Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 32: Shadow of the Empire
If Bronwyn thought she would be permitted to go to bed in peace after her stormy interview with Teyrn Loghain, she was much mistaken.
Her companions were waiting for her in the Wardens' quarters. Every eye was on her, and the moment she came through the door, they gathered around her like a clutch of hens, squawking and clucking at her, full of questions, and the men as bad as the women. Questions, suppositions, utterly bizarre scenarios poured from their mouths.
Bronwyn shook her head. "I'm going to bed!"
She slipped off her Warden's tunic and folded it neatly, then sat down on the edge of her cot, struggling out of her boots. Tara knelt down and helped her, while still carrying on about the excitement of the day.
"…so we wondered what had happened, of course, when you went upstairs with him and shut the door..."
With the mob around her, a thorough wash was impossible. Bronwyn decided she would get up very early in the morning—before anyone else- and clean up properly then. She lay back wearily on the hard and narrow cot, trying to ignore her comrades standing around her, staring down at her. She shut her eyes.
No one moved. They simply carried on their conversation, surrounding her on all sides. Bronwyn blew out a breath and opened her eyes.
They were still staring at her, only now they had been joined by Scout, who was staring at her as well. And panting in her face. And everyone started clacking away at her again.
True, not all of them. Adaia hung back from the mob, not daring to ask questions, but attentive to any shred of gossip. She had sat at the end of the Wardens, hidden behind Zevran, and had hardly dared to glance at the table where Lady Bronwyn sat with Teyrn Loghain and the other nobles. Next time—perhaps tonight!—she would be bolder.
Two of the others were less interested. Sten oiled the straps of his armor, impervious to the fascinations of human politics. Danith had moved away to a bench and looked at the rest of the companions as if they were speaking Tevinter.
"All right. I surrender." Bronwyn groaned and sat up, knowing she had to tell them something. She found it was it too annoying to sit when they were all still staring down at her, so she forced herself to her feet, and moved to the center of the room, so everyone could hear what she had to say.
Briefly, she gave them the bare bones of the discussion, without, alas, the gory details they were hoping for.
"Teyrn Loghain and I discussed our mission, and I told him about our adventures in Orzammar. I told him about our meeting with the Dalish at some length. We agreed that I should go north and find that other clan we were told of. Some of you will go with me, and some of you will stay here to assist the army, which will now expand its operations and extend its defensive line."
"But you were arguing," Anders said. "Everyone could hear you!"
"That's right," Alistair agreed. "We thought you might be having a fight." He looked very hopeful, which did not improve Bronwyn's temper, already in a fragile state. She was still irritated with the Teyrn for seeming to lend credence to Arl Howe's lies, but she did not want to spread the word that there had been dissension between the two of them.
Cullen put in, "We were alarmed that he might even attack you. We were deciding what to do in such a case, but then you stopped shouting at each other…"
"Teyrn Loghain told me of some letters received by him from Arl Howe, detailing his reasons for his treacherous murder of my family. The lies were so egregious that I became upset. It hardly matters. We resolved our differences, and we're all right now."
"How all right?" Brosca asked baldly. "I think he's interested in you. I could see him giving you the eye at dinner, when you weren't looking."
"That's true!" Tara seconded her. "Everybody could see it! He thinks you're very pretty. I can tell."
Oghren chuckled, "After the all the yelling, we thought maybe you two were having some hot make-up sex. Sometimes that's the best kind—"
Bronwyn was on the verge of explosion. She gritted her teeth, and very carefully did not shout. "I have never had sex with that man! And I would appreciate it if my own friends did not spread such horrible rumors!"
Leliana said kindly, "There's nothing horrible about romance. If you and Teyrn Loghain found each other desirable, then we would never stand in the way of your happiness."
Most of the women nodded solemnly, except for Morrigan who laughed at her, yellow eyes bright and noticing; and Astrid, who raised a questioning brow.
Most of the men, however, had their own and very different opinion about the idea of sex involving Bronwyn and Teyrn Loghain. She could see the looks exchanged between Alistair and Cullen (aghast), Anders and Jowan (concerned), and Oghren and Zevran (amused, but clearly thinking it a very bad thing).
She was their commander, and there was a limit to how much impertinence she was prepared to put up with.
"The Teyrn and I do not have a personal relationship. If that changes in the future—"
"Aha!" cackled Oghren.
Brownyn frowned, "If that were to change in the future, I would be sure to tell my friends. In the meantime, I shall keep you informed of the military situation. Now. No more questions or I'll set Scout on you. I am going to get some sleep. I suggest you all do the same."
A few discontented murmurs trailed after her. Bronwyn shut her eyes, lay down again, and was soon, unpleasantly but necessarily, in the Fade.
While her companions were silenced—at least as far as speaking to her directly—Bronwyn could see, to her exasperation, that she was Ostagar's favorite object of gossip. When they came down to breakfast the next morning, grabbing an empty table to share, Bronwyn found herself the cynosure of all eyes in the mess hall. A bowl of porridge was put before her, and she ate ravenously, trying to ignore the stares—hungry stares and envious stares and shocked stares- and the eager whispers. Apparently, her conversation with the Teyrn was the talk of the camp.
Everyone grabbed at her comrades, dragging them away to corners, trying to get the whole story out them. Leliana was a favorite: she was young and pretty and human, and the women thought she'd be a good source of gossip. The men thought the same, and thought that even if she weren't, she was well worth chatting up.
She smiled and shook her head, and sometimes added a few words. Her listeners were disappointed, and went away. Bronwyn tried to busy herself with her porridge.
They learned not to try it with Alistair or Cullen. Alistair was a terrible gossip himself, but was displeased with the kind of questions people were asking. Cullen looked like he was about to go for his sword. A man backed away, smiling, hands up in a peaceful gesture. Cullen snarled something in a low voice.
There were dwarves in the hall, and they were gossiping too: more frankly, and with no emotional stake in the matter. Some were approaching her people. Brosca and Oghren would laugh and shake their heads, making some sort of quip or other. Astrid was quieter, but absolutely firm with the busybodies.
After awhile, her friends came back to the table, and sat there, watching her with bright, alert eyes. It was terribly annoying, but better than being stared at when she was trying to sleep.
Bronwyn finished her bowl, wishing there was more, and then abruptly asked, "What?"
Tara announced, "Everyone's talking about you, Bronwyn. You want to know why?"
"Somehow," Bronwyn grimaced, "I think I really, really don't."
Brosca grinned, and leaned in, "Well, we're going to tell you, anyway. Everybody heard you and the big guy yelling at each other last night. And then they heard things get quiet. And then you came out of his quarters, looking relaxed and with messy hair. And his servants said that somebody had pushed everything off his desk onto the floor—like they were in a big hurry."
"You didn't tell us that Teyrn Loghain pushed everything off his desk," Leliana said reprovingly.
"That's because he didn't," Bronwyn said frankly. "I did." Seeing their shocked, incredulous faces, she shrugged, rather embarrassed in retrospect. "I did it in a fit of temper. I told you that he brought up Arl Howe's accusation. I threw a wine goblet at him and I swept everything off his writing table. Please don't spread that around. It makes me sound like a naughty child."
"So…" Oghren leered. "You didn't clear the desk in order to…how shall I put this delicately…?"
"You couldn't!" laughed Brosca.
Bronwyn tried to follow the conversation, more and more bewildered and exasperated.
Astrid cut the misery short. "They are implying that you and Teyrn Loghain cleared off the desk in order to have sex there."
"What?" Bronwyn shot to her feet, eyes blazing. Like waves in an ebb tide, everyone else at the table leaned away from her. She glared at them, and lowered her voice. "Nothing of that sort happened, and I will thank you not to make up scandalous stories about me. Sex on a desk, indeed!"
Her face must be red. It felt hot enough.
"I told you so!" Alistair declared triumphantly. "Bronwyn would never do something like that!"
She could hardly hear him. She did not want to look at any of them at the moment. Enraged and humiliated, she stalked from the mess hall, and strode down the stairs, needing some fresh air to cool her burning embarrassment. Scout placidly trotted after her, wanting a run outside. Soldiers watched her, wide-eyed, and nudged each other, talking in low voices.
To complete her morning, she was almost immediately joined by Loghain, looking infuriatingly well-rested and freshly-shaved. He was, of course, already out and about, and wanted to show her something. Scout, the traitor, wagged his tail at him.
"And look at this one, Warden!" A pop and a slam, and the bolts were soaring out over the bone-riddled Ostagar Valley. Smoke drifted back in a wake of black and grey. The bolts slammed into the ground, and a second later, an explosion shook the stones. A sullen blaze licked at the dead, dry grass in the distance.
"Pretty neat, huh?" asked Dworkin, leering at her, unintimidated by the looming presence of Teyrn Loghain.
"I'm impressed!" Bronwyn granted freely. "I'd love to see what they do to an ogre!"
"I can describe it for you, if you like," Loghain offered, his smile sardonic. "It's very interesting seeing something that large burning while disemboweled."
"Ew, thanks all the same!" Bronwyn laughed. She waved a hand at another of the prototypes. "I like that design with the multiple bolts."
"Look at this!" Dworkin said excitedly, winding a crank, which caused the aim of the bolts to spread out, fan-like. "I can focus on a target, or we can go for wide-spread damage."
"And that's not all, Warden," Dworkin's brother Voldrik assured her, in a calmer, smoother tone. "We can load the trebuchet with explosives too, and put them in a container with trash—stones, broken metal, bits of chain. When the container explodes, all that metal causes catastrophic damage to the enemy."
Bronwyn nodded, appreciating the image that conveyed.
"I can certainly see why you've been holding the Horde back so well. Isn't that something of the effect that qunari cannon are supposed to have?"
"Why don't you ask your pet qunari?" Loghain wondered.
Bronwyn made a face. "It's impossible to get him to talk about that. It's a deep, dark secret of his race. For all I know, he's not in on it, and it embarrasses him. We're not likely to get the secret of cannons out of Sten."
"No," Loghain said crisply. "Instead, he is gathering useful intelligence about Ferelden and its military capabilities."
Bronwyn gave him a tight smile, not wanting to argue with him so early in the morning. He really was a very difficult man, just as Mother had always warned her. It was so vexing to have her every decision second-guessed after the fact. She took a firm grip on her temper and changed the subject.
"I suppose accurate aim is difficult to achieve…?"
Voldrik and Dworkin were off: telling the lengthy and rather boring tale of how they had created sighting devices that permitted them to nail a target at long range within a few feet. While she could hardly follow the technical details, the result was clear enough and very satisfactory. She asked to be given a chance to aim and fire one of the improved ballistae herself, and the three men were only too happy to accommodate her.
Loghain, truth be told, was as enthusiastic as any dwarven engineer. Bronwyn had not known that he was interested in machines, but she should have guessed that war machines—or anything that would give him an edge over an enemy—would have his undivided attention. More than that, though: he actually seemed to understand what the dwarves were talking about when they went on about "trajectory" and "payload."
The dwarves withdrew, debating an arcane issue between themselves, hands sketching the argument in the air.
Loghain put a hand on the mount of one of the ballistae, admiring it as he would a good horse.
"Something worthwhile will have come out of this, if Ferelden has new weapons to defend itself."
"If their accuracy is as good as the dwarves claim, perhaps similar devices need to be installed to defend fortresses and harbors throughout Ferelden."
Loghain nodded. The Orlesians had invaded by sea, and had swept over Ferelden like a storm. If the ships could have been destroyed before the chevaliers had landed…
But this time, if the ships came, it would be at the invitation of Ferelden's own King. Gherlen's Halt would admit the chevaliers at the border, the mountain passes open to them like any trollop at the Pearl. How much time did they have to prevent this? Could they defend a divided Ferelden against the darkspawn, the Orlesians, and its own King?
The girl felt the Blight had to be the first priority, which was no great surprise. Loghain admitted to himself that she had made good arguments for it. Ferelden had risen from the ashes of the Orlesian occupation, and it could do so again. If, however, the country were laid waste, polluted, and depopulated by the darkspawn, it might be too weakened to constitute a viable nation ever again.
After sleeping on it, it was clear to Loghain that they could not give up the fight at Ostagar, without consigning half of Ferelden to the darkspawn. That did not mean that there were not other priorities.
Cailan. Loghain had to find a way to neutralize the threat Cailan posed to Ferelden. He needed to get him back under his eye. And there were ways to do that…
"When you take the letter to Anora," he said to Bronwyn, "Ask for an audience with the King. You need to report to him, anyway. Be sure to take your Dalish girl with you. Have her wear that scanty Dalish armor. Perhaps His Majesty will not wish to miss the glorious moment when the Elves arrive to fight once more at the side of Men."
The shadow of the Orlesian Empire was creeping closer, but it would not fall on Ferelden again while Loghain Mac Tir lived.
Adaia needed to find something to do. She had listened attentively to Danith's daily lesson of elven lore. Zevran was kind enough to give her an hour of training time, but then he wanted to see more of the camp. She decided to tag after him. People had broken up into groups, since Lady Bronwyn went off to consult with Teyrn Loghain. Adaia was supposed to find work at Ostagar, and might as well see what was available. Before…everything…happened, she might have sung songs like Leliana, but Bann Vaughan and his men had ended her singing forever.
Sten was sitting in a position that ought to be impossible, his eyes shut. Tara told her it was called 'meditating,' and it was something qunari did, when they were thinking about their Qun thing. It did not look very comfortable to Adaia.
Brosca was fun and friendly, but she had gone with Oghren to visit some dwarves they knew. They were talking about setting up a proper brewery here. Dwarves were good at brewing ale out of nearly anything. If it was drinkable, they would probably make their fortune.
Tara was busy, talking in low tones with the other mages. They did not seem to want anyone to hear what they were saying. That yellow-eyed witch, the woman named Morrigan, had a book she was showing them. They all were looking worried, especially the witch's lover, the tall blond mage. It was some sort of magical business, and while Adaia was growing used to mages, she knew she wanted to do nothing to annoy them. The two men always spoke pleasantly to her, but Adaia was afraid of Morrigan.
Alistair and Cullen and Leliana were visiting people they knew, important people like knights and templars and captains. They were going on a patrol tomorrow, and wanted to find out what other people knew about the nearby darkspawn. Astrid, the serious dwarf Warden, had gone with them. She was important, too. Tara had told her she was a princess in exile, driven from her home by her brother. Adaia did not think Astrid looked much like a princess ought to look, but maybe that was just because we was a dwarf. Or maybe because she needed to do something with her hair. Adaia had seen Queen Anora once, and her hair had been lovely.
"Danith!" she called shyly. She was becoming less self-conscious about her voice. The Dalish girl looked up. "Zevran and I are going for a walk around the camp. Would you like to come with us?"
"That is very courteous of you," Danith answered, feeling some hesitation in accepting. Still, it was very dull in this stone tower… "Yes, I should see the camp and understand the ways of these shemlens."
Again she hesitated. Her armor was safe and familiar, but the shemlens stared at her so. After a moment, she snatched up her Warden tunic and dropped it over her head, covering herself with it. Perhaps it would be best if the shemlens saw a Warden, and not an asha of the elvhen. There was no shame in a being a Grey Warden, though the separation from her clan and the hideous dreams made it a burden. She remembered she had some coin, too, and a few items shared out to her from darkspawn loot. Perhaps the shemlens might have useful items for trade…
The air outside was foul, but not as foul as the air inside. The camp stank of shemlen and durgen'len and their beasts, but there was at least a breeze. Far away, Danith could catch the deeper foulness of darkspawn, and sense a faint, unwelcome presence in her blood. Bronwyn had told her that eventually she would be able to sense fellow Wardens as well, which would be useful, she supposed.
And since they were together, she could continue Adaia's lessons.
"Who is the Great Protector?" she asked.
"Mythal," Zevran answered instantly, grinning at her. Danith frowned at him.
"The question was for Adaia."
"Mythal," Adaia croaked out, a moment later. "I know that one. I really do."
"And who, Adaia," Danith continued, glaring at Zevran, "Is the Goddess of the Hunt, and the creator of the Vir Tanadahl?"
"I know that one, too!" Adaia said, excited. "That's Andruil: Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Lady of the Hunt. Andruil."
"Well done. And who is her sister?"
They talked, happily oblivious to the admiring stares, all the way to the quartermaster, and then all the way to an equally interesting place…
"They let us stay and see everything," Adaia croaked happily to Tara, enjoying her midday meal. "And then they let me help!"
Zevran shrugged. "I know few craftsmen whether human, dwarf, or elf, who will refuse free labor. Nonetheless, I agree that it was interesting. I have some small skill with poisons myself, but I found much to learn there."
Danith said nothing, but nodded. In the crafthouse, all three races had worked together, and the dwarven craftmasters had not spoken slightingly to anyone. What mattered there was not race, but skill and diligence. She herself was familiar enough with what could be done with deathroot and blood lotus, but the craftmasters had studied the matter, and were not only creating stronger poisons, but 'bombs." These were mixtures held in flasks, which when thrown would make a firestorm, or freeze any enemy (or friend) upon whom the mixture splashed. Some contained lyrium sand, and would explode with a great noise. The blast from these bombs struck the enemy like a great fist. Small bombs were made for soldiers to carry, and large ones were being built, to be loaded into the great war machines, to rain death upon the darkspawn.
It was worthwhile to learn stronger poisons for arrows and blades, but the bombs made her a little uneasy. It would be so easy to harm innocents if they were cast carelessly. Nor did using them take any more skill than a strong throwing arm. They seemed…impersonal…to her.
But Adaia was eager to make herself useful, and the dwarves, seeing her in the company of a Warden, were well-disposed toward her, and had offered her employment. Zevran stepped in, seeming to think the amount of coin offered was insufficient. After some strange talk and much complaining, Adaia was offered a larger sum, and seemed very pleased.
"I'll be earning more than I ever did when I was in the alienage, and I'll be doing my part for the war effort! I have a real job!" She was very happy, and her curious croaking voice was not as harsh as usual. Danith could not grudge her the chance to be of use. Nonetheless, she would see that the girl continued her lessons in the ways of their people.
The news of Adaia's good fortune was passed up and down the Wardens' table, and everyone had kind words for her. Sten was particularly approving.
"For a woman to work as an artisan is appropriate, and in accordance with the Qun. Very suitable."
Adaia looked at the door to the mess hall, hoping that Lady Bronwyn would arrive soon. She was particularly anxious to tell the noblewoman that she had found something to do besides cook porridge and sponge on the Wardens. Making poisons and bombs was something the Warden-Commander was bound to approve of.
A quick hand snatched a piece of bread off her plate. Brosca grinned at her teasingly. "Too slow, newbie! Anyway, good luck with the poisons! Before you know it, you'll be a respectable tax-paying member of society! Too bad."
Oghren modestly agreed, "Aye. You could have learned to brew ale from an expert. Oh, well, we can't all be lucky…"
They were talking and laughing so much that Adaia never heard the footsteps behind her. Not until he was nearly on her did she see the look on the faces of her friends across the table.
Loghain remembered that Grey Wardens were always hungry. His morning meeting with Bronwyn had gone extremely well, with no goblet-throwing or other acts of violence toward him. Truth be told, he did not hold last night's explosion against her. So many people were afraid of him: afraid to disagree, afraid to tell him their true opinions, afraid of losing their privileges or offices.
Cailan had no problem shouting at him, of course, but Cailan was invariably wrong. Bronwyn was young and inexperienced; but she was a brave and clever girl, and had learned a great deal from her adventures, and knew she had yet more to learn. She was capable of opposing him with sound arguments, and in that she was rather like Anora. It was very pleasant, spending a morning with her, seeing her interest in the new machines, sharing ideas and making plans. He regretted that she would be leaving the day after tomorrow. He had almost suggested that she send one of her Wardens instead, but that was simply a moment of weakness on his part. She must go. No one else could manage the business as well.
"I imagine you're ready for a midday meal after all that," he said, walking back to the Tower with her. "Perhaps you wouldn't object to sharing mine. I want to go over some maps of the Wilds with you…"
There was noise ahead. Loghain quickened his step. Bronwyn flicked him a concerned glance, matching her stride to his. The doors were open, and there was excited shouting coming from the mess hall. For a moment Bronwyn was rather pleased. It appeared that the army would have something to talk about, other than the imaginary romance between Teyrn Loghain and herself.
She felt very differently when they entered the mess hall, and found Bann Vaughan, face purple with rage, facing off against a furious, indignant Alistair. He was too fit to turn purple, but was a rather handsome shade of reddish bronze.
"Enough!" Loghain bellowed. His voice cut through the catcalls and shouts, and a path opened up as soldiers shrank back to make way for the Teyrn and the Girl Warden. The atmosphere of the room changed slightly, as everyone hoped for a different but equally entertaining spectacle from that of a nobleman and a Warden fighting over an elf girl.
Vaughan's bodyguard had their hands on their swords: a dozen of them were eyeing the motley band of Wardens. Rather dubiously eyeing them, actually, for the motley band looked uncommonly menacing. Brosca ducked under Alistair's arm and stuck her tongue out at Vaughan, then grinned ferociously. The mages had slowly risen to their feet, and they were not smiling, but looking very calm and deliberate. Alistair and Cullen were bigger than any of Vaughan's men. And then there was Sten.
For a moment Loghain was tempted to let them have at it, just to see how quickly the Wardens could annihilate Vaughan and his men. That was a bad idea, of course.
"Bann Vaughan," he growled, with a semblance of calm. "If there is a dispute, let us take it somewhere private."
"That little whore is a wanted criminal!" Vaughan snarled, pointing at Adaia. She did not cringe, but bared her teeth, crouching defensively. To Loghain she looked like a starved kitten, readying herself to fight to the last. With a start, he recognized one of the mages. It was that apostate…Jowan… the one he had set on Eamon. The fellow flinched as Loghain's gaze fell on him, and he stared fixedly at the floor.
Alistair yelled back at Vaughan, "She's a Warden recruit! She was conscripted, and there's nothing you can do to her!"
Bronwyn nearly hissed in surprise, but managed to control her face. Alistair had put her in quite the predicament, laying her credibility as Warden-Commander on the line. He was her second, and she could not make a fool of him in front of these men. Not in front of Vaughan, whom she despised. Not in front of Teyrn Loghain, who would be glad to have an excuse to think meanly of Maric's bastard. Alistair trusted her, and she would not betray him.
"The Senior Warden is correct," she said clearly, in a calm and neutral tone. "This young woman has been conscripted, and is therefore no longer under the authority of the Arl of Denerim. Or his son."
Vaughan looked ready to burst. "Outrageous!" he sputtered.
"Come," Loghain said sharply. "My lord, we will discuss this privately. Warden-Commander, bring your Second and the recruit with you."
Scout was growling at Vaughan, which would not improve matters. Bronwyn whispered, "Stay!" and Sten obliging caught the dog by the collar. Leliana distracted him with a bit of smoked venison.
A very uncomfortable walk to Loghain's quarters followed. Bronwyn pretended to have little personal stake in the matter, though she was enraged that Vaughan would insult any follower of hers in such a way. She kept her face pleasantly neutral, and walked beside Vaughan, looking at him seriously, with a show of respect for his status and his anger.
The door was shut, and Loghain said curtly, "Bann Vaughan, if you please, tell us…quietly…what claim you have on this girl."
Vaughan sneered. "She's a thief, a whore, and a murderer from the Denerim alienage."
Alistair and Adaia each took a breath, ready to counter the accusation. Bronwyn shook her head, just a little at Alistair. He calmed himself, and put his hand protectively on Adaia's shoulder. Tears of despair and helplessness were pooling in the girl's eyes.
Vaughan stared down at her from his greater height, but did not come within Alistair's reach. "She was one of the instigators of the riot in which I was attacked and wounded." He fingered the fading scar on his jaw, recalling the utter shock of a pack of knife-eared wenches daring to turn on him. "Members of my personal guard were murdered, and the estate was looted of treasure over the felonious amount of one sovereign. As the attack was made on the household of her rightful lord, we can add Petty Treason to the charges of murder, riot, and grand theft. As such, she won't just hang: she'll be drawn and quartered as well."
Adaia was crying now. "But he was the one—"
Bronwyn put a hand on her other shoulder, and turned to Vaughan, using every ounce of control. It was easier than last night. She had not had too much wine. She expected nothing better of a man like Vaughan. She would deal with this, and she would win.
"I am sorry that situation is so grievous to you, my lord," she said quietly. "I deeply regret that you were injured. I, certainly, can imagine the pain you must have endured."
Those words, uttered in a soothing tone and with a sad smile, drained the worst of Vaughan's rage. He glanced at the long white scar marring her face—a great pity, that, he thought—and nodded brusquely. He had no great desire to start a feud with a Cousland. Fergus was close to the King, and everyone had heard the rumors about Bronwyn and Teyrn Loghain.
",,,That said," she continued, "law and custom are perfectly clear on the matter. Adaia here—"
"That's not her name," Vaughan interrupted nastily. "The little strumpet has lied to you even about that. She's Melian Tabris, daughter of Cyrion Tabris the ragpicker."
Bronwyn raised her brows at Adaia.
The girl croaked out, "Adaia was my mother's name, my lady. I like it."
Loghain frowned at the sound of the girl's voice. Had she been injured? He looked at her neck for bruises, but saw none. He had never met an elf with a voice like that.
Bronwyn shrugged. "She wouldn't be the first lad or lass who went for a soldier under an assumed name. In fact, her having a Dalish-sounding name disposed the Dalish to be friendlier toward us than they might otherwise have been. No, my lord," she smiled, pleasantly self-deprecating, at Vaughan. "Her name means little or nothing. As I said, law and custom are quite clear. No matter how grave her offences, they were committed prior to her conscription. She is now under the aegis of the Grey Wardens, and is as dead to her old life as if she had been executed."
Before Vaughan could finish taking another breath, Loghain cut in. "Vaughan, the girl is now beyond your authority. You must accept it, as indeed must we all. As for you, Warden-Commander, choose your recruits with greater care in future."
Bronwyn bowed her head in nicely-judged submission.
Loghain was not finished. "- and I do not want to see this girl flaunting her impunity in the face of a Ferelden lord." He frowned at the little elf, and his gaze shifted to Alistair, who grimaced. "And while I understand that your Senior Warden was doing his duty in defending a recruit, he must also remember the respect owed to members of the Landsmeet."
"Yes, my lord," Alistair muttered. "Sorry, my lord." He saw Bronwyn raise her brows again, and he turned to Vaughan. "Sorry, my lord. Just doing my duty."
Vaughan preened, somewhat mollified, and smirked at Alistair. His sense of superiority was finding solid ground once more. "Quite all right, Senior Warden," he said, flicking his fingers at him as if dismissing a clumsy servant.
Bronwyn suggested, "Perhaps the Senior Warden and my recruit could return to their duties now, my lord?"
Loghain waved them away. Alistair gave him a very shallow bow and the girl a frantic bob of curtsy. They were gone, and the door shut behind them.
Vaughan growled, "I can't believe you'd defend that little knife-ears!"
Bronwyn had been expecting something of the sort, and maintained her composure.
"What I cannot believe, my lord, is that you would wish to quarrel with me over an elf girl!" she smiled warmly at Vaughan, deceit curdling in her belly. "Really, we came across her on the road and conscripted her. The Wardens are always looking for people whose families won't be crying after them. Her punishment, which you are so eager for, is to come south and fight the darkspawn! How long do you think she'll live, raw and untrained as she is?"
Vaughan was still indignant and thwarted, but huffed a contemptuous snort at that. "Her head will be on a stick within the week!"
With a show of sad resignation, Bronwyn agreed with him. "Very likely. The Maker metes out his justice in mysterious ways. Let us not quarrel over trifles, my lord. Of course you are angry at the abnegation of your usual authority. I understand that. It is very vexing, but these things happen. Had I known her background, of course I would have left her to your justice, but what's done is done. I cannot release her to you. She is a Warden, and therefore my problem. I will fulfill all my duties. That means that I shall allot her tasks, punish her fairly, and protect her to the best of my ability."
"It's the principle of the thing, Bronwyn," Vaughan whined, very aggrieved, but on the way to accepting the current situation.
"I know," she agreed sympathetically. "These are strange times."
"You can't discharge her from the Wardens into my custody?" he asked, a little slyly.
"No, Vaughan," she assured him, perfectly polite but perfectly firm. "Once a Warden, always a Warden. Besides, I was conscripted myself. If I have to serve, then that girl certainly does!"
He nodded. "Father told me all about it. An absolute scandal, that fellow Duncan taking advantage of the Highever crisis like that."
"We must be united," Loghain broke in sharply, annoyed at how easily the girl was winding Vaughan around her little finger. The temper she had shown him last night had been all Eleanor. This was Bryce at his most subtly engaging. She had better not try such tricks with him.
However, if she could do something to keep Vaughan from becoming disaffected, and prevent him from colluding with Cailan and his puppeteers in Orlais, Loghain acknowledged that he would have to put up with witnessing this kind of shoddy spectacle. He continued, "To that end, I want you, Bann Vaughan, to sit beside the Warden-Commander at dinner tonight, and to make plain there are no hard feelings."
"What a good idea!" Bronwyn said, managing a cheerful smile.
Vaughan gave her what he imagined to be a gallant bow. "I would be honored…and charmed."
Anora was not a fool. That was the quality in herself she clung to. She was not a fool. Her intelligence was her sword and shield, and she could use it as effectively as her father wielded a blade.
Cailan was up to something. He thought himself very clever, but there was a boastfulness in him, a childish vainglory that prevented any real disguise. He went about the Palace smiling, even smug. His expression practically shouted, "Something is coming, though you do not know about it."
Erlina had been watching him, but was herself baffled. Somehow, Cailan must be receiving secret communications from somewhere. It was genuinely alarming.
He had been particularly friendly with Fergus Cousland of late. Genial...even generous. He had given Fergus some fine gifts, and had invited him to sit at his side at dinner. For all that, there was something in his manner that rang false. Was he plotting against the Teyrn of Highever?
The true Teyrn of Highever, of course. Rendon Howe was calling himself Teyrn of Highever, but Anora did not write to him using that title. At the very least, the Landsmeet would have to ratify it, and Anora did not see that happening any time soon.
Rendon Howe was in serious trouble, anyway. A week had passed, and he had not arrived in Denerim to make his case before the Landsmeet. Letters had come, explaining his delays very plausibly, wanting assurances and offering fulsome flattery. It annoyed Anora beyond words that Cailan gave any weight to the man's excuses. While a true politician kept all his options open, it seemed too egregiously two-faced to act as if Fergus Cousland were his blood brother, while also indulging the disobedience of Rendon Howe. It was clumsy: it was not subtle, but the very opposite. The Arl of Amaranthine had refused to obey his King's command to attend him, and that, Anora thought, should be that.
But the week was over, and there could be no more delays. The young Teyrn had readied his forces, recruited yet more, hired some dwarven engineers, and was ready to march on Amaranthine.
She had spoken to Cailan about it. She had spoken to him repeatedly, and he had put her off: treating it as a great joke. She could not make him see that every day he permitted Rendon Howe to ignore royal commands resulted in a further diminishment of royal authority. What were the rest of the nobility to think, when they saw that Arl Howe could disobey the King with impunity?
The dwarves were joining the army in the south, but Cailan did not seem interested in the war anymore. He spoke slightingly of Bronwyn Cousland's diplomacy—though never to her brother's face—as if anyone could have managed it. From the rumors that were coming out of the Orzammar, Anora suspected that it had taken quite a bit of doing to persuade the dwarves to commit to the fight on the surface. Cailan seemed to feel that the Girl Warden had inconvenienced him in some way. Anora did not know what to make of it.
The Grand Cleric had come to see him yesterday, and Anora had known nothing about it until the woman was gone. Worse still, she still did not know what the two of them had talked about, closeted together for two hours in the mid-afternoon, while Anora had her tea break. Cailan had chuckled, and patted her head, and told her that it was nothing for her to worry about. He felt it was only right to take on some of the burden of those tiresome, routine visits, especially when she was unwell.
Unwell? Yes—it was true. She had not been particularly well of late. She tired easily, and was often oddly thirsty. It was hard to concentrate sometimes. When it was particularly bad, her thoughts circled in her head like startled magpies. Her afternoon tea soothed her. She was looking forward to it very much today.
"Majesty?" Erlina called softly. "Are you awake?"
That was another thing. Perhaps she was overtired, for she found herself falling asleep in the afternoons. It was absurd. She was no child, to be taking naps. The strain of the past few months had been great, but her father was certainly under even greater stress, and no one told tales of him weakening. Quite the contrary. It would be dreadful if word came to him that his daughter was growing slack and slothful…
"Yes, I am quite awake," Anora said clearly, after taking a moment to clear the cobwebs from her mind. "You may fetch the tea now, Erlina."
The maid took a moment in the anteroom to arrange the tray. The Queen was fond of roses, and the gardener had gathered some lovely white ones today. Erlina had chosen the most perfect of them for the Queen's tray. Poor thing, it was the least she could do.
The tea was just as it should be. The King was not taking tea here today, being busy in the sparring yard this afternoon. The tea, therefore, could be brewed more effectively.
Erlina finished stirring in the powder, and sighed.
It was such a shame. Such a pleasant life she had, here in the Palace, serving charming Queen Anora. It was very unfortunate that the Empress and the King were planning to marry, and thus make said charming Queen Anora entirely redundant. The King imagined that plans were in motion to annul his marriage, and it was true that all the proper people had been informed.
However, the Empress was far too shrewd and-really, it must be said—had too much moral delicacy to marry a divorced man. His marriage must be dissolved indeed: dissolved so completely that no one would ever be able to claim that there was any impediment to their union. Charming Queen Anora must fall sick, and then go into a decline, and then die peacefully in her bed, surrounded by her grieving servants. It was a sad thing, but completely indispensable for the legitimacy of the new order. The poison the Orlesians called "inheritance powder" was tasteless, odorless, and undetectable, save for those few who knew about it.
What could seem more natural? The King would certainly accept it. That ladies sometimes went into irreversible, incomprehensible declines was a fact of life. His own mother, that doughty warrior woman Queen Rowan, had herself faded away into death when the King was only a young child. Of course, it was known to a few in Orlais that the Queen's death was a last, exquisite piece of spite on the part of Emperor Florian. King Maric could not be assassinated, for in those days Ferelden was in such upheaval that the death of the King might have resulted in the elevation of Loghain Mac Tir. And that hard man was notoriously difficult to kill.
No, it was the Queen, the brave, heroic, strong-hearted Queen, the other power propping up an essentially weak man, who was the target. Her death plunged Maric into depression and apathy. For a great deal of his reign he had neglected both his kingdom and his son and heir.
He had completely abandoned his other son, the bastard Alistair. The Empress could hardly believe such stupidity. The boy could have been so useful to his father and brother—a support for the rightful king, a serviceable pawn in the marriage market. To throw him away in a stable!
If nothing else, a younger brother would have presented Cailan with a challenge. He would have had a rival to keep him up to the mark. He might not have been the shallow, foolish young man who believed that the world was his to play with: The Empress had divined Cailan's character early, and had sent Erlina to Ferelden as soon as there was a Queen to spy upon.
It sometimes took decades for Shadows of the Empire to position themselves effectively. Erlina had managed it in five years. Other nations barely knew of their existence. She had seen a missive from the late Teyrn Cousland, warning the King of 'sleeper agents.' The Teyrn of Highever had been a clever man, she admitted, a charming, amiable, clever man, and he had uncovered something of the truth. Too much, indeed, for him to be allowed to live.
That arrogant,bard had transmitted the order for the Queen's death- the order that Erlina had hoped would never come- the last time she visited the Palace. Nothing was to be left to chance. Marjolaine, afterwards, had left Denerim to convey the King's signed marriage contract to the Empress. Even with the country in turmoil, she should be in Val Royeaux within three weeks. In another three, she should be back with the Empress' agreement. And by then, the King would conveniently be a widower. After a respectful—but brief—period of mourning, the King would make the announcement, and the Chantry would declare its support for the union.
Who would resist them? The Queen's father, of course, would be angry, but there were ways to deal with him. Nothing was easier to arrange than death in battle. Plans were in motion for that. An honorable death, too. Erlina did not much like Teyrn Loghain: a hard-bitten, dour man who always scowled at her. He was, however, the devoted father of her kind mistress the Queen, and he would be devastated by her loss. Erlina herself thought it would be wise—even compassionate- if his heroic death took place before the Queen's passing, but that matter was out of her hands.
Arl Teagan of Redcliffe would be loyal to his nephew. The Arl of Denerim, too, would stand by the King. Erlina made a little face, thinking of his odious son Vaughan. The things one had to endure in her position!
The Arls of West Hill and South Reach had not the wealth or power to stand alone against the coming changes. Rendon Howe was a fierce enemy of Orlais, but he was already discredited, and would soon be eliminated, allowing the King to choose a less opinionated man in his stead.
The Couslands were dead, all but the brave and pleasant son, and the daughter who no longer mattered politically. A rumor had come to Erlina that the Crows had tried to assassinate Fergus Cousland. He had fought them off, and now the Crows were reassessing the feasibility of the contract. In a Ferelden weakened by Blight and by the loss of so many leaders at once, the young teyrn might be persuaded to accept the union of Orlais and Ferelden. Erlina hoped so. She rather liked him. Perhaps the Empress, in order to encourage his submission, would marry him to a charming lady of high birth, great wealth, and undoubted loyalty. Soft diplomacy was sometimes the most effective.
She poured a cup of the poisoned tea for the Queen, who was looking quite ill, poor thing: face drawn, grey smudges under the eyes. She had lost appetite, and regarded her sandwich and cookies with no interest whatever. Erlina was sorry that the Queen's suffering must be prolonged to make the story of natural death plausible.
"Thank you, Erlina," Anora said, sipping her tea thirstily. "This is delicious."
Erlina smiled, and discreetly smoothed the Queen's hair. "Be sure to drink it all, Majesty. It is the best thing for you."
Thanks to all who have read, alerted or favorited. Special thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Menamebaphil, Dante Alighieri1308, mutive, EmbertoInferno, Josie Lange, xJanelex, JackOfBladesX, Kira Kyuusetsuki, almostinsane, Judy, chocolatebrown12, Gene Dark, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, Dragon's Tongue, Enaid Aderyn, Jenna53, Morwen33, mille libri, Eva Galana, The Moidart, derko5, Grey Jackett, Anime-Star Wars-Fan-zach, Shakespira, ally, Aoi24, Have Socks Will Travel, What Ithacas Mean, demonicnargles, Zute, wayfaringpanda, Lehni, Costin, Lord of Murder, Persephone Chiara, Amhran Comhrac, Alpha Cucumber, Windchime68, Ereneviana, and euromellows.
Petty treason, in medieval law, was defined as an act of rebellion (including murder) against one's superior: for example, a wife who murdered (or planned to murder) a husband, a servant who rebelled against a master, a vassal who rebelled against an overlord. High treason is the betrayal of one's sovereign (or national government). Those who committed petty treason were liable to the same hideous punishments as those who committed high treason. Actually, in medieval England, women were almost never hanged, drawn, and quartered. Up until the time of Oliver Cromwell, the standard form of execution for a woman was burning alive (or beheading, for noblewomen). This changed with Cromwell and the Puritans, who changed the law to permit women the more humane death by hanging.
If you're upset that Bronwyn didn't give Adaia a chance to defend or explain herself, don't be. Defense or excuses would be equally pointless addressed to Vaughan. All that matters, really, is that a Grey Warden conscript is not liable for crimes committed prior to the conscription. Bronwyn will hear Adaia out in private, and let her tell her side of the story.
Ally asked if I intended to pair up all my Wardens, and made a reference to Shakespearean comedy. The thought made me smile, and is actually very tempting, but no. I don't see a lot of relationships, whether permanent or fleeting, arising from the current crisis. One or two at most.
A few days ago, I was at the Field Museum in Chicago, contemplating the bones of the TRex Sue. She is one-third the size of the Archdemon, and could neither fly nor spout purple flames. Still, when I thought about taking her down with swords and daggers, I thought…Uh-uh. I'll try to get real about the dragonslaying issue. Hunting wild boars or bears with spears is dangerous enough! Magic may make up some of the difference, but...honestly...
As to the Shadows of the Empire: they are canon. You must buy the Shadow of the Empire armor from Legnar in the Orzammar Commons to unlock the codex.