plate Bronwyn passed her.

Bronwyn was thinking. "It seems to me that the knight was cowardly. Unimaginative, too. If I had been the knight, I would have made friends with the girl, and with all her sisters, too. Then I would have challenged the wizard, and even if he were tremendously powerful, surely all of us working together could defeat him. And then we could share the treasure and the castle, and everybody could live happily ever after! As far as humanly possible," she added, in deference to reality.

"Except for the Sorcerer," Morrigan smirked, amused that she had so stirred the pot with her little story.

"Except for the Sorcerer," Bronwyn agreed equably, taking another cookie herself. "But he was cruel, and a tyrant to his daughters. Of course, it would have been really bold to confront him in the castle, and ask outright for permission to marry the girl, and see what the Sorcerer had to say about it."

"Maybe he would have respected the knight then," Alistair said hopefully, glancing for support to Cullen. "Maybe he would have given him some challenges to overcome so they could get married..."

"—and then," cried Leliana, swept away by the glory of it, "when the knight succeeded, the Sorcerer gave them a wonderful wedding, and the other sisters were bridesmaids in beautiful gowns, and the Sorcerer gave the young couple a bag of gold, and they—"

"—went to the seaside for the honeymoon?" grinned Anders. "Well, in my version, the hero would be a mage himself—only young, handsome, and with a killer fashion sense—and he'd stroll in and burn the father to a crisp and get the girl. End of story."

"Oh, you!" laughed Leliana, amused and exasperated. "What do you think, Sten? What ought the knight to have done? You have an opinion, yes?"

The Qunari frowned, but answered readily enough. "Obviously he should have fought, but not challenged the Sorcerer with the horn, for then the mage could fight on familiar ground with plenty of warning. No. Cunning is required when fighting against magic. He should have taken the mage by surprise, and slain him on his own terms. Then he should have seized the castle and married the daughters. And then one would hope that he ruled with logic and reason." He shrugged, as if such a thing were clearly unlikely, given that humans were involved.

"All the daughters?" Cullen asked, a little taken aback.

"Married all the daughters?" Alistair repeated, blushing.

Anders nodded slowly as he thought it over. "Works for me."

"Yes," Sten answered frankly. "I am not familiar with all the minutiae of human marriage customs. However, as all the females of the Castle have been deprived of their male protector, it seems to me just that all of them be recompensed. Why should one female have a mate when the others do not? Would that not be a future cause of resentment and discord? Better that he mate with them all."

Morrigan laughed with delight. Leliana and Tara stared in amazement.

Bronwyn said, "Sten, I cannot wait until we hear your story!"

Seriously, the Qunari answered, "You must. There is the Chantry sister to be heard from first. My own story is not yet complete in my mind. When it is, I shall inform you."

The cookies were soon gone, but the ale held out. There was more laughter, more debate, more drinking. Bronwyn took her tankard and stepped out into the starry night, wanting to escape the stuffiness of the inn and the unceasing din. Scout trotted along beside her, and then took off after an unlucky rabbit, out for an evening's grazing.

The cooling breeze refreshed her at once, and she strode over the rocky lawn, going down to the lakeshore. Birds called from the trees, settling down for the night. She took another sip and thought through the next day. Scout seemed to have chased down his rabbit, and looked up, ready to share it with Bronwyn. She shook her head, and waved at him.

"No, old boy, it's all yours."

He thought her silly to waste good meat. He would certainly not do so, and was pleasurably busy for some time. Bronwyn strolled in the other direction, and soon heard boots crunching sand and gravel behind her.

"Sten and Tara are engaged in a life and death struggle at the chess table now."

It was Alistair. Bronwyn felt a curious racing in her blood before she turned. Edgy and exciting, like sensing darkspawn, but not so relentlessly unpleasant.

Am I sensing fellow Wardens now?"

Alistair had once hinted that that was another Grey Warden power. It was nice, she thought. One need never feel alone. It was not quite family, but it was something, perhaps, of the sort. And given her ruminations earlier in the day, it might be all the family most of her companions would ever know. They had sacrificed much—and would sacrifice more yet—but they had this. At least they had this.

She turned, and gave him a smile. "I'm glad you're here. I've been struggling with a decision, and I'd like to hear your opinion on the subject before I start giving orders."

"Ask away."

"We have no idea if the blasted boat is ever coming or not. I've decided that perhaps it would be for the best if we left tomorrow. We have our supplies—what we can get. We have no hope of purchasing other animals here. I'm inclined just to tell everyone that we're packing up and riding north in the morning."

"Fine with me."

"Really?" She asked doubtfully. "No regrets? No wishing we had waited just one more day?"

"No," he maintained, "and I'll tell you why. I don't know anything about boats. The only boat I've ever been on is the boat to the Circle Tower. If something goes wrong on a boat, there's nothing I can do to fix it. On the other hand, if we're attacked on the road, I can fight. I'm quite good at it. I won't mill about looking stupid and excessively sinkable. Let's forget the boat and just go, Bronwyn. Sure, it'll take longer than it would if the boat had come today, but it didn't. It may not come till Firstfall, for all we know, and then we'd look like morons. Besides," he finished off his ale, "King Maric was lost when his ship sank, you know. Everyone says he must have drowned. He couldn't do anything about it, King of Ferelden as he was."

"I know," she said softly. "When he was declared dead we had a service in the chapel for him."

"I'll never forget the day I heard about it. It's one of those kingdom-changing events, after all," he said, with a false, self-conscious chuckle. "I found out he was dead by overhearing Sisters Ita and Gruoch exchanging the latest thrilling gossip."

She poured out the last of her ale onto the beach, the taste souring on her tongue. "Alistair..." she sighed, not knowing if she should say anything or not. "I did hear King Cailan speak to you when we were leaving."

"Then you know. I thought maybe you did. I appreciate that you didn't start treating me differently. I'm glad I didn't have to tell you. Not that it matters to anyone. Not even to me."

"I suspect it means something to the king, or he would not have wished you well and called you brother. Who was your mother?"

"Nobody special, I'm told. She was a maid at Redcliffe Castle, and died when I was born. Maybe that's why I stayed there."

All right, the mother was baseborn, but Alistair was still King Maric's son! Why had he not cared for him? Why had he left him to be raised in a stable? By the time Alistair was born, Queen Rowan was dead and beyond caring. It was cruel to have deprived Alistair of a decent upbringing, and Cailan of a brother. If someone had kept Fergus from her, she would never have forgiven it. And she was still thinking over his earlier words.

"But when your father died...I can't believe such callous behavior! No one wrote to you? No one came to break the news to you?"

"No. I suppose everyone assumed that someone else would do it." He shrugged. "It's not like my father and I were close, after all. I can tell you this: Duncan was more my father than King Maric ever was."

"It still must have hurt horribly."

"I suppose what hurt was the end of possibility: once he was dead, we were never going to have the big, sobby reconciliation scene with the manly hugs. That was a nice fantasy. I enjoyed it for years, and it hurt to let go of it. I was able to, finally, when the Wardens became my family." He cleared his throat, embarrassed even in the shelter of the darkness. "I can't tell you what having you with me means. You're the one bright spot in this whole awful mess. I thought about it, and I wanted to give you a present."

"Alistair, you don't have to..."

"I want to!" He cut her off, his voice sounded high and young in the open air. "Actually, I have two presents, but the first one is stupid." He pulled some folded linen from a pocket. "I found this in Lothering, and it reminded me of you."

She unwrapped the cloth carefully. Inside was a dried and thorny stem, and some scattered petals with a sweet, fugitive scent.

"Umm—this is...er, was...a rose, Alistair."

"That's right. I was going to give it to you, telling you it reminded me of you: something rare and beautiful amid all the terror and danger. But I couldn't find the right time, and it's kind of...fallen apart. Sorry. It all sounded really impressive in my head, but it's really pretty silly, I suppose."

He looked so uncomfortable. Bronwyn thought quickly, and said, "It was a lovely thought, Alistair, and not silly at all. I have an idea..." she stripped off the last of the dried petals and wrapped them carefully in the scrap of cloth. The stem she threw away into the bushes. "What I can do is sew this linen up into a sachet and keep the petals that way. They're still fragrant, and I think Morrigan might have a bit of orris-root to preserve them. I'll put it in my backpack to perfume my shirts. It's actually a wonderful gift, Alistair. Thank you so much."

"Really?" he grinned, his strong young teeth gleaming. "See...that's what I like about you. You're always thinking about how to make things turn out right. I'd given up, so I bought a real present off that dwarf peddler. Here." He dangled a silver chain before her, the pendant in the middle reflecting moonlight. He must have made out her expression, because he hurriedly added, "I know. I know. Unmarried ladies aren't supposed to accept anything but candy and flowers, but you've seen that I'm completely hopeless with flowers, and we're weeks away from a Denerim confectioner. See," he held it closer. "It's the Sword of Mercy. You like swords and I like swords. I'll bet you wouldn't mind if your brother gave you this, and I'm sort of your brother, too, so..." his voice faded into embarrassment.

"Oh, Alistair!" Touched, she burst out gratefully. "You are my brother! It's beautiful! Here...put it around my neck. I'm still holding the flower bits together."

He might be shy about speaking, but his big hands were quick and deft enough. He fastened the chain and stood back, smiling. He said, "I'd say something smooth and witty if I were Anders, but being me, I'll just be satisfied that you like it."

"I do," she replied. "Very much. Come on, then. Now that we are united in brotherhood, we can face the rest of the orphans and wanderers and give them the bad news. We ride for Orzammar tomorrow!"

Note: as far as possible with such a theme, Morrigan's story is original. I thought very carefully about what kind of story Flemeth would tell Morrigan, considering how much she wants to convince Morrigan that 1) she can never trust anyone and 2) children who disobey their magical parent come to a sticky end.

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: almostinsane, jen4306, Shakespira, Sarah1281, khaos974, Amhran Comhrac, Sati James, Night Hunter MGS, Persephone Chiara, Eniad Aderyn, Have Socks Will Travel, Aoihand, WellspringCD, Piceron, Kaisis, Artemys, mutive, Lunarfox's Silverdusk, dyslecksec, Thorn of the Dead Gods, qweenseeker, mille libri, Costin, NorthernBreeze, Leafy8765, Isaac A. Drake, HollyIsMyName, Windchime68, and MoralityOduality. I really appreciate hearing from you!

Next up: Adventures at the crossing of the River Dane, and the appearance of Zevran!