Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 33: The Mourning Bride

There was simply too much to do, and not enough time. Not enough time. Bronwyn needed to go north, and would likely be on her way the day after tomorrow. The party she was choosing to accompany her was something of a headache. She sat down at the work table with Alistair, and went over her list with him.

First things first. "Find Danith, and give her a riding lesson. If there is time for a rest break, give her two. I must take her with me to the other Dalish camp, and I need to be able to move quickly."

"I wish I could go," Alistair sighed. "Teyrn Loghain won't be all butterflies and rainbows to deal with."

She laughed then, at the image of dainty butterflies winging around Loghain's stony face. "I think it will be good for you, Alistair. You're a fine Warden and a splendid warrior. You know what the Wardens can do, and how we can be useful. We have enough Wardens now to take turns scouting. Stand up for yourself and tell him the truth. Believe it or not, that's what he likes best."

"Maybe he likes it from you," Alistair muttered, scratching his head. "Me, on the other hand…"

Bronwyn gave it some thought. "Obviously, I'm not telling you to contradict him in public, standing in the middle of the camp, and speaking as loudly as possible. However, when he asks your opinion, or when he should be asking your opinion, don't tell him what you think he wants to hear. Tell him the truth, even if he glares. That's his default expression, anyway. It doesn't mean he's angry. It could mean that he's thinking, or that you've surprised him, or that he wishes you weren't right, or even that it's his special time of day to glare."

Alistair chuckled a little, and blew out a breath, a little overwhelmed. Knight-Commander Killian had glared all the time, too. Alistair had become rather good at interpreting the man's repertory of glares. Maybe he could manage the same feat with Teyrn Loghain.

"Who are you taking with you besides Danith?" he asked, resigned to his dreadful fate.

"Tara. She did very well on the last mission. I think…Jowan, too. It might be better to get him away from Cullen."

"Me, too," Alistair growled. "Watch him, Bronwyn. He's no good. And speaking of no good, are you going to take Zevran again?"

"I think so. He heard that I was going north, and reminded me that he is my sworn man, not the Grey Wardens.'"

"Well…watch him, too!"

She laughed, and squeezed his arm, making him blush a little. "I'll be the soul of prudence and discretion!" She leaned in and spoke softly. "I'm not just going to the Dalish, Alistair. I'm going to Denerim first, with a private message from the Teyrn to the Queen. Don't tell anyone else, but you need to know. I'll see the King of course, and try to persuade him to come and greet the elves. It might raise morale if he were here."

"Maybe," he agreed. A brief silence, followed by a sly smile. "I have some news for you, too. I think I've found us another Warden!"

"Someone who wants to be a Warden?" Her tone made clear how peculiar she thought that aspiration.

Alistair was a little offended. "Lots of people want to be Wardens!" He added lamely, "Not a lot of people here, I know, but still…"

"Is he any good?"

"Not bad at all," Alistair said more cheerfully. "Cullen tried him out on greatsword, which is the lad's chosen weapon. He's from Lothering, and saw us the first time we went through. That's what gave him the idea. He's got some skills."

"He's from Lothering? Why didn't we see him there at the muster?"

"Well, he's pretty young. His mother kept him out of it, he said. It sounds like there's a sickly sister at home. He got fed up and came south to join the King's Army. Even if his mother comes after him, she won't be able to do anything about it. His sergeant thinks a lot of him. There was even talk about transferring him into Maric's Shield. He's that good."

Bronwyn frowned at the idea of recruiting a young boy with his whole life ahead of him into the Wardens. A nice, normal boy, with a mother, too: not a spy or a condemned criminal, not someone out of options, with all other doors closed to him.

"I want you to understand, Alistair, that if there weren't a Blight to be dealt with, I would never accept him. It seems so cruel."

"Being a Warden is great!"

He would never understand her, and she would never understand him.

"Being a Warden is a great sacrifice. He could die, Alistair! We've been very lucky so far with Joinings, but that's bound to end some time. Even if he survives, it means giving up his family and his land and his future children and spending his comparatively short life fighting monsters. And he can't change his mind later, when he knows better."

Alistair shrugged. "I never had a family anyway, so I don't miss it. They tried to make me a Templar, and believe me, that's a lot worse!" He looked at her with brown puppy-dog eyes. "He'd really like to meet you."

"I daresay." Bronwyn rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a headache coming on. "I'll speak to the lad. What's his name?"

"Carver Hawke."

"I suppose I'd better talk to him."

"Er—he's here. I told him to wait outside."

When Bronwyn repeated her reservations to young Hawke, he was unmoved. He was everything she had feared: young, good-looking, innocent, in teenage rebellion against a loving family, and blind to the awful truth about the Wardens.

"I'm sick of my family!" he stormed. "I've given up everything for them. I've done enough!"

"And just how old are you?" Bronwyn asked, a hint of frost in her voice, "and what exactly have you given up?"

He scuffed on the stones with the toe of his boot, frowning. He did not want to tell her, or could not. Finally, he said, "We had to protect my sister. She's…not like other girls. She stays home a lot. I could never bring my friends there."

Bronwyn asked mildly, "Your sister has recovered, then? She no longer requires your protection?"

Carver Hawke gestured a quick, hot, denial. "She'll never be all right! Why should I have to give up my whole life because of her problems?"

"I assure you," Bronwyn said grimly, "that if you become a Warden, you will be giving up a great deal more than not being able to invite your friends to your house!"

"I want to be a Grey Warden!" young Hawke sulked. "A Grey Warden is somebody!"

There was no doubt that they needed more Wardens. How were they to kill that monstrous Archdemon otherwise? Her nightmares were acute, frustrating: populated with the irresistible Horde and a pathetically small force of Wardens.

"Very well," Bronwyn considered. "I will speak to your commander. If he is amenable, we will take you on as a recruit. You will accompany us on some missions, and we shall see how you shape up."

He had a beautiful smile. He was absolutely radiant, poor boy, at the idea of Joining them. She sent him on his way, and then talked it over with Alistair.

"If he turns out all right, have him Join when out in the Wilds on a mission with only Wardens. If he dies, it will be easier to cover it up."

"Right." Alistair saw the sense in that. Bringing the necessary items for a Joining was not that difficult, after all. They went on with the day's business. Bronwyn ticked off yet another item on her list.

"I don't want Adaia going back and forth to the workshop alone," she said. "Now that she really is a recruit, we owe it to her to see to her safety. I don't trust Vaughan to leave her alone, but you never heard me say that."

Alistair frowned and fidgeted, looking over her shoulder at her notes. Bronwyn had suspected he was unhappy with the situation. "I don't see how you could coddle that—that—man," he complained. "How could you let him call Adaia those filthy names?"

Exasperated, Bronwyn threw up her hands. "What would you have me do? Draw my sword and run him through in front of Teyrn Loghain and the entire army? That would certainly win friends for the Grey Wardens! Shout him down and permanently antagonize not only him, but his father, the Arl of Denerim? We have to work with him, Alistair! We have to work with all sorts of people we may not like. We can't simply take our toys and walk away because some of the powerful nobles of Ferelden are not the nicest people!"

"I've heard rumors about Bann Vaughan," Alistair muttered. "Adaia should have had a chance to defend herself."

"I defended Adaia!" Bronwyn said impatiently. "Has she been imprisoned, or executed, or rendered over to Vaughan for rape? No. Nothing she could have said would have made a particle of difference to that man. Alistair, he has the law on his side! It doesn't matter if it's a bad law, or an unfair one. All I could do is trump Ferelden law with the ancient rights of the Wardens, which made any crime of hers irrelevant."

"It's not irrelevant to Adaia," Alistair pointed out. "She should have a chance to defend herself to you."

Bronwyn frowned, thinking. It truly did not much matter to her what Adaia had done. She could well imagine that the odious Vaughan had provoked the girl in some way, and she had tried to defend herself. Unfortunately, while common Fereldans had the right of self-defense in theory, it could be a very murky matter when defending themselves against their rightful lord…or the lord's son and heir.

Still, she admitted to herself, if she were accused of serious crimes and there were mitigating circumstances, she would want to clear the air, so her comrades would not think so ill of her.

"You're right," she decided. "Fetch Adaia from the workshop yourself, and bring her here to me before supper tonight. Tell her I want to hear her side of the story, and that she can have anyone else here she wishes. Or no one else, if she prefers. And if she really doesn't want to tell me, that's her decision, and I won't hold it against her."

Adaia did indeed want to tell her what happened in her own words, with Tara on one side and Danith on the other. She muttered permission for Alistair to stay and hear as well. Bronwyn did not want this to seem like a trial, and so invited the girl to sit down at the table with her. Nonetheless, there was tension in the air, and the girl sat on the opposite side, seemingly afraid to look her in the eye.

"I just want to give you the opportunity to defend yourself against Bann Vaughan's accusations, Adaia," Bronwyn said mildly. "But it's not a matter for punishment. Alistair has declared you a recruit, and that will not change, no matter what you say today. You are one of us. We thought you would feel better, though, if we made clear that we do not necessarily believe everything Bann Vaughan said."

Adaia mumbled something. Tara whispered to her to speak up. Danith regarded her gravely. Adaia cleared her throat, and croaked, "'m not a whore. He called me that, but I'm not. I'm not a whore."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Tara suggested, "Tell Bronwyn what happened the day Vaughan came to the alienage."

"It wasn't the first time," Adaia said bitterly. "He comes there a lot, and usually we run and hide. I couldn't run that day, because I was getting married."

"Married?" Bronwyn sat up straight, and exchanged surprised glances with Alistair. "You are married?"

"Almost," Adaia muttered. Tara gave her an encouraging look. "It was my wedding day. I was all dressed up, 'cos it was my wedding day. Washed my hair and everything. Put on perfume. Pretty stupid, huh? All it did was make me a target."

Bronwyn began to realize that this was going to be much worse than anything she had imagined.

"Go on, please," she managed.

"I'd never seen my groom before that day, of course," Adaia went on. "It was an arranged marriage, like most in the alienage. The hahren and the rest of the elders try to keep the bloodline going, though Maker knows why. My cousin Soris was getting married, too, and neither of us was happy about it." She gave Danith a wry smile. "We even talked about running away to find the Dalish."

"I wish you had," Danith said, scowling at Bronwyn.

"We probably would have died in the forest, but it wouldn't have been worse than what actually happened. Anyway, Soris met his bride and wasn't pleased, because she wasn't really much to look at. In fact, she was the plainest elf I ever met. Not that that saved her. I feel bad about saying anything about her looks, because she was all right. Better than me, in the end. I was a lot luckier. My groom's name was Nelaros, and he was from the Highever alienage. He was handsome, and he seemed kind, and had a nice way of speaking. I did too, then. Would you believe that I used to be famous in the alienage for my singing? Thought not. Anyway. Nelaros was nice, and I thought that maybe this marriage thing wouldn't be so bad. See, in the alienage you have to be married to be considered an adult. So we got up on the platform where we have weddings and ceremonies, and the priest showed up with her Templars to protect her from scum like us—"

"Do you remember the priest's name?" Alistair asked.

"It was Mother Boann," Adaia answered instantly. "It's always Mother Boann. She's a do-gooder."

Bronwyn took note of the name, and decided to see if she could find her in Denerim.

"Anyway, we were up on the platform, so everybody in the alienage could witness our marriages, and who should show up but Bann Vaughan and his friends, along with his guard. Mother Boann tries to tell him it's a wedding, and he says that she could dress up her pets however she liked, but it makes no difference to him. He and his friends are having a party, see, so he tells them to grab some whores for the entertainment.

"And that's what happened. Me and Soris' bride Valora, and my cousin Shianni and Nola and Lyris. I begged him just to take me and leave the others alone, but Vaughan laughed, and said that 'wouldn't be much of a party!'"

Bronwyn couldn't believe Vaughan's brazen effrontery. "He did this in front of your father—and all the other elves?" She found it hard to believe that a father would not defend his own daughter.

"What were they supposed to do?" Adaia challenged her. "They begged for mercy, of course, but if they had so much as raised a hand, Vaughan would have had his men slaughter everybody, and then the good people of Denerim would be proud of their Bann for keeping the peace and saving them from the vicious, rioting elves!" She added bitterly, "It's easy for Vaughan and his guards to be brave, when they've made it a crime for an elf to own a weapon!"

That was too true for debate, so Bronwyn nodded at her, wanting her to go on.

"So we were dragged away. Someone knocked me in the head, so I don't remember anything until I woke up in a locked room with the other girls. We were all really scared, and Lyris said we would just have to let them do whatever they liked. With luck, they'd let us go afterward, and then we'd go home and never, ever talk about it again."

Bronwyn was still shocked. "Has Vaughan done things like this before?"

Adaia looked at her as if she were insane. "All the time. What's to stop him?"

Bronwyn was silent. Alistair remembered how Arlessa Isolde had treated her elven maids.

Adaia shrugged. "He's something you have to look out for. There's only one law that matters in the Alienage: a human can do anything he likes to you, if you don't run fast enough. And if you resist, you and all your family will die." She thought a little more. "Lots of nobles and rich men look for girls in the Alienage, but Vaughan started early. Some men will take care of their bastards, but Vaughan won't. Elva was the first, and she tried to go to him and ask for help after he got her with child, but he threw her out, after he turned her over to the men in the guardhouse first."

"Did she…lose…the child?" Bronwyn asked.

Adaia shook her head. "That was probably what he wanted, but no, she wasn't that lucky. She had the baby all right, and her family made her do the sensible thing. She left it at the Chantry door. When humans and elves produce a child, the child always comes out human—shemlen. That means 'quickling' in the old Elvish tongue, because in ancient times elves were immortal, and humans so short-lived. It would be insane to raise a human-looking child in the Alienage, and the elders wouldn't put up with it, anyway. So Elva gave her child to the Chantry to raise, and her family found an older man who was looking for a second wife. She's pretty bitter."

Danith frowned, nodding. It made perfect sense to give shemlen children to the shemlens. Keeping them in the Alienage would simply further thin to nothing what little remained of elven blood there. That the shemlen lord was a tyrant was nothing more than she expected, but she could see that the Commander was disturbed by this: being a young woman, it was possible that she had been sheltered from such things, by whatever sense of decency shemlen males could command.

Tara fidgeted in her chair, growing ever more angry. Either it was the Chantry persecuting mages, or it was some bullying human noble persecuting elves. Bronwyn clearly had no idea how bad it was in an Alienage. She had mentioned that there was an Alienage in her own town of Highever, but she probably never went there. On the other hand, it was impossible to believe that Bronwyn's brother, the handsome and gallant Teyrn Fergus, who had spoken to them all so politely, could ever behave like that monster Vaughan. He had defended Adaia, after all, and had asked nothing of her in return. It would not be fair to judge all humans to be the same, when Tara's own experience showed her that it was simply not so.

"So you were knocked out and dragged away…" Tara prompted Adaia, wanting to get back to the girl's story.

"Right." Adaia was still a moment, reliving the memory. "So Shianni told me we were at the Arl of Denerim's estate, locked up in a room near the kitchen. Vaughan was hardly going to drag us in through the front door, after all. Even as prisoners, we were only good enough for the servants' entrance." She managed a brief, halfhearted chuckle. Alistair understood exactly how she felt.

Adaia said, "Nola was babbling prayers to the Maker. Like that was going to help… Anyway, some guards showed up to take us to the 'party.' Nola started crying, and told them they couldn't do this to us. So they killed her."

Bronwyn stared. "Killed her? For crying and praying?"

"Yup. Cut her open like a pig. They told us that was what happened to knife-eared whores who didn't shut up. After the first few screams, it shut us up, all right. We were too scared to make a sound."

"None of you were armed?" Danith broke in. "You could not fight these shemlens?"

Adaia rolled her eyes. "Of course we weren't armed! It's illegal for elves to have weapons. You can be killed on sight for carrying a sword or a bow. Besides, we were dressed up for a wedding. A wedding! That meant fancy dresses, and no place to hide a knife. We weren't expecting to have to go into battle!"

Bronwyn said quietly, "But you did fight, eventually."

"I had to!" Adaia burst out hoarsely. "When someone's trying to kill you, you fight! You have to! Even an animal fights when someone comes to kill it."

Scout looked up at her quizzically, from where he was sprawled on the floor.

Adaia looked right back at him. "I know," she said, "everybody knows about mabaris. I mean regular animals like cats and mice, not warrior animals like you. I wish you'd been there. You'd have shown them," she muttered. "We've got dogs in the Alienage, but they're nothing like Scout. Of course, we couldn't have afforded to feed a dog as big as him either."

That was probably true, Scout allowed. He subsided, and lay back down at Bronwyn's feet.

"So they took Shianni and Valora and Lyris. They left me for later, they said. Bann's orders. I guess he had something special planned for me. A couple of the guards stayed behind, looking Nola over. One of them said she was still warm, and asked the other how particular he was. But they left and followed the others, so I guess they were just making a sick joke. They locked me in again, just me and Nola, and I sat there while time passed, and the flies buzzed. I wanted to cover Nola with something, but there was nothing in the room to do it with. I had to move away from her, because there was a lot of blood, and it got black and sticky after a while. I closed her eyes, anyway."

She fidgeted on the bench, unsure how much to tell. It would be terrible if the elven servants who had helped her got into trouble. Looking stupid and saying "I don't know, master," only got you so far.

"Then I heard the door being unlocked. It was my cousin Soris. He had friends who worked in the kitchens, and they let him in through the servants' entrance. He told me that Nelaros was with him, and had gone ahead to check things out. Soris had knives, and gave me one. We wanted to see if we could get to Shianni and the others and help them escape. I was so scared, but I couldn't just run away. The cook—he was a human—saw us and started shouting. So we killed him." She glared defiantly at Bronwyn, and ducked her head.

She went on: "The servants—the other elves—made themselves scarce. We could get as far as we did because there weren't as many guards as usual. The old Arl had taken a bunch of them when he went south. We didn't know where to go, so we just went from room to room, with our heads down, trying not to be seen. Sometimes that worked. We were just elves, after all, and most people thought we were servants."

She was not going to tell Bronwyn and Alistair about the sleeping, off-duty guardsmen she had killed on impulse. It had felt right, but humans might not see it that way. She had taken everything they had, too, and it had made her feel a little bit better.

"We got to a big room where the guardsmen had their meals—the mess hall—" she said, using the term she had learned here at Ostagar. "Some guards had spotted Nelaros, and knew he didn't belong, and I guess he said something they didn't like, because one of them ran him through. Soris and I rushed at them, and I stabbed one in the back, before he even knew I was there. There were only three of them, and I was so angry that they were dead before I knew it. All I could see was Nelaros, bleeding to death. He was there to save me, and he'd never even seen me before that morning."

She wiped her nose. "He was dying. There wasn't anything I could do. He smiled at me, sort of—he was gritting his teeth against the pain, too. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a ring. It was my wedding ring. He wanted me to have it." She put out her hand, and showed them a thin silver band. "Then blood came out of his mouth and he was dead."

There was a long silence. Bronwyn waited for the girl to go on. After a few moments of thought, she did.

"It seemed stupid to go so far and for Nelaros to be killed, and then run away. So we went on. We had blood on us, and I felt like everybody could see me. We found a long hall, and opened all the doors. Sometimes we had to fight. At the end," she sighed, remembering that awful moment, "we opened the wrong door. Or the right door. I don't know. This big guardsmen in armor rushed out at us. We had picked up some better weapons by then, but of course all the armor we found was too big. The guard knocked me down and hacked at Soris—" another pause. "and I jumped on his back, and cut his throat. But it was too late."

"Soris died?" Tara asked softly.

"His head was almost off," Adaia whispered, hardly daring to believe it. "Almost off. And after all that, I couldn't go any farther. I got into the room he was guarding. Through the door to the next room I could hear Shianni screaming and the men laughing. I don't think they even heard the fight outside, they were making so much noise. And the door was locked. I tried to open it, but it was locked. I sat on the stone floor and cried. I could have pounded on the door, and they might have opened, but there were four of them and just one of me, and Soris was dead."

Tara put an arm around her. Danith was silent, thinking of Tamlen, lost in a dark cavern: Tamlen, whom she would never see again, whose fate she would never know. Alistair looked at Bronwyn in helpless indignation.

"Thirsty," Adaia croaked. Tara poured her a cup of ale, and the girl drank it down, clearing her throat. "So I left," she said. "I'd come so far, but I left with my tail between my legs. I walked out the way I came, and a guard caught me. He had been in the dungeons, and came up and found the bodies. He saw the blood on me. He hit me with the pommel of his knife—" she touched the side of her head, "and he hit me again and again, and he dragged me into his room. I tried to fight, but he started choking me."

She would not tell them all that happened. She would never tell anyone about the stuffy room, and the horribly strong shem grunting on top of her. "I couldn't breathe," she whispered. "I felt something pop in my throat. I got hold of his dagger and I stabbed him in the side of the neck. We fought a long time. I got hurt, but he died. There was water in the room. I cleaned myself up, and then I ran. I ran all the way home, and I went down into the cellar and curled up and never wanted to go anywhere else. My voice has been wrong ever since."

Tara said, "Shianni survived. We saw her in Denerim."

"Yeah, she survived. After she passed out, they forgot about her. She staggered home with Lyris a few days later. They were in bad shape. Nobody's ever going to marry them now. Valora died. They tried to make her do something so awful that she bit Vaughan and cut his face with a broken bottle. So they tortured her to death and hung her naked body outside the estate as a warning. We don't know what they did with Nola. Probably threw her away in a midden somewhere, or in the river."

Bronwyn wanted a drink herself. All of this had triggered memories of the night of blood and death at Highever Castle. Had Mother died fighting, or had she been taken prisoner? What would Howe have done to her, when she was at his mercy? What would he have done to Bronwyn herself? She got up and walked away, looking out the window, willing her hands not to shake, as she tried to pour herself some ale. Alistair followed, and poured it for her. Vaughan needed to die, he decided, but how could it be done without hurting the Wardens?

Tara fought off the nausea at memories of anonymous Templars. She knew what it was like to think that you were dying. Things were never the same after. The world was never the same after. She hugged Adaia with one arm, while watching Bronwyn pace back and forth.

She whispered to the other girls, "Bronwyn's family was murdered before she became a Grey Warden. All but her and her brother."

Danith had been told that before, and had not been much moved. The Commander was decent, for a shemlen, but the deaths of her shemlen family meant little to Danith. Still, knowing what had befallen her was reason to hope she might have some compassion for the sufferings of the city elf.

Tara's words only annoyed Adaia. What did she care? She was talking Soris and Shianni, and there was no room for anyone else. Angry as she was, she did get the message that Tara thought that Lady Bronwyn would understand what it was to lose family.

Bronwyn got herself under control, thinking of the smug and smarmy Vaughan, and how she had smiled at him the night before. How many men—noblemen of Ferelden—were just like him? How many raped and killed as they liked, with no one to call their power to account? It was as bad as the Orlesians. In fact, it was exactly like the worst Orlesians, with not a pin to choose between them. How many noble sons had she danced with, and hunted with, and smiled and chatted with, who had gone home to terrified servant girls, or innocents dragged off the streets? Surely Fergus would never...?

Her breathing slowed. No, she was sure of Fergus. He did not hurt people because he could. The servants had never gossiped about him. He had never hurt Oriana by looking at another woman after they were married. Anyone else, though… She thought of drunken, silly Thomas Howe, and was once again glad, glad, a thousand times glad that she had not allowed herself to be talked into a marriage with him.

But there was nothing she could do about Vaughan at the moment. She would be gone in a day or two, and must rely on Alistair to keep Adaia safe. Nor could she challenge Vaughan, even had she had the time. The army must be united against the darkspawn. They needed the Arl of Denerim's troops. Highever was in contention, and Fergus needed the Arl of Denerim's vote in the Landsmeet. Vaughan's, too, for that matter. She must be careful and cunning, and keep her people safe: smiling at Vaughan while loathing him in her heart. It was a disgusting double game, and the idea of it made her feel dirty. For the moment, she could see no other choice.

She finally turned to the others and said, "Adaia, I'm glad that you honor the sacrifice of Nelaros by wearing his ring. It does you credit. I don't want to you go about the camp alone. Vaughan is just the sort to feel he's been robbed of his prey. Always have someone with you coming and going to your workshop. I've talked to Alistair about that."

"Right," he seconded her fiercely. "We'll stand by you. There's always someone in the workshop, so wait until one of us comes for you in the afternoon. You're one of us,now."

Bronwyn nodded her approval. "Vaughan had been told to leave you alone. He doesn't want to offend me, so if he tries anything, it would be by stealth. You must all keep your eyes open."

With a hint of truculence, Adaia croaked, "You don't want to ask if I stole anything?"

"No," Bronwyn said briefly. "Of course you picked up weapons when you were fighting. Everyone does that. I know that Vaughan was lying when he claimed that what you had stolen amounted to a sovereign! He knew it would be impossible to prove otherwise." She took another sip of ale, and resumed her pacing.

So Adaia said nothing about the necklace she had found in one of the rooms they had gone into when they were searching for Shianni. Or about the gold ring the big guardsmen had been wearing. The ring had only brought a few silvers at Alarith's shop, since both the merchant and Father knew it was stolen, but those silvers had been welcome. The necklace had brought nothing. It was still hidden in the cellar. Someday it might be safe to sell it. It might bring in quite a bit of silver, since it had a glittering red stone in it.

"I've killed, but I'm not a whore," Adaia repeated, a little fiercely.

"Of course you're not!" Bronwyn said impatiently. "That's something rotten men call any woman who gets in their way. I've been called a whore myself, generally by men I killed a few seconds later."

"That's true," Alistair agreed, a little cheered at the thought.

Danith said stiffly, "We do not have whores or whoring among the Dalish, nor do our men call women by such names. And rape is very rare, and punished harshly."

Bronwyn bit back something she would have regretted. Tara said tactfully, "That's very civilized. I've been called a whore, too, when I was a prisoner. It's also what some men call women when they want to give themselves a excuse why it's all right to attack them. Some men feel that a whore cannot be raped."

"That is a ridiculous notion," Danith declared. "Only a sh-a brute could believe that." Perhaps it would not be appropriate to accuse the shemlens to the Commander's face. And for all she knew, perhaps the city flat-ears and the dwarves practiced rape, as well. She eyed the big shemlen male accusingly.

Alistair looked at them, feeling harassed. Why were these women were glaring at him? "I've never done anything like that. Grey Wardens don't. We respect women. If we're men. And women respect...men. And themselves. Anyway, of course it's ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous or not," Bronwyn said, "we must accept the reality that some people think that way. Therefore, we must be watchful. This does not hold for only elves, by the way. Morrigan, has also been accosted here in camp, the last time we were here. I shall speak to the other women among our companions. However, Adaia, you are in particular peril, because you have a personal enemy. Be on your guard, and most importantly, do not allow yourself to be alone."

"If Bronwyn won't go for it, you know Alistair won't." Anders lay facing Morrigan on their cot, stroking her back. It was a quiet moment, a moment to be cherished; and he was reluctant to get up, leave their enchanted privacy, and venture into the cacophony of Ostagar. His old friends from the Circle—and even some who had never been friends—all wanted to meet Morrigan, and talk to Morrigan, and learn all about a mage who had not needed the imprisonment in the Circle to learn her skills. On her own, she had remained both free of the Templars and demonic possession. Her very existence was a rebuke to the heavy hand of the Chantry. And no maleficar she: Morrigan regarded Blood Magic with contempt, as a shortcut seized upon out of magical weakness.

She was decent enough to Jowan, which rather surprised Anders; but it was true that while Jowan was a Blood Mage, he had proved himself an independent thinker, who had boldly cast off the authority of the Circle. Furthermore, he had survived on his own. Even Morrigan acknowledged that his first days outside the Circle he had known all his life must have been bewildering.

Jowan really was not such a weak mage, when Anders looked at it critically. He had fought very effectively in that battle to defend the refugees. He lacked confidence, certainly. Perhaps that was the root of his problem. He had been a late bloomer, and his instructors at the Circle were merciless. His fellow apprentices, too, had been relentless in their teasing. He had clung to his only friend, Tara, who in contrast had been a prodigy from an early age. Anders supposed that measuring himself against her would have been an exercise in humiliation for Jowan in those first years, and something he had never quite got over.

If Morrigan were to be protected, they would need all the mages—all their little company, in fact—to work together. Perhaps Bronwyn would see it from that angle. She was friendly with Morrigan, and Morrigan actually seemed to like her and respect the young noblewoman—at least, as much as Morrigan liked or respected anybody. Yes. Morrigan was in danger. Morrigan was a comrade. Bronwyn was certainly one to stand by her comrades. But if they were to get her approval, they would have to talk to her immediately. Bronwyn was talking about going north to find that other Dalish clan, and would be leaving soon.

"Let's go talk to her tonight," Anders suggested, "Show her the book. Tell her Flemeth's plan."

"Flemeth rescued her brother. Perhaps Bronwyn feels a debt to her for that. She is unlikely to turn on one she regards as a benefactor."

"But she didn't like Flemeth. You said they looked like they were quarreling when they were out of earshot."

"Like?" Morrigan laughed, a whispery, throaty sound, her breath tickling his lips enticingly. "Well, no. Of course not. No one could like Flemeth: someone like Bronwyn least of all. However, she is just the sort to feel bound by duty and obligation and the rest of that tiresome rubbish."

"Then we have to give her really good reasons to look beyond that. Your danger is certainly a good reason. We need her to want to kill Flemeth. What, besides protecting you, could Flemeth's death do for Bronwyn?"

Morrigan paused, her hand resting on Anders' warm and well-formed shoulder. He really was a very comely man, by the far the most agreeable she had ever known. Sometimes she thought that it might be pleasant to remain in company with him indefinitely…

But he must not know the reason that Flemeth had manipulated Morrigan's placement amongst the Wardens. He must never know. The Old God Reborn was the great goal. To be the mother to such a God was her destiny. Anders was merely the tool, an essential tool in that endeavor. If he failed her, there were others who could be cozened or beguiled. Her mind, reluctantly, slid to Jowan—a poor second to Anders indeed, and then, with even more reluctance, to Cullen and Alistair. She would do as she must, in the end. She took her herbal tea regularly, protecting her from a premature conception that would ruin everything.

And it was for their own good, after all. Morrigan would save them, even if they never knew what she had done. The Old God would be preserved from the Taint, and Bronwyn would survive, and perhaps even marry that irascible, middle-aged hero with whom she was incomprehensibly in love. Tara would survive, and become the Senior Mage Warden she aspired to be. Those two were the only women friends Morrigan had ever had, and she confessed to a sentimental wish that they not die in slaying the Archdemon. They were very much at risk, as they were outstanding fighters and likely to take their responsibility seriously—unlike some.

And Anders… Flemeth's plan demanded that Morrigan leave the party and seek solitude before delivering the Child, but Morrigan was inclined now to think that was simply Flemeth making things easy for herself. Flemeth, it now was clear, had not told her everything—or even the most important things. It was hideously possible that once Morrigan had suffered pregnancy and labor, and perhaps had cared for the Child through its exasperating first year, that Flemeth planned to make an appearance and take Morrigan's body and the Child for herself.

Perhaps it would be wise to keep Anders about. Even if he sensed something odd in her, he might think it had come from him, and would continue to help and protect her. Perhaps the other Wardens would feel the same. The Wardens sensed Taint, but they would not sense an untainted God Child. She hoped.

But it was best to be rid of Flemeth now, and not live in fear. How could she forge the Wardens into a weapon to strike at her mortal enemy?

"There is something Flemeth can offer Bronwyn…" she murmured. She smiled darkly at Anders.

"Practice."

Rumor in Denerim had it that the Queen was pregnant. That was the word on the street, Fergus was informed of this by the seneschal of Highever House. The man actually begged the teyrn to confirm it, hope brightening his eyes. The servants paused at their work, leaning in, longing for the happy news. Fergus told them the truth: that the Queen was unwell, and not expecting; and he was sorry for their disappointment. He was sorry for his own, for that matter. If the Queen were to produce a child, it would put paid to the King's flirtation with Orlais. Surely the Divine would not countenance dissolving a fruitful marriage?

But there was no child, nor did there seem to be any prospect of one, with the Queen unwell and the King making hay with his mistresses. Nor were any of said mistresses pregnant. Even a bastard would have been something, but to Fergus' knowledge, the King had never sired a child. It was unlikely he would do so on Empress Celene, either, though that was probably not going to prevent her from giving birth to an heir she would attribute to Cailan. There were all sorts of stratagems available to an unscrupulous woman. It spoke well for Queen Anora's character that she had not taken recourse to any of them.

At last, the King had given his leave for Fergus to march on Amaranthine. The Queen had not been present at the Council meeting, but Fergus had decided to pay a courtesy call on her before departing, if she was well enough to receive him.

It bothered him that the King did not seem worried about his wife's condition, when she had been ill for over a week. Fergus thought it would be appropriate to take the Queen a gift—some little thing to lift her spirits.

Useless to try to give her flowers: the Palace boasted the finest garden in Denerim. There was no time to visit the shops, so he poked through the chests and closets of Highever House. There was quite a bit here, though of course they had carted most of their belongings back and forth between Highever Castle and the city estate...

"Who is it, Erlina?" asked a soft, weary voice.

"Do not distress yourself, Majesty. He is going," the maid crooned.

"Who is it?"

"It is the Teyrn of Highever, Majesty," Erlina replied, in a more subdued tone.

"I want to see him. Send him in. Do not contradict me."

Fergus had heard she was not well, but her condition looked serious to him. Perhaps it seemed more so since he had not seen her in a week. The Queen was ghostly pale, and had noticeably lost weight.

"Come to gather intelligence for the rest of the Landsmeet?" she asked. Her tone was ironic, and just the least bit defensive.

"I have come to wish you in better health, Your Majesty," Fergus replied gravely. "And to give you a present."

That merited a little interest from her, and he held the anonymous object, wrapped in a piece of lavender silk, in his outstretched left hand. With his right hand, he whisked the silk away.

It was a little glass music box, Tranquil-made, enchanted to play "Princess on the Glass Hill," whenever the rune was touched. Inside, a little princess with braids of real gold sat on a throne, holding a rose. It was a piece of nonsense, of course, as Oriana had said, finding it a bit unsophisticated and very Fereldan. She had kept it at Highever House, purely to please him, he knew. It was hardly his fault that she had not grown up with the story.

It was a silly trifle, and Fergus was beginning to feel a hint of embarrassment, when Anora said, "How charming! Let me see it, my lord."

He showed her where to touch it, and she smiled a little, listening to the faint crystalline tune.

"I shall put it here on the table. How kind of you, my lord, to think of something to divert me. Sit, I pray you. I was about to have tea. Would you not join me? Erlina," she raised her voice slightly, "The Teyrn will stay for tea. Make enough for two today. Now, my lord," she said to Fergus, "tell me how you plan to approach Vigil's Keep."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

The maid left the room and sighed, emptying the contents of the pretty Orlesian pot into the slop jar and rinsing it carefully. She would have to brew it all over again, without the powder. It would raise more questions than she could answer, were the Teyrn to sicken, too. These things always took longer than one planned...

Thanks to my reviewers: What Ithacas Mean, almostinsane, butterflygrrl, Judy, Sash'Rahaal, BucklesintheSun, Costin, Eva Galana, Zute, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, mutive, EmbertoInferno, Jenna53, Angurvddel, Remenants, Josie Lange, xJanelex, Gene Dark, JackOfBladesX, callalili, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Lehni, gaj620, Lord of Murder, Spoit0, The Moidart, Eliar, euromellows, Aoi24, Windchime68, Enaid Aderyn, Shakespira, AllyRoonya, Have Socks Will Travel, Dante Alighieri1308, Menamebephil, mille libri, chocolatebrownie12, Blinded in a bolthole, Juliafied, RobotPirateNinja, Piceron, derko5, and Halm Vendrella. I think the last chapter garnered the highest number of reviews so far.

A few reviewers did not sign in, and so I was previously unable to reply to some of your remarks.

Eliar—Your points about assembling and holding together a medieval army are very well taken.

AllyRoonya—No, I'm not going to pair everyone up. And Erlina was definitely wrong in dismissing Bronwyn's ability to interfere, Grey Warden or no.

Remenants—Yes, everyone in Orlais above the rank of peasant is in fact a half-sociopathic backstabber. Heh. Just kidding. Sort of. Interesting idea about Nate. I was inclined to think that Rendon is simply keeping one of his children out of the line of fire, so there will still be Howes if everything goes pear-shaped. However, your idea is a good one…

Butterflygrrl—You betcha Vaughan knows Melian/Adaia's name, address, and serial number. Just like a really rich swine with a giant-sized sense of entitlement would find out everything about some kid who dented his car. Even if it was his own fault.