Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 41: Adventures in the South
"Spice cookies!" Carver nearly shouted. "Where did you get them?"
"A soldier named Tanna," Leliana told him, dimpling. "She's the best baker in Maric's Shield. I have no idea how she manages. She's built some sort of oven out of the ruins of Ostagar!"
"I have got to meet her," Carver declared, inhaling the treats. "She is a hero among cookie-makers."
"A taste of home?' Leliana teased.
"Ha!" Carver snorted. "My mother is great and all, but she's not the world's best cook. And a worse baker. My sister Bethany at least can bake decent bread. We never had anything like this at home."
They sat comfortably, just the two of them, by the campfire. Carver was very grateful to Alistair for allowing him to go see his family. He was nervous about it, but hoped he could convince them not to leave Ferelden. It seemed a crazy plan to him. Yes, Mother had been the daughter of Kirkwall nobles, but they had cut her off when she eloped with Father. Why look backward, when she and Father had made a new life here?
Kirkwall was a horrible place, anyway. Everybody knew that. Who would want to deliberately go live in a place called 'The City of Chains?' How could they even consider taking Bethany there? It was tricky enough in Lothering, with her secretly being a mage. In Kirkwall, the Templars had largely taken over the city. They had murdered Viscount Threnfall when he tried to limit their power. The new Viscount was nothing more than a puppet. At least that's what Uncle Gamlen said in his letters.
And there was something strange about Kirkwall anyway: some mystery that was hinted at but never explained. Why did so many mages go mad and become abominations there? There was no place so haunted and so dangerous as Kirkwall. Why they even had a Circle of Mages there was the biggest mystery of all. It was a bad, bad place, and Carver had not the least desire to go there. Mother might be sentimental, but her children owed it to her to be rational. Ferelden was their home, and their home was in danger. They should be staying to defend it, not fleeing across the Waking Sea. That smacked of...desertion.
"You are worried, Carver," Leliana said softly. "Don't be. Trust in the Maker."
"Leliana," he said uncertainly, "there's something I need to tell you about my family..."
It had occurred to him that with her background in the Chantry, she might be horrified to hear about Bethany and Father, but she was not. He blurted out the truth, and she was unafraid.
"I am sure that your sister is a lovely girl," she said. "Everyone must find their own path to the Maker. Is that not what the Prophet Andraste taught?"
He grumbled, "It's not what the Chantry says these days. I like your ideas better. Just...don't tell your old friends about Bethany. We're twins, you see. We've always been close. Don't...tell them."
She dimpled again. "I wouldn't dream of it."
They took turns standing watch that night. There was no way they could reach Lothering in a single day, even were it not for the darkspawn. Carver thought Leliana looked very pretty asleep. Her mouth pouted a little, like she was dreaming of kissing someone. He sighed, and made himself think of other things. With the dawn, they were on horseback again, and resumed their way northward
There was quite a bit of traffic on the Imperial Highway: couriers for various noblemen, traders and victuallers and merchants with protective guards. They nodded respectfully at the griffon tunics.
"Good day to you, Wardens!"
Leliana always replied. Carver followed suit. Being a Warden was being a part of something very special. It was even worth the nightmares. Besides, Leliana said that you got used to those after a while. He told her more about their home in Lothering. She knew Lothering, and so could picture where it was.
"So it's on the other side of the river? I did not go there often. The Chantry's fields and gardens were to the south. We were not encouraged to go out much in the village. I think I know your house, though."
"It's not a big house, but we've always liked it. Mother would have liked something off by itself, with a bit of land. It turns out that with the darkspawn that wouldn't have worked out very well. We couldn't have managed the rent anyway. Still, maybe I can put together enough someday to help Adam purchase a freehold. That would be something."
"I don't remember meeting Adam in Lothering," she said. "Is he in the militia?"
"He doesn't go to the Chantry much, and he wouldn't have been there when Bronwyn was mustering the militia," Carver shrugged. "He missed the big battle. He was up in Denerim, trying to talk the Bann into giving him a commission. Of course it didn't happen, since Adam didn't have enough money to pay off the right people. He may be in the militia now. I don't know. He might do better to enlist in Maric's Shield, and I'll tell him so. He'd be a private soldier, but he's educated and a good fighter. They promote on merit. He'd probably be an officer in no time."
"Is your brother as gifted a warrior as you?"
Such a question, phrased in such a way, could not but bring a smile to Carver's lips. It pleased him so much he could answer it fairly.
"Adam's really, really good. He's a sword and board man: fast and strong. He's smart, too, and canny in a fight. He's always been hard to beat when we've sparred, but for a long time it was mostly because he was four years older. I think he should have gone into the army years ago, but Father made him promise to look after Mother and Bethany."
"Perhaps," Leliana suggested mildly, "he could look after them better with regular army pay."
"That's what I decided to do," Carver smiled. "I've saved most of my pay to bring to them, and I've got some other things I've picked up, too. It should help. Mother's never really worked, you see, and she and Bethany don't know how to do much of anything...practical. It was Mother's noble upbringing, you see. Well, they embroider beautifully, and Bethany makes a bit of money from that, but Mother hates selling her work."
"I...see," Leliana said softly. She did, too. In Orlais, she had met her share of gentry fallen on hard times. It was always a sad spectacle, especially for the women. A few, strong and brave enough, with money enough for equipment, made their way as warriors. Many more took vows in the Chantry, though of course that was impossible for Carver's sister, and it should not be done unless the Maker had given them a true vocation. Leliana had even heard of bards of noble birth, amusing and entertaining those who once boasted of knowing their families. Some of course, became courtesans if they were beautiful and very, very clever: and some ended walking the streets if they were not. Some closed the curtains of their decaying mansions, and died of genteel starvation.
"Does your sister play the lute or sing?" she asked.
"Pretty well," Carver allowed. "Adam and I used to tease her, but Mother said it was an accomplishment that all gentlewomen must have. She doesn't do it in public, of course. Mother wouldn't stand for it."
Leliana rolled her eyes. How to help people who felt they were too good to help themselves? At least Carver was trying to make his own way in the world. The brother, too, sounded like he was willing to find employment, if his mother and sister could be safe.
By late afternoon, they were turning from the Highway, and were in Lothering. The militiamen at the gates greeted them cheerfully and called out congratulations to Carver on becoming a Grey Warden. Carver thanked them, grinning, and pushed his horse along, obviously eager to see his family. Chickens clucked indignantly, flapping out of the horses' paths.
"There's the house! I can't wait to give them my presents!"
They tied up the horses outside, and Carver opened the door for Leliana.
"Mother! Bethany! I'm home, and I brought a guest!"
A big mabari looked up suspiciously from a corner, and then got up to greet Carver in a friendly way.
"This is Hunter. He's Adam's dog."
"A very handsome fellow," Leliana laughed, letting the dog sniff her hand.
A pretty girl with wavy black hair rushed downstairs to them. and threw her arms around Carver.
"Carver!" she exclaimed in an oddly hushed tone. "Don't shout! Uncle's very sick. Oh, I'm so glad to see you, but we must be quiet..."
"Wait! Bethany, this is Leliana. She's a Grey Warden, too."
"How do you do? Will you be staying? Of course you will, but I'm afraid you'll need to share my room, because we're a bit crowded right now. Uncle has Mother's room, and she's moved in with me, and..."
Leliana absently rubbed the mabari's ears, and studied Carver's twin with no little amount of pleasure. Very pretty indeed: the eyes large, dark, and expressive; the skin well cared-for; the voice modulated and sweet. With time, Leliana felt quite a bit could be made of such a girl. She had been trained to be a lady: that much was clear. Whether she could be be trained to earn her bread was an entirely different matter. But her pleasant ruminations were interrupted by the brother and sister's urgent conversation.
"What do you mean, 'uncle?'" Carver peered down into his sister's face. "Our only uncle is Uncle Gamlen in Kirkwall!"
"Well," his sister sighed, "he's 'Uncle Gamlen in Lothering' now."
"What?"
"Shhh!"
A family crisis, of course. Leliana eavesdropped discreetly while studying the room. It was decent enough: an all-purpose room for living and cooking, fairly well kept. A pot of soup bubbled on the hearth. While her hosts caught up on events, Leliana helpfully shifted the pot to keep the soup from boiling over. Voices came from a room next door. If Carver's family could not offer her a place to stay, Leliana knew she could always have a bed at the Chantry.
The door opened, and another young woman emerged, her brown hair a cloud of curls.
"This is our cousin Charade," Bethany told Carver. "She got Uncle here safely when he lost everything and his enemies tried to kill him."
Carver's jaw was hanging. "Hello," he managed. "I didn't know we had a cousin."
The girl shrugged. "I'm a bastard," she said with proud indifference. "Father didn't know about me either, until recently. Good job for him he finally did, because they would have killed him for sure, if I hadn't got him on a boat and out of Kirkwall."
"Well...thanks," said Carver. "I guess this means we don't have a mansion or a title waiting for us in the Free Marches."
"I guess not," Charade said. Leliana noted that her speech and manner was considerably less polished than the Hawkes. Her mother was probably a commoner. However, the girl seemed sensible and resourceful.
"Don't gloat, Carver," Bethany said softly. "Mother is absolutely crushed."
Carver saw Leliana listening from the hearth. "Leliana! I'm so sorry. You must think we're the rudest people in Lothering! Cousin... Charade?... this is the Grey Warden Leliana. I'm a Grey Warden, too, though you might have heard that."
The girl snorted in a very unladylike way. "I might have heard a word or two about it. Congratulations. It's sounds like Ferelden needs all the Wardens it can get!"
Bethany said, "I'm very happy to meet one of Carver's new friends, Warden Leliana. If he's happy, I'm happy, but I miss him terribly."
"Of course you do," Leliana said soothingly. "You are twins, and very close. Carver has told me so much about you."
The girl gave her brother a panic-stricken glance. "And...just what did he say?"
"Nothing you need worry about," Leliana assured her. "It was all very nice. I have other friends who are also talented people."
"Look," Carver said, "I really, really have to tend to the horses..."
Leliana smiled. "I'll be fine, Carver."
She helped Bethany and Charade arrange the simple supper at the trestle table: soup, bread, yellow cheese, and a bowl of elfberries. There was a little trouble finding bowls for everyone, but Carver brought their packs in, and Leliana fished out her tin camp bowl and her own silver spoon. Eventually the door to the bedroom opened, and Carver's mother and brother were introduced.
Leandra Hawke clearly had been a great beauty, and was still a very handsome woman. Bethany strongly resembled her. The mother had the same sweet voice as Bethany, but hers was now worn into fretfulness. Leliana believed Carver's stories of how his mother had been so admired that a very noble, very advantageous marriage had been arranged for her. Instead, she had eloped with a Fereldan commoner. Leliana was very fond of a romantic tale herself: no one could be fonder. However, in real life, romantic tales of elopement often ended just like this: with loss and regret, and trying to eke out a living.
Carver was obviously jealous of his older brother, so Leliana was careful not to flirt. Adam Hawke was extremely attractive, certainly. Right now, he looked harried and out of sorts, but he greeted Leliana civilly enough, and urged her to sit and join them for supper. He took the chair at the head of the table, and his dog sat down by him, gazing on him lovingly.
And then the talking began: Leliana assured Mistress Hawke that Carver could not change his mind and be released from the Wardens. On the contrary, he was doing very well, and they were all glad to have him. She immediately changed the subject to the sick uncle and his difficult journey.
"Poor Gamlen!" mourned Leandra. "He's been the victim of a ruthless plot. Charade here says he would have been killed—killed—had he remained in Kirkwall!"
"He certainly would have been," Charade said briefly. "We had to find the first ship that would take us away. We were lucky it was bound for Denerim."
"I've never been to Denerim," Bethany remarked. "Is it wonderful?"
"Not if you're short of funds, but most places are like that. With the war and all, people thought we were crazy to go south, but you're Father's only relatives, so it was here or nothing."
Leandra grew teary eyed. "The Amell family home...gone to strangers..."
Charade gave her an odd look. "Yes. It's a shame, but there's nothing to be done. The house is gone, the fortune is gone, and there's nothing in Kirkwall for us but a dagger in the dark. I know we can't impose indefinitely. I'll look for work. With all the men in the army, people will need help in the mills or the fields. I'm strong and I can work hard. I should be able to find something."
"You don't have to work in the fields!" Adam burst out. "Of course you can stay here!"
"Of course you can stay," Leandra seconded, more hesitantly. "You're family, after all. We'll just have to adjust and make do..."
Carver grinned and pulled out his money bag. "I can help! I've saved up quite a bit of my pay, and I have presents. I might as well give them now. Who made the soup, by the way? It's really good."
"Your cousin Charade," Leandra said mildly. "She is quite the housekeeper."
Carver was quite proud of his presents, and he had bought some extra things, so he had something he could give Charade too. She seemed a nice girl, and it was sort of grand to have a cousin, especially one who knew how to cook. He wondered if she knew how to make spice cookies.
Adam looked at the contents of the money bag. "Are you sure you can spare all this?"
"It's for the family," Carver said firmly, proud that he had done something at last: something genuinely helpful.
"I won't say it's not welcome, but you mustn't short yourself," his brother said. "Really, Carver..."
Leliana finished her meal, and said, "I'm sure you would prefer to discuss your family business in private. I could go to the Chantry to pray..."
"No, don't go," Carver pleaded. "You have such good ideas."
Adam gave Leliana a keen, admiring glance. "If Carver trusts you, then it's fine with me. Obviously, we've had a major change of plans. Mother, I really am going to have to find employment. We can't go on living on the remains of the nest egg Father earned. It won't last forever, and I need more to do than I'm doing here."
"But you're in the militia now..." Leandra said, and then grimaced, "under the command of Tobery Salt!"
"Tobery is a fine swordsman and good fellow," Adam said patiently, in the tone of one who has talked about a subject all he cared to. "With Charade here now to help you around the house, I think I'll have to join the army at Ostagar."
"That's great news!" Carver said enthusiastically. His mother and sister clearly did not agree.
"Adam," pleaded his mother, "promise me you won't join the Grey Wardens!"
"If I may," Leliana said gently, "perhaps our Commander can help when she returns to Ostagar. She has influence with many of the nobles in the army, and might be able to be of service. She is generous to all of us, and would, I am sure, be willing to help a Warden's kinsman." She smiled winningly, "Especially one who also has a good mabari friend!"
"The Girl Warden!" Carver crowed. "Lady Bronwyn Cousland! I'll bet she could get you something, Adam! Her brother is the Teyrn of Highever. She has Teyrn Loghain's ear, and she's a cousin of Arl Bryland. He thinks a lot of her. She killed a dragon east of Ostagar, and he gave her the title of Dragonslayer. She'll probably come through Lothering on her way back, but even if she doesn't, I can tell her you're looking for an appointment."
Leandra looked more hopeful. She had heard of the Couslands, who had trade agreements with Kirkwall. "Dragonslayer! I hope you weren't there, Carver. It sounds so dangerous..."
"Actually, Mother—" Carver began. Adam caught his eye, and chuckled, shaking his head. Carver grinned back.
"If only Adam didn't have to leave home," Leandra complained. "If only Bann Ceorlic were more helpful..."
Adam sat back, thinking. "Bann Ceorlic isn't going to do anything for someone who can't buy his commission, Mother. Lady Bronwyn really may be my best chance. When do you think she'll be back in Ostagar, Carver?"
"We're not sure, but she told Alistair—you met him—that she wouldn't be long. Another week, maybe? She might want you to spar with her before she gives a recommendation, so be ready for the scrap of your life!"
It was a success, her meeting with the queen: an unqualified success.
Bronwyn returned to the Compound with a spring in her step, very satisfied at the degree of her understanding with Anora, very easily putting out of her mind the wretched fate of the traitor Erlina.
Did she like Anora? She did, rather. Anora might not have many female friends, but neither did Bronwyn. Her life in Highever had been too isolated. People were intimidated by her birth and education, or by her skill at arms. There were no female knights her own age in the castle, nor any young gentlewomen squiring there. Cutting herself off from the Landsmeets by her own willfulness, she had also cut herself off from the opportunity to build friendships with young women with whom she had the most in common. If there were to be a life beyond the Blight—if she and Loghain might have a future together—perhaps Anora might be a not unpleasant part of it.
There was still the matter of the lovely but insufficient dinner, but a word to Rannelly, and a large napkin to cover her gown, and she was seated at the table in the Warden's hall, wolfing down a bowl of lamb and pea stew. It seemed a shame to combine that with the exquisite cuisine Anora had provided, but Bronwyn knew she would not sleep well hungry; and indeed, it would be ridiculous to go hungry, when all the servants in the Compound wanting nothing more than to feed her.
She was scraping the bowl, wondering if she wanted another, when the elves found her.
"Jowan and Astrid are in the study, talking about books," Tara told her, sliding onto the bench. "Didn't the Queen feed you?"
"Of course. The food was gorgeous, but not enough for a Warden." Bronwyn gave the bowl another careful scrape. "The dessert was this basket of meringue-that's sugared egg whites whipped until they're puffy. They were piped through a fancy funnel and made into a basket and baked. Then the basket was filled with whipped cream and berries. It was beautiful."
"It sounds too pretty to eat."
"Almost. But I am, after all, a Warden."
Danith thought it sounded odd, though cream and berries were wholesome enough. "We wish to discuss what we found in the Alienage today."
Rannelly saw the Wardens sitting together and brought out a plate of oatmeal cookies and a pitcher of cider. Bronwyn thanked her, thinking that a cookie was just what she needed to fill up the corners. "Of course," she said to Danith. "I can see it was troubling all of you."
Zevran nibbled a cookie, thinking it over. "I believe, noble one, that it disturbed us for different reasons and in different ways. Nevertheless, I too am concerned. Something is wrong there."
Not wanting to be sidetracked by shemlen politics, Danith said at once, "Do you know a noblewoman by the name of Lady Landra?"
Astonished, Bronwyn dropped her spoon into the bowl with a dull clang. "Lady Landra? Why would someone in the Alienage speak of her? Of course I know Lady Landra. She was one of my mother's dearest friends! She was staying with us when Howe's men attacked us, and she was killed. My mother was heartbroken when we found her body."
"You probably don't know if she had a servant with her..." Tara ventured. "An elven maid? Would she have been there at the time."
Bronwyn's mind was racing...there had been that pretty lady's maid. Lady Landra had even introduced her...what was her name...?
"Lady Landra's maid?" she said, beginning to smile. "Did you meet her? Did she escape the massacre? That's wonderful news-"
"No," Danith said shortly. "We did not meet the woman, but her child. She is waiting for her mother to return from Highever. It seems that you do not know for certain that she is dead."
Bronwyn was still trying to remember the name...Ilona...Nona...
"Iona. That was her name. A very pretty woman. Blonde hair. We talked a bit in the library. I believe she did mention a daughter, and perhaps she mentioned that she was with relatives. She was certainly not at Highever." She sighed. "No, I don't know what happened to Iona. Mother and I found Lady Landra's body, but not Iona's. She was not in the library either. It's possible that she was carried off somewhere, but considering the brutality of the attack, I wouldn't hold out much hope that she is still alive."
"The child's relatives are also gone," Danith said. "They left town to find work-"
"-and we want to tell you about that, too," Tara interposed.
Danith made a face, and went on. "-and the child now lives in the house of the hahren. Her care is inadequate. Among the Dalish, such neglect would be inconceivable."
"I am very sorry to hear it," Bronwyn replied. "I shall send some coin to this...hahren...for the child's care. Does he seems a reliable sort?"
Danith wanted to say no, but Zevran broke in suavely," He is the elder of the Alienage. I believe him to be a man of good character, though of slender means. If you gave him coin for the child, it would be used for her benefit."
"I agree," Tara said firmly. "Valendrian is a very nice man."
"The child would be better off away from that terrible place altogether," Danith burst out. "Commander, I wish to take the child with us. She could be placed with Zathrian's clan, among people who would care for her properly-"
Zevran and Tara stared at her in astonishment. Their astonishment, however, was nothing compared to Bronwyn's.
"Take a child with us?" she echoed, incredulous. "Danith, we cannot honestly guarantee the child's safety! We could be set upon by darkspawn or bandits or wolves!"
"I would protect her," Danith replied stubbornly. Already, a wormish doubt had bored through her certainty. Obviously, the child would be better off among the Dalish. Getting her there safely, however, was a genuine problem. Still, she hated to back down from a shemlen.
"The Wardens," she said scornfully, "are supposed to be the heroes of legend. How can we not protect one child? I do not demand that she travel to Ostagar with us. There would be no one to care for her, and indeed the journey is too long. But I have from Keeper Marethari the location where Zathrian's clan will be camped this time of year. With Tara's magic, we can be there in two days. The child can ride with me on my horse. The Dalish travel constantly, and we do not leave our children behind."
Taken aback by such a vociferous protest, Bronwyn looked a little uncertainly at Tara and Zevran. What was Danith thinking?
Zevran offered, "While I do not think taking the child with us is a sound plan—" He held up his hand against Danith's protests "—I understand her interest. The child Amethyne is very appealing, very charming. Her story is a sad one: one that would soften even the heart of a Crow. And there are elements that reflect on troubles in the Alienage."
Tara nodded. "Yes! She was in the orphanage after her relatives left the city, and someone in authority abducted all the children and their caregivers. Valendrian thinks there's something wrong about this work in the north. You remember that we learned that Bann Vaughan has been sending people north for months. Well, no one has heard from them since. Oh-" something occured to her that might interest Bronwyn. "and Valendrian said he was trying to contract his friends in the Highever Alienage and hadn't heard from them either."
"You see!" Danith said triumphantly. "The child is not safe!"
"Wait!" Bronwyn put up her hand. "Bann Vaughan has been sending people north...yes, we knew that. Adaia told us about it, since Shianni was nearly caught, too, urging others not to go. It was being kept rather secret. I presumed that they were going to work for Howe, and Vaughan did not want to sully himself by association. But no one has heard from them? No letters?"
"Nothing," Tara affirmed. "Nothing at all. Valendrian tried to send someone to Highever, but it was just too dangerous, and the man had to turn back. Some men tried to "round him up," and they said. Something about "rounding up" all the elves. It must be an awfully big project to need so many workers."
"They might be fortifying Amaranthine City, or they might be digging in at Vigil's Keep...or both," Bronwyn considered. "And if they wanted to keep the nature of the work secret, it might explain why people can't get letters back and forth. Still, it doesn't sound good. And to take children? Why would they take children? Surely children would not be useful at such work. They could carry water, I suppose..."
Zevran was staring at the table, the corners of his mouth turned down. "Children can be valuable," he said slowly. "In Antiva, in Tevinter...in many places, slavers can get a good price for young children. The carpet-makers can train little ones as young as five years to knot wool. And the brothels, of course, can use children even younger..."
Bronwyn shuddered at the image. "There is no slavery in Ferelden! ...And who would sell a child for such a purpose, anyway? I can't believe it..." She blushed. "I know that such crimes exist, but here..."
Danith, if anything, was more shocked than Bronwyn. "Sell children as-" she sputtered.
"We're just talking," Tara said softly. "We don't know anything. They might have them weed gardens. I've heard of children doing that. Let's not jump to conclusions."
"We are to see the Queen before we leave," Bronwyn said, making up her mind. "I shall tell her that something untoward is happening to the elves. She is the best person to deal with such a thing. She is in contact with Fergus, and can send a message with the next courier. He can look into the matter. Of course, it's horrible that the orphans were abducted, but we cannot abduct a child ourselves, Danith. Iona placed her child in the Alienage: that was her decision, and we have heard nothing that would give us any legal right to remove her."
Danith rose, glaring, hands balled into fists. "If it were a shemlen child, you would not be so indifferent!"
"That's not fair!" Tara gasped.
Zevran rose, too, to put a strong but gentle hand on Danith's shoulder. "Sit, my halla," he ordered. Reluctantly Danith resumed her seat on the bench beside him. He went on, with quiet authority. "We cannot steal this child. The mother might be a prisoner of the this Arl Howe. She might be trying to return home as we speak. What if she were to return, only to find that the child is gone? Her sufferings would be cruel."
Bronwyn felt inexpressible gratitude to the former Crow. "You speak well and wisely, Zevran. Danith, it cannot be. Even if this child were absolutely friendless—and it is clear she is not—we could not simply pluck this child away and take her with us. We cannot, in the midst of a Blight, turn nursemaids, however winning and lovable this child is. Perhaps, when the fighting is over, you might see if the child is orphaned indeed and in need of your help. For now, it seems to me that she is far safer in the house of this Valendrian, than she would be in the wilds of the Brecilian Forest!"
"The child is not safe! No elf is safe in this horrible city! I shall not forget this!" Danith snarled. Shaking off Zevran's hand, she flung away, and stalked from the hall.
"She'll come to her senses, after a night's sleep," Tara sighed.
"Perhaps," Zevran said. He took another cookie, and savored it slowly.
Bronwyn took another herself. This kind of dissension was exactly what they did not need. "How old is this child, anyway? If she's bigger than an babe-in-arms, it's not like Danith can hide her away in her backpack!"
However much there was to be done before they left Denerim, Bronwyn made arrangements to bathe and wash her hair the following morning. She had no idea when next the opportunity would present itself, and she felt no embarrassment at appearing in Denerim Market with her hair in a wet braid. Everyone packed their gear as far as possible, and they set off for Denerim north of the river.
Jowan rushed to catch them up, having just visited the Queen. He was still in the velvet doublet Rannelly had found for him.
"Everyone will think we're part of your retinue, Ser Jowan," Tara teased. "You really look the part of a Fereldan nobleman."
Danith snorted in disdain, walking as far away from Jowan and Bronwyn as possible. She was otherwise silent and aloof, and Bronwyn decided to let her alone until she got over her disappointment about the child. Surely she saw that her request was completely absurd? Brownyn had not forgotten her promise. She had sent three sovereigns by courier to headman Valendrian for the care of the child Amethyne, and that, at the moment, was all she felt able to do.
Astrid frowned, and cocked an eyebrow up at Bronwyn. Tara had told her about the quarrell last night. Danith's behavior, in Astrid's opinion, was insubordinate. Bronwyn would need to watch her. Take a child with them, indeed! The elf would do better to find herself a useful pet, like Bronwyn's dog Scout, if she craved affection.
Tara and Jowan's curious new staffs were ready at the Wonders of Thedas. Extraordinary as they were, the Tranquil proprietor showed neither pride in the achievement, nor curiosity about the uses they would be put to. He presented them to Tara and Jowan with the same bland monotone that was his only manner. Similar "swords" for Morrigan and Anders were wrapped in canvas and taken along. The Tranquil craftsmen had even fashioned appropriate harness. Jowan slipped into his and buckled it, feeling a little ridiculous.
"We'll get you a dagger for the left scabbard," Bronwyn said, "for you, and Tara as well."
That could be done at the armorer's, where there was also Tara's armor to retrieve and ideas to expound with Master Wade. His latest proposal was an alchemical compound with which to coat the tips of silverite spears. It was an expensive coating, of course, with ground diamond and lyrium among the ingredients, but with extraordinary penetrative power. He also said something that piqued Bronwyn's interest.
"I wonder if anything like the kraken-hunters use would help?"
"I don't quite follow—wait. I think I see what you mean. Like a harpoon?"
Astrid furrowed her brows. What was a harpoon? She had never heard of such a weapon. The armorer seemed to understand Bronwyn well enough, however.
"Yes, yes! Something with cables or chains attached, perhaps weighted down with something that would foul the wings."
"Could something like that be devised as a ballista bolt?"
"Certainly, though the attachment would have to be furled until the bolt was in flight. Interesting idea…"
So they talked, but not too long. Wade was engaged to make her a half-dozen of the spears-and at Danith's suggestion, two score arrowheads -and to write out his proposal for harpoons and send it to Ostagar. Bronwyn moved on to her next errand, while Astrid questioned her about harpoons, and how they were used in hunting sea serpents and other monsters of the Ferelden oceans. The idea of going out on small wooden craft with only deep water below made the dwarf woman faintly queasy, but apparently there was coin to be made when one could traverse water faster than one could travel the land routes. There was trading, of course, but also profit to be made in hunting the sea creatures itself. Some of them yielded valuable crafting items: whale ivory and whale oil, ambergris for making perfumes. Astrid knew little of the oceans of Thedas. They were a separate world: a world of which she knew next to nothing.
She had a taste of it in their next errands in the Market. Bronwyn wished to buy presents for all her companions.
"When I was first at the Frostback Fair," Bronwyn told her, "I gave some then. Fifty silver each," she said. "Buy whatever you like, or keep the money. I shall pay. If you have any ideas for something our friends at Ostagar would like, tell me." She paused. "Astrid, I saw something before, and you might find it interesting, since you ask me of the sea..."
At a booth of expensive trinkets, Bronwyn showed Astrid a little box of whale ivory, carved with shells and fish and strangle little tentacled monsters. Bronwyn asked her if she found it interesting, and she certainly did.
And everyone wanted things that the Ostagar quartermaster could not provide: scented soaps, polishing silks, jewelry—
"Oghren would like West Hill brandy," Astrid told Bronwyn, sniffing the flask, "I'm going to get some myself. It's better than the rotgut at camp!"
"Don't forget to get yourself something, Bronwyn," Tara scolded her.
"Yes, mother," Bronwyn laughed. "I shall get another blank book for my notes, since I sent the last one to Fergus. I saw one with a mabari on the cover."
Scout approved vocally. Bronwyn rubbed his ears. "Perhaps I should write down all the stories we've told in it..."
Even Zevran bought something.
"Now that you have paid me, I feel myself quite the man of property!" he laughed, and showed her the silver-embossed shoulder belt he had found. "I shall wear it, and think of you!"
"It is simply gorgeous…" she pointed out, straight-faced.
"But of course!"
"Warden!"
Bronwyn looked around, and found herself being hailed by a lanky, ginger-haired man, wearing the decent clothes of a commoner. Not a warrior, not even armed, so the fact that he was running after her seemed no cause for alarm. She waited, and the man caught up, puffing. Zevran moved in a little closer, just to her left.
"You're a hard woman to find, Warden!" the man said, beaming. "Been looking for you everywhere!"
"Well, here I am," Bronwyn said guardedly. "Was there something you wanted?"
"I'm Levi...Levi Dryden," the man said, eager and ingratiating. "Didn't Duncan ever tell you about me? Trader Levi? Levi of the Coins?'"
"You knew Duncan?"
"Known him for years," the man assured her. "Promised to do me a favor, but events, alas, have intervened."
"What sort of...favor?" Bronwyn began to suspect that this was something time-consuming and difficult, for if it was not, why had Duncan not already done it?
"Maybe the name 'Dryden' doesn't mean much to you," the man said, his smile fading briefly. "It doesn't mean much to anyone these days, but we were once a noble family of Ferelden. My ancestor—"
"—Sophia Dryden!" Bronwyn recognized the tainted name of one of Ferelden's most notorious traitors. "You're a descendent of Arlessa Sophia, you say?"
"Well," the man shuffled, "as you know, she was forced to become a Grey Warden, and then got involved in the doings that got the order thrown out of Ferelden. Still, we Drydens are tough. When we lost our lands, we became traders and merchants. It's been passed down to us that Sophia wasn't the traitor they branded her. The proof might be up at the old Warden fortress at Soldier's Peak!"
"And you wanted Duncan to...do what?" Bronwyn wondered.
"Go up to the Peak!" Levi urged her. "See it for yourself! The Wardens get their old fortress back, and I get a chance to prove my family were loyal!"
"Why do I think it's not as simple as all that?" Astrid remarked.
Bronwyn rolled her eyes. "Because it's not," she said shortly. "I've heard of Soldier's Peak. I think I've even seen the tops of its towers in the distance. It's up north in the Coast Mountains. It's supposed to be haunted..." She gave the merchant a questioning stare.
"Well..." he allowed. "...that's probably true. A hundred Wardens held off the whole King's army for a year up there. But," he rallied his spirits. "It's full of history! Wardens like history, don't they?"
"Master Dryden," Bronwyn managed, in a long-suffering voice. "I am in the middle of a Blight, and Soldier's Peak is exactly in the middle of Highever and Amaranthine, an area currently controlled by the rebellious Arl Howe, who is responsible for the murder of my family. Somehow, I just can't see him giving me safe conduct so I can investigate an ancient haunted fortress." She cocked her head. "Can you?"
"Well...maybe not," the man admitted, crestfallen. "But someday..."
"It's sounds very interesting," soothed Tara. "And we do like history, don't we, Jowan?"
"Yes!" Jowan, said, responding to the nudge. "We'd love to check it out. It would be great to explore an ancient fortress. How ancient is it?" he asked Bronwyn.
"Oh, it's old, all right. Pre-kingdom, pre-Cousland. I'm not saying it's not an intriguing prospect, Master Dryden, but I cannot not pursue it at the moment. I must return south this very day. However," she considered. "give me an address where I can contact you. If the matter of Arl Howe can be settled, we would then be able to travel there."
The merchant was mollified, and gave her the address of his family in Piper's Alley, where someone would always be home to take a message for him. Bronwyn shook her head in disbelief at the man's retreating back.
"A fortress..." Astrid said. "I wonder why Duncan did not pursue this matter? He was commander for the past twenty years, I understand? Do you suppose the place is a ruin?"
"I have no idea," Bronwyn told her. "I suppose that will always be a mystery. Perhaps Duncan thought it best to be close to the seat of power. At any rate, there's no way we can spare the time to go north, when the south is calling us so imperiously!"
The shadow of the sun had moved on, and all too soon it was time for the Wardens to move along as well. Bronwyn wanted to get back to the Compound in time to greet her young guests for the midday meal.
They arrived, dressed in their best, tutor in tow and puppy in basket. Formal introductions were made, and the boys tried hard to mind their manners, not peering too curiously at Astrid or the elves.
That out of the way, the boys ran about the Hall, exclaiming at the pictures and the weapon stands. The tutor did his best to keep small hands away from sharp edges. Killer was cooed over by Tara, who thought him "the cutest thing ever!" Scout greeted his young canine guest with a lick and nuzzle.
Corbus was proud that a Grey Warden had taken notice of his mabari, but was not quite pleased at the word "cute."
"He's going to be a great warrior someday. We'll fight side by side, and nothing will stand against us as long as we're together!"
Scout and Killer barked approval, two octaves apart.
The boys, not too surprisingly, fastened on Jowan and Zevran, as the only men present, and followed them around, full of questions.
"-How many darkspawn have you killed?'
"-Were you scared?"
"-Do darkspawn stink? I heard they stink."
This from Lothar. Zevran assured him that they did. "Most horribly."
"-Is their blood black?"
"-Could I hold your sword?"
"-Is being a Grey Warden fun?"
"-Do you think the Blight will be over soon?
"-Well, when do you think it'll be over?"
None of this was surprising, of course, but what Bronwyn had not anticipated was the tutor's shock at being expected to sit at a table with elves.
At first, she did not quite understand that sickly smile, or that disgusted expression. There was nothing at the table she need be ashamed of. The long table was clean and polished, and set with their best crockery and plate.
"I'm not sure… I didn't realize…" the man said, drawing her aside and whispering urgently.
"What is it?" Bronwyn said, wishing the man would spit it out, so they could get on with their meal. She needed to see the Queen and leave Denerim before nightfall.
"Lady Werberga," he assured her, "would be very displeased to find out that the sons of the Arl of South Reach sat at a table.. with elves. That elf over there is...I mean... look at those marks on her face! The dwarf lady, I suppose, is not so… Surely you understand? Surely you'll have the servants set up a separate table for the elves?"
"I understand," Bronwyn said, slowly and dangerously, "that my fellow Wardens would never respect me again if I treated them in such a shabby and cowardly fashion. I swore an oath to regard them as brothers and sisters, and I do not intend to break it to satisfy Lady Werberga. The boys are here to learn about Wardens. Well, the first thing that they will learn is that birth and race count for nothing among us."
It was not true, not completely true, and she knew it; but it ought to be true, and this anxious, self-important man needed to hear the truth as it should be.
"Come to the table, cousins," she called, putting out a hand to each boy. The tutor, panic-stricken, tried to remedy the situation as far as possible.
"Now then Corbus, sit down by the Commander—that's right. Lothar, I'm sure that gentleman," he gestured supplicatingly to the well-dressed Jowan, "would not object to keeping an eye on you. And I'll be between," He gave Bronwyn a quick, false smile that melted over his lips like pig grease. "I always sit in between, just to keep the boys from mischief. I'm sure you understand."
"I want to sit by Bronwyn, too!" Lothar whined.
"Of course you shall," Bronwyn declared. "You're both honorary Wardens for the day: Corbus on my right and Lothar on my left." With a touch of perversity, she left everyone else to sort themselves out. All peoples of Thedas, by and large, were creatures of habit, and her companions sat as they usually did, indulgently making room for the children by Bronwyn. Danith scowled at Bronwyn, but not at the children, so it seemed unlikely that she would be unkind to them.
And so it proved, even though, with the unerring ability of children to embarrass their elders, they asked her all sorts of silly, ignorant, innocent questions, mostly about her facial tattoos, and if she really ate bad children.
That last came from young Lothar, and it made his tutor turn red and squeeze his eyes shut. Corbus dismissed it before Danith had a chance to form a reply.
"Of course, she doesn't, you silly git! She's a Grey Warden, and they're heroes. Everybody knows that!"
It was a particularly delicious meal, with Rannelly hovering proudly over her Wardens and the noble children. The boys, in fact, would have lingered too long, but Bronwyn gave the tutor a significant look. He was only too happy to escape such an uncomfortable situation, and flee back to the Bryland town house. Bronwyn kissed the boys, rather glad to have such likeable young relations. No doubt the boys would tell their aunt and sister all about their new, socially unacceptable Grey Warden friends. She smirked, picturing Habren and Werberga's horror.
Nonetheless, they needed to be on their way. There were hours of daylight left before they must camp, and Bronwyn did not wish to spend an unnecessary night here, however comfortable she was. Indeed, it would not do to get too comfortable.
"I wish I were going with you," Jowan said quietly. "I mean...it may sound stupid...but I do. I'm not particularly brave, but I feel like I'm letting you down by staying here at the Compound. All I have to do is visit the Queen twice a day, after all, and read books that I'd enjoy reading anyway. I've never had so much freedom. I won't know what to do with myself."
"Don't be an idiot, Jowan," Tara said, squeezing his arm. "Somebody has to keep the Queen going. Who else is going to run the country? We'll send Wynne to replace you, and then you can come back to Ostagar."
Bronwyn herded them along, down the passage to the Palace proper. She threw Zevran a glance, wondering at the last moment if she should leave him, too, to guard Anora.
"Don't, Fair One," he murmured shaking his head. "I see what is on your mind. Do not leave me with the queen, for, beautiful as she may be, my place is with you. I am your sworn man, not hers."
"Zevran," Bronwyn told him quietly, pulling him a little ahead. "If anything happens to the Queen, my brother and I are as good as dead."
"The attempt has failed, at least for the most part," said Zevran. "And you will need my blade when you go south, I am certain. Never leave me behind. It would be a mistake.'
Anora did not keep them waiting. She had gifts for them: silver cloak pins with the Queen's personal insignia on them: a rose in the midst of brambles. They were gifts that she had on hand to give to those she favored, and they were very well-made. Even Danith could not object to wearing one.
"Your Majesty," Bronwyn said, "I thank you for myself and my companions." Briefly, she added the disturbing news from the Alienage. It was obvious that Tara and Danith would have liked her to say more about it, but Anora assured them she would look into the matter, and pass the news on to Teyrn Fergus.
Jowan cast his spells, and then it was time say farewell. They bowed their way out of the Little Audience Chamber, and hurried to the Compound.
Rannelly was nearly in tears, but had been amazingly efficient. Their bags and packs—all but Jowan's—were neatly arranged at the door, and the grooms had brought their horses. Straps were tightened and buckles done up, and even the new sword-wands were secured to Tara's horse.
"Here, Warden-Commander, dear," the housekeeper said, pressing another bag on Bronwyn. "A little something for the road."
Everyone had one, a little packet of something smelling of spice cookies and meat-and-mushroom pies. There were bows and curtseys...there were hugs and kisses. Jowan's eyes were red as he stood in the doorway, tall among the maidservants, and waved his farewells. He looked so forlorn that Bronwyn embraced him as a brother.
"You'll be fine," she insisted. "And you're doing what none of the rest of us can do. Aside form your research and hacking through the correspondence, which I simply did not have time to finish, this country will fall apart without the Queen. There would be chaos, and we cannot afford chaos in the midst of the Blight!"
"You heard the Commander," Tara said, hugging and kissing Jowan herself. "Stay out of trouble." She lowered her voice. "And be careful with knives!" She gave his shoulders a little shake and he nodded, miserably. "And eat a pastry for me tonight," she laughed, cuffing him.
He stayed at the door to the courtyard, waving as they clattered away, out of sight, out of hearing, on their way to adventures in the south. Mistress Rannelly put an arm around him.
"You'll be seeing them again soon, Warden dear."
"Not soon enough," he sighed, and went back to his reading.
Note: Since the Hawkes were not in Kirkwall to work off Gamlen's debts by indentured servitude, his creditors caught up with him.
Thanks to my reviewers: Meredith, Josie Lange, demonicnargles, cloud1004, Zure, Zeeji, Kira Kyuu, Jyggilag, JackOfBladesX, almostinsane, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Remenants, chocolatebrowniie12, The Moidart, Aoi24, Jenna53, Shakespira, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, mutive, Judy, Have Travel, Lehni, SkaterGirl246, DanteAlighieri1308, euromellows, Tyanilth, Eva Galana, Enaid Aderyn, mille libri, Costin, MsBarrows, tgcgoddess, Gene Dark, and WellspringCD. Your remarks always give me inspiration.