Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 45: A Thousand Dangers
The blow was struck as Loghain was totally focused on the darkspawn in the valley before them. Between the Dalish, the Wardens, and the Glavonak brothers, it was a maze of traps. All sorts of traps were there: trip lines for explosive traps, and pit traps lined with poisoned spikes. It was joy to see the creatures trying to rush them, and then going down, down, in a haze of smoke and flame, in screams and gurgles.
It was the Wardens the darkspawn wanted: the little band of Wardens led by Alistair. Wardens could sense the darkspawn and the darkspawn could sense them. Reasonably safe behind a palisade, the Wardens shouted taunts and insults. The darkspawn were drawn in, unable to resist: too witless not to follow their kindred to destruction. The Dalish archers loosed volley after volley, until the only darkspawn left alive were twitching on the sodden, bloody ground.
At first he thought someone had impudently slapped him on the back. There was no pain, but a curious numbness. Alistair was turning, eyes widening, mouth opening to shout. For some reason, he was running at Loghain, sword upraised. Loghain tried to rebuke him for leaving the line, but his mouth would not obey his orders. The ground was coming up to meet him, which was very, very odd, and he was going to have to do something about that...
He awakened to find himself stretched out on his belly on the long council table. He was being discussed in low voices, which irritated him. Someone was working on him with gentle hands, soothing away the dull throb of the deep stab. Someone had removed his armor and his shirt. The breeze on his bare skin was unpleasantly chilly. Alistair was standing there, among the officers, his young Maric-face alarmed. Cauthrien was there too, her usually stoic expression strained.
"Lie still," a woman's voice instructed him. It must be that Healer: the mage Wynne.
"No joke," came the voice of the Warden mage Anders—the one who also looked like Maric. "At least the fellow who stabbed you wasn't joking."
From the corner of his eye, he could see Wynne's hands gathering blue light and spilling it over the wound. The torn flesh ceased to weep blood, and he could actually feel it knitting together.
"We won't seal it up yet," Wynne explained, her voice warm and soothing. "First, we'll draw out any poison that might have been on their weapons."
"Right," said Anders grimly. "Let's get to it."
This was even less pleasant, but Loghain was in front of his officers, and it behooved him to bear it without flinching.
"You know," said Anders, "at this point, it's customary for the patient to whine, fidget, moan, or make bad jokes."
"Anders, you forget yourself," Wynne rebuked him in a whisper.
"Did I? Oops. Anyway, it's just as well you were out of it when we drew the blade out your shoulder. Tricky business, that, when it was wedged so tightly in a chink of your armor."
"Anders!"
Loghain coughed and cleared his throat. "Let him talk. I want to know what happened."
"Very well," Wynne sighed, "but let me finish this first." She summoned her power again, Spell wisps seethed around the open wound and hissed over the blood trickling around the curve of hard muscles. The mist darkened and thickened, rising up in a sucking little whirlwind. Anders was doing something with a vessel in his hands: possibly gathering the poison.
"My, that's nasty," Wynne murmured. "I have no idea what that is, but between us, Anders and I should succeed in analyzing it. We'll make sure all of it is gone. Feeling better, now, are we?"
"Yes," Loghain said, with heavy sarcasm, sounding out the the words carefully. "We are."
"Me, too," Alistair agreed fervently, from his perch on a nearby bench. "Those guys were fast. I almost didn't see them at all. And then you didn't say anything when you went down. I thought you were dead!"
"Not yet." Loghain added, "Have they said who sent them?"
A silence. "Well," Alistair said sheepishly. "Funny thing about that, but they put up quite a fight, and well..."
"They're dead," Cauthrien said flatly, with the faintest hint of satisfaction leaking into her tone. "Their heads are already decorating spikes on Ostagar Bridge."
Annoyed, Loghain growled, "You know, it would have been better if you'd taken them alive instead of killing them."
"Sorry," Alistair replied, not sounding sorry at all. Someone had brought him a hunk of bread and cheese, and he stuffed his face while Wynne and Anders worked their magic. "When somebody tries to kill me I just sort of naturally want to kill him back."
Loghain grunted at that.
Wynne muttered, "You're very lucky to be alive!"
A stir among the officers, and they moved hastily apart, leaving a space for the newest arrival.
"Loghain!"
Cailan burst out of the crowd of onlookers, surrounded by some half-dozen of his closest friends. He stopped and stared, unbelieving, at the sight of his invincible father-in-law prone on a bloody table, stripped to the waist and wounded.
"You're hurt!"
"I'm fine."
"No, he isn't—" Wynne, Anders, and Alistair contradicted him simultaneously. Alistair blushed, and deferred to the healers.
Wynne said, "As far as I can see, he's alive only because he's a very stubborn man. That knife was poisoned!"
Cailan gaped. "An assassination!"
"—attempt," Loghain said dryly. "As you see, the attempt was a failure."
"Your Majesty," said Cauthrien. "The assassins were killed in the attempt, but I am looking into the matter myself. They came here with Bann Loren's men, and we will be questioning everyone in that unit to see what they knew."
"Of course," Cailan agreed, still staring. "Anything..."
"Meanwhile, it would probably be a good idea," Anders pointed out, "for somebody to bring a stretcher and take the Teyrn up to his quarters, which would be a lot more comfortable than lying on a table in front of the army."
"Anders!" hissed Wynne, poking him.
The men on watch on the outer works did not even demand a password from Bronwyn and her companions. They arrived in the latter half of the afternoon, and Bronwyn found that her mind was already on food, drink, and a good wash. Scout panted at her stirrup, eyes turned longingly to the camp while the guards exchanged greetings with the Wardens.
"Well met, Girl Warden!" the shortest of them hailed her. The others stared at the party on horseback, openly curious.
"Well met indeed!" Bronwyn answered easily. "It's good to be back at Ostagar! How fares the King? And how is Teyrn—"
"Wounded!" shouted the men in excited chorus. It took a little time for them to calm themselves and clarify the situation. Their spokesmen told the story with terrified relish.
"Teyrn Loghain was wounded in the battle west of here, but the Healers say he'll be fine. Word is that the Wardens saved his life!"
"But it's not serious, you say?"
"He'll be fine," the short fellow repeated, as if repeating it would make it true and keep everyone safe. "We couldn't spare Teyrn Loghain!" The men around him nodded solemnly.
"Certainly not," Bronwyn agreed, rather alarmed. "Good day to you." She kicked her horse into motion and they clattered through the gate and up to the Tower of Ishal. Familiar people were already waving at her.
"Hey, Boss!"
Bronwyn grinned at the welcome sight of Brosca. Dismounting, she led the way up to the steps to the tower door and her friends. Brosca had turned away and was shouting something. Before Bronwyn reached the door, friends were piling out of it. Men were coming to take the horses. Bronwyn slid down from the saddle gratefully. A pleasant buzzing filled her senses, the awareness of more Wardens: her brothers and sisters. Her other friends, too: Oghren waved a sloshing cup at her, and Sten loomed behind, his face inscrutable.
Leliana hugged her, warm and comforting.
"Oh, I have missed you! There is so much to tell! Did you meet the other Dalish?"
Brosca grabbed her too. "Where's Jowan? Is he dead?"
"No!" Tara shouted past Bronwyn. "He's fine, back in Denerim, and all dressed up like a nobleman!"
Cullen was there too, shyly patting her shoulder. "Bronwyn."
Bronwyn gave him a quick, warm smile. "Is everyone all right?"
"Yes. Leliana and Oghren are just back from a patrol. Carver's gone to get Adaia. Alistair got some scratches when he saved Teyrn Loghain, but they're already healed."
"I want to hear everything!" Bronwyn said. "And I've got a lot to tell. Get everyone together and let's go upstairs!"
Brosca tugged on Bronwyn's arm, grinning, "Just wait til we tell you what happened to Bann Vaughan!"
"What happened to Bann Vaughan?" Bronwyn asked, concerned.
"Later," Cullen urged quietly. "It's not for everyone's ears."
More friends lined the stairs and fell into step on the way back to the Wardens' quarters. More and more people recognized Bronwyn and spread the word that the "Girl Warden was back!" The noise spread enough that Alistair heard it and came out of Loghain's quarters, shutting the door quietly. He glanced back frowning, but his handsome face lit up in a smile as soon as his eyes met Bronwyn's. In an instant, she was enveloped in a hug.
"Ow!" Alistair laughed. "You've got some pretty sharp edges there. The Teyrn was wounded—"
"Yes, I heard," Bronwyn said quickly. "How is he?"
"Sleeping, the last time I looked. Wynne says he'll be well enough to come to dinner." He dropped his voice. "And he will be, now that the King isn't there talking at the top of his voice." He breathed the next words in her ears. "It wasn't darkspawn. Assassins. Stabbed him in the back."
Bronwyn stopped in her tracks, horrified, an image of her bleeding, dying father in her mind's eye. "Assassins?" she hissed back. "Did you capture them?"
"They're dead." He shrugged. "They were pretty good." He grinned mischievously, his eyes traveling to Zevran, who was chatting with great fire and animation with Tara and Brosca. "No yelling that 'Teyrn Loghain dies here!' or anything of that sort. They just came out of nowhere and one of them stuck Loghain with a poisoned stiletto. You could hardly see the hilt. How it missed killing him is anybody's guess. We had to get his armor off to pry out the blade. Anyway, he went down and I saw it and I bashed one and whacked the other. Ser Cauthrien is looking into who they were. We don't know much right now."
"Maker's Breath!" She tugged on his arm. "Come on! Somebody gets us something to eat while everybody else starts talking!"
"Wait." Alistair caught her forearm and pulled her close. "Someone's got to tell you. Arl Howe is dead. He was killed by Crow Assassins the day your brother took his castle. Howe's son and and daughter too. Your brother sent word to the Queen and she sent couriers south right away. They must have passed you while you were with the Dalish. So Amaranthine was taken and your brother was fine the last we heard. I know it's a lot to take in, but I knew you'd want to know right away."
"You're right." She swayed a little, and leaned on her trusty Senior Warden. "It's such a shock."
"Kind of a good one, isn't it?" he whispered anxiously.
"Yes...it's just...yes." She managed a brief smile. "The man who murdered my parents is dead. That's good, of course. Fergus is safe. That's even better. I just need some time to take it all in." She tried to understand the news. Howe's son and daughter? Surely not! Delilah was almostly certainly innocent...
But no more innocent than Oriana and Oren, of course. What a cruel place the world was.
Between them, Brosca and Ogren yelled loudly enough for trays of tankards and bowls of stew to make their appearance as if by magic. Once those were passed around—and everyone was happy to join the travelers in an afternoon snack—Bronwyn readied herself to catch up on the news. Anders and Morrigan slipped into the room and nodded to her. Cullen was in the act of shutting the door, when Carver Hawke made his appearance, escorting Adaia back to the safety of the Wardens' headquarters. With them was a handsome man who resembled Carver. A handsome man indeed. Bronwyn's eyes were caught by the charming, insouciant smile and the muscular arms and shoulders, set off attractively by the man's brown leather jerkin. With him was a big, well-brushed mabari. Scout trotted over to sniff the newcomer, who grinned doggily, apparently glad to meet another of his breed.
"And who is this?" Bronwyn asked, ready to be friendly with friends of her Wardens. She set aside her empty bowl, and focused on this new addition. Anders caught Morrigan's eye and gave her a wink.
Torn between pride and jealousy, Carver made the introductions.
"Warden-Commander," he said, "this is my older brother, Adam Hawke. Adam, this is the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, Lady Bronwyn Cousland!"
The handsome warrior bowed gracefully. "My lady," he murmured, in a most pleasantly resonant baritone. With a sly grin, he added, "Hunter and I are glad to make the acquaintance both of you and the famous Scout."
Bronwyn smiled. That a mabari had chosen him spoke well of his character. "'Warden' will do," she told him, "or 'Commander.' Have you come to join us?"
Adam paused, admiring the attractive young woman with the unusual green eyes. He was an observant man, and caught the curious way she said the word "joined," almost capitalizing it. Of course, joining the Grey Wardens was a grave undertaking.
"No...Commander," was the modest and manly reply. "Carver is the adventurer of the family. I have come down to see how he was..."
"He's been going out on patrol with us, Bronwyn," Alistair broke in. "He's good."
"He's the head of his family," Leliana said gently. "He is responsible for a mother, a sister, a cousin, and an invalid uncle." She gave Bronwyn a speaking look, which was understood instantly to mean that there was much more to say on the matter.
Not at all abashed, Adam said, "In fact, Commander, I was hoping to obtain your help in finding a position. Not with the Grey Wardens, but with anyone else of your acquaintance who could use a loyal officer."
He was very charming, but Bronwyn was not particularly thrilled to be put on the spot on her arrival—not when there were so many other issues claiming her attention. Still, he was Carver's brother, and had a mabari friend...
"I know heaps of people," she told him. "I'm sure I can come up with something. Let me give it some thought."
She noticed that Adam stayed with them through their meeting, just as Zevran and Oghren and Sten did. Her Wardens clearly thought well of him.
"All right!" She lifted a hand. "I have things to say and I want to hear from you. To make the big news official: yes, we did find the other Dalish clan, and yes, they did agree to come to Ostagar to fight. We also ended up going to Denerim, and more about that later. What I want to hear now is what I don't know: all the news from Ostagar since I left, and the news from Denerim which I missed in my time among the Dalish. Senior Warden, report!"
She had used her time well on the return to Ostagar, thinking over how to make this informal association of Blight-fighters a more structured organization. First, she must make clear the bones of that structure: she was their Commander, Alistair was her second-in-command. There were other roles to be assigned, but this was a start.
Rising to his feet, Alistair blushed and grinned, and then gave a little formal bow.
"The Dalish arrived shortly after you left, and they've made a real difference. They're led by Keeper Merrill, and the King thinks a lot of her. Teyrn Loghain was really pleased to find some of his old friends among them, from the days of the Rebellion when he commanded the Night Elves. We've been able to penetrate to the big chasms the darkspawn have opened up. One of them is big enough for the Archdemon, and we're working on ways to damage it. We went out to the old Grey Warden outpost and skirmished with the darkspawn there. Some of us thought it might be nice someday to rebuild it and have a place in the Wilds for training and...stuff..."
There were chuckles, and Alistair shrugged off his lack of eloquence. "And we had quite the adventure today, trying out an idea of Teyrn Loghain's. The dwarves rigged a dry streambed west of here and we were able to lure a pretty good-sized band of darkspawn out to chase us. The darkspawn couldn't resist a chance to hunt Wardens," he said, giving Bronwyn a meaning look. She nodded, understanding, and he went on. "Maybe Teyrn Loghain got the idea from what happened at the big battle in Bloomingtide, when the darkspawn targeted us. Anyway, this time we were ready for them. They were funneled down the valley and were caught in the traps. The Dalish took them out with arrows, and the dwarves disarmed the traps that were still active, so they wouldn't hurt anyone else. Completely wiped out the darkspawn, or at least that's what I'm told. Anders and I were helping Teyrn Loghain at that point. In all the confusion, these two soldiers came out of nowhere and one of them stabbed Loghain. I just happened to be looking his way that moment, because I was really pleased with how it was going, and I wanted to see if he was pleased, too. He was, and he didn't see the men coming up behind him. So I got to the assassins and there was a fight, and I killed them, and Loghain isn't very pleased about that. We don't know who they were working for."
"—but we can guess," Cullen put in, his face stony. "It was a cowardly, despicable attack."
"Hey! I can't guess," Oghren rumbled. "Who did it?"
"Somebody with a real gift for poisons," Anders said, "or who knows somebody who does. Luckily, the stuff was a little too old, and I'm guessing they misjudged the dosage for a man as big as Teyrn Loghain. Zevran! Do the Crows do anything with deep mushroom and scoriata?"
"No," Zevran spread his hands. "That is unknown to me. It sounds very vile."
"Most people would guess the Orlesians," Bronwyn said, frowning. "They would be the obvious culprits: they would have much to gain by killing Ferelden's greatest general when the country is under attack."
It was unnecessary to add that Loghain had plenty of other enemies. There were many in the Landsmeet who still bitterly resented that a commoner had been granted a teyrnir, just as they resented that commoner's daughter being Queen. Loghain had made many of them look shabby, pitiful, and incompetent during the Rebellion. His military talents had appeared out of nowhere, when the fortunes of the rebels were at their lowest ebb. He had been King Maric's greatest weapon against the Orlesians—he and Rowan, Maric's future queen, of course. Yes, it would not be beyond the realm of possiblity that a disaffected noble would do this, even with the country under attack. People could be selfish, stupid creatures.
"Ser Cauthrien is looking into it," Alistair said. "The assassins were with Bann Loren's men, so they're all being questioned."
"Bann Loren!" Bronwyn thought about it. He was the husband of her mother's unhappy friend, Lady Landra. She had never liked the man: not many did. He had never seemed to care whether he was liked or not; not even by his wife or son. What was his part in all this? Or had the assassins simply chosen at random? Some of the banns were not very particular about the soldiers they recruited.
Alistair shrugged. "So that's all we know about that for now. We had some dispatches from Denerim. I told you some of that, Bronwyn. Arl Rendon Howe is dead, and your brother took Vigil's Keep. It looks like the Arl was killed by Crow assassins. I didn't tell you this, but it looks like they were hired by the mother of your brother's wife."
"Oriana's mother!" It took Bronwyn's breath away for a moment. It was something startling and unexpected. "Lady Fortuny?"
"Ah!" Zevran's pointed ears positively perked up. "Your brother's wife was a Fortuny? I am impressed. They do indeed have connections with the Crows. It is all very ironic." He smiled. Irony did not much disturb him.
Bronwyn tried to find something good in all this misery. "At least the country will now be united. I daresay Fergus will want to pacify Amaranthine and then drive out the last of Howe's men in Highever." He would have to go home and see Highever Castle and the horrors visited upon them there. Surely Howe's men had disposed of the bodies and washed the blood from the stones...
Alistair cleared his throat, and glanced over to Adaia. "And while you were gone, Bann Vaughan was killed by the darkspawn."
"By the darkspawn?" Tara burst out excitedly. "Serves him right!"
Some laughter followed. Bronwyn asked, "How did it happen?"
"It was because of me," Adaia croaked out. She ducked her head and muttered, "Well, it was."
Alistair scowled. "We're keeping that bit among ourselves. Teyrn Loghain figured it out, but nobody else knows that Vaughan and two of his friends grabbed Adaia when she was at work and dragged her out to the forest to—hurt her. Before they could get far, the darkspawn showed up and killed them. Adaia got away—"
"I ran and ran!" Adaia declared.
"Good for you," Bronwyn managed. This must certainly be causing a stir. The Arl of Denerim's son and heir killed...
"Anyway," Alistair said. "I was gone at the time, but Cullen and Morrigan and Brosca found out she was gone, and they followed and found her. Once she was safe, they tracked the darkspawn down and wiped them out. Vaughan and his pals were a mess. Everybody else thinks they were up to something disgusting out there in the woods: so," he grinned, "it's absolutely ruined his reputation—"
"Oh, cry me a river," scoffed Brosca.
Astrid thought of something else. "Your cousin was betrothed to this Vaughan, was she not? You were concerned for her. Now, it seems, she is quite safe."
"That's true," Tara said. "That's another good thing." Danith nodded, in complete agreement. It would have been horrible, even for a shemlen woman, to be married to such a creature.
Bronwyn's breath was rather taken away, imagining Habren's reaction to the loss of Vaughan and her upcoming nuptials. All past tantrums would be eclipsed by her response to this blow. Bronwyn bit her lip, fighting inappropriate laughter. It was mean. Yes, it was mean of her. It was taking a shameful delight in the misfortunes of others. Habren had liked Vaughan. On the other hand, anyone who could like a disgusting rapist and murderer had something seriously wrong with her... So Habren would not be having her wedding. Bronwyn bit her lip again, forcing herself to think of serious things.
"So you are safe from Vaughan, Adaia. That is good news indeed. His plots will no longer endanger you or distract from the war against the Blight. With his death, and the death of Arl Howe, the country is now united against the Blight. The Blight is the real danger. That is what brings us together in this place. We must be committed to the mission. To that end, I have given some thought to our own situation. As we bring more recruits into the Wardens, we must be prepared. That is to say, as our order growns larger, we need structure and discipline as well as the bonds of friendship and trust we develop as we serve together."
With that introduction, she laid out her future expectations. Some were already entirely with her. Cullen and Carver—and Astrid— were nodding in agreement.
She said, "I am your Warden-Commander. Alistair is Senior Warden. After that seniority is determined by Joining date. Since a number of people joined on the same day, I will also take date of joining our company into consideration. There is also the position of Senior Warden Mage to be appointed—"
Anders, alarmed, called out, "I don't want to be in charge of anything!"
Bronwyn frowned at him. "I shall take your wishes into consideration. You and Tara joined our company nearly at the same moment. Tara is therefore Senior Warden Mage. You may not wish to be in charge, Anders, but Tara is, and you will follow her orders."
"I guess I can do that," Anders allowed. Morrigan sneered a little, not because she disliked Tara—she did not—but because the idea of following orders was odious to her.
Tara, not surprisingly, was thrilled. "I'll be the best Senior Warden Mage ever!" Congratulations followed Bronwyn's announcement. Bronwyn was pleased, herself. She had more faith in Tara's committment to the Wardens than in Anders'.
"I have no doubt you will be," Bronwyn said. "Now to less pleasant issues. We all need to understand what is expected of us. I will speak first to our brave friends who are not Wardens, and who serve with us as volunteers. If the day comes that you grow weary of our company, I have no authority to keep you against your will. I do hope, however, that you will not depart at a critical moment. While you remain with us, I expect you to follow orders. If you do not, we will not pay you. If you are particularly obstreperous, you will not remain among us."
"Fair enough," Oghren called back.
Zevran grinned wickedly. "I am yours to command, Fair One. And, it appears, everyone else's as well!"
"Sten?" Bronwyn asked.
The qunari's face knit together in ponderous thought. "Yes. Discipline is essential. I shall follow your commands, until your commands are contrary to the Qun. Then I shall give notice."
That was the most she could hope for, she supposed. Her eyes drifted to the handsome Adam Hawke. He grinned back at her.
"For the time I'm here, I have no problem with that."
"And Morrigan?"
"I shall follow reasonable suggestions. I can promise no more than that. I trust my service has not been lacking hitherto?"
"Not at all," said Bronwyn, inwardly wanting to give Morrigan a good, hard shake. "Adaia?"
"I want to be a Warden," Adaia croaked, very firmly. "Tell me about the hard stuff."
"Very well. I shall talk about the Wardens themselves. Grey Wardens are sworn to the order, and my expectations of their conduct are therefore higher. Here are the basics."
She took a deep breath, and recited the words she had practiced in her mind for the past two days. "Refusal to obey a direct order will be considered insubordination. Insubordination is also conduct contrary to a superior's officer's clear purpose. Such an infraction will be punished. The first occurrence will be met with loss of pay, the amount depending on the seriousness of the offense. Further infractions will be punished by confinement to quarters, flogging, or execution, in that order. A combination of punishments may also be imposed. I do not wish to dwell on punishments for cowardice. All of you have proved your courage. However, desertion in the face of the enemy can happen for many reasons; some of them having nothing whatever to do with courage or cowardice. This offence will also be punished, depending on the seriousness of the situation, and whatever mitigating circumstances may apply."
A brief, impressed silence followed. Carver's eyes were quite wide, and he was not the only one taken aback.
"Whoa!" Alistair breathed. "I mean—it makes sense. It's pretty much what Duncan told us."
Danith gathered her courage and stood up. She too, had had much to think about in the past few days. She could not like shemlens. She did not like the Warden-Commander. However, she must uphold the honor of the Dalish in this strange place.
"The Warden-Commander is forced to speak plainly because of me. My conduct and actions among the clan of Zathrian were lacking in honor and good sense. When presented with a conflict between loyalty to a Dalish Keeper and loyalty to the Warden-Commander, I chose poorly. My actions brought me shame and sorrow, and I have apologized to the Commander and my other companions on the mission. I apologize to all of you now."
Very pleased, but also feeling a bit awkward, Bronwyn replied, "Bravely said. I appreciate your forthrightness and self-examination. You will not be paid for the Satinalia quarter, and the matter is otherwise at an end. " To forestall the murmuring and gossip that rose up around them, she said, "I would prefer that nothing more be said of this. Instead, I wish each of you to consider privately how you would respond if forced to choose between the Grey Wardens and something else that you hold dear. Our mission is clear—to destroy the darkspawn. Everything else must come second to that."
She knew herself to be a horrible hypocrite. Yes, she would do her duty and fight the darkspawn, but it was a fight complicated by family loyalty and loyalty to her native land. Indeed, she had chosen already, for the First Warden had ordered her to leave Ferelden and she had disregarded him. On the other hand, she was not entirely convinced that loyalty to the Grey Warden mission and loyalty to the First Warden were one and the same...
"I will also tell you more of our adventures, and this must not be spoken of outside this room."
Everyone nodded, even Sten, so she went on. Something of this was bound to leak, and it was better to have it in the open.
"In addition to visiting the Dalish, we went to Denerim. I wished to consult with the Master-Armourer Wade about dragon-fighting equipment. He had some interesting ideas, which I will be glad to share with you later on. Jowan has remained in Denerim for the time being, because he could use the libraries there to research the tactics of the Nevarran dragon-hunters. I also had a letter for the Queen. And I overheard you whispering about this already, but yes, Tara, Zevran, and Danith visited the Alienage, and it appears that Adaia has a new cousin."
"Who?" Adaia croaked out, excited. "Who had a baby? Was it Eleria? Was it Trianni?"
"No!" Tara was grinning. "It's me! I mean, it's not me who had a baby! It's me who's your cousin! Really. Hahren Valendrian showed me his records. We're second cousins. Isn't that something?"
"You're my cousin? You're one of those Suranas?"
"Yes! I'm Nessa's sister!" Tara bubbled "It's so exciting! I never had relatives before!"
Bronwyn indulged the squeals and gossip, and wished she could tell them the rest of the news from Denerim, but it was simply too dangerous. Tara, Danith, Zevran, and Astrid had all been sworn to secrecy about the attempt on Anora's life. Bronwyn had decided she would tell Alistair, but no one else.
Instead, she blew out a breath, and smiled. "On that note, it seems appropriate that I bought presents for everyone!"
Bronwyn took some trouble with her appearance, getting ready for dinner. There was no chance of a real bath, but the servants brought enough hot water to wash very thoroughly. She unwrapped her new bar of lavender-scented soap, and the lathering and splashing—and her wicked satisfaction at Habren's discomfiture—put her in a very good mood. Her Grey Warden gown was quite a hit with the other women of the party. Adaia stoked the fabric and insisted on helping lace it up.
"It's shiny," she admired.
"You look like a queen," Brosca said, unusually sober. "Like the Queen of the Wardens." Unable to keep her fingers to herself, she reached out to touch the embroidery. "That must be the fanciest gown in the world!"
"It very likely boasts the largest griffon ever embroidered on a piece of apparel," Morrigan remarked, one brow arching.
"Meow!" Bronwyn laughed at her, not put out in the least.
"I would not choose grey for you, but what lovely, lovely velvet!" Leliana bubbled. "The finest to be had in Val Royeaux! And it fits, too! It fits perfectly."
"That was Mistress Rannelly's doing," Bronwyn smiled. "And the gown is twenty years old."
"Who would know?" Leliana shrugged. "Is that the belt? Put it on!"
Tara had to tell them about the Compound, and about the niceness of Mistress Rannelly. Danith, when applied to, agreed quietly that the housekeeper was a most hospitable woman, and a purveyor of wholesome nourishment.
Tara laughed at her. "It was lovely. Danith makes it sound so serious! You're all going to love it at the Wardens' Compound. The bedchambers are so comfortable, and we have our own Great Hall with a long table and portraits and everything. And our own kitchen, and our own laundry, and so much hot water that you can have a bath whenever you like!"
Astrid was calmer in her praise, but she too had enjoyed her stay. "All the more reason to defeat the Blight, and then savor the Compound's many delights. By then, we'll certainly have earned them."
"What was all that noise?" Loghain asked, waking reluctantly from a healing sleep.
Wynne hurried to his side and gave him another potion. "I believe, your lordship, that the Warden-Commander has returned."
That roused him a bit. He grimaced at the bitterness of the medicine and then grunted, "I want to see her."
"I think you will able to get up for dinner. Perhaps then—"
"I want to see her now," Loghain growled, struggling up to a sitting position. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine..."
"I'm better." More civilly, he said, "I thank you for all your care. Your talents have made all the difference in this campaign, and not just for me."
"You are most gracious."
"Hmph. Have someone fetch Bronwyn. I want her report."
Wynne sighed, and gave the quiet servant waiting in the the corner a nod. "Very well. I'm sure she'll be here just as soon as she can."
"Give me a clean shirt, then."
In fact, Bronwyn arrived almost immediately, smiling with anticipation and frowning in concern. The combined expression looked rather odd. It felt odd on her face, too, and she tried to wipe it away into a more bland countenance. She cast a friendly smile Wynne's way, which helped. Loghain was slumped in a chair, looking very grumpy, but his eyes were intent on her.
"My lord. I am relieved to see you up. Anders was very impressed by the poison used by the assailants."
"I'm fine," Loghain insisted, glowering at Wynne. "But I'm thirsty. It must be the ghastly potions I've been ingesting all day."
"You may have one cup of wine," Wynne generously permitted, pouring for him.
"I thank you. The Warden-Commander and I need to talk in private."
Wynne pursed her lips, not liking to leave her testy patient unattended. "I'll be just outside," she whispered to Bronwyn. "Don't let him overexert himself." She hustled the servant out ahead of her and the door shut.
"Bloody woman. Thinks she's my mother." Loghain waved Bronwyn over, and pointed at the footstool in front of his chair. He downed the wine while Bronwyn seated herself, mindful of her velvet.
Loghain noticed it and his black brows met over his high-bridged nose as he studied her appearance. "What's that you have on? I thought you didn't have a gown."
"This old thing? It's been in the Wardens' attics for years and years. Actually, twenty years. That's when Commander Genevieve brought it with her from Orlais. She apparently never had a chance to wear it, though. If you wish to mock the very large griffon on the front, you are behindhand, because Morrigan has already held it up to ridicule very thoroughly."
He snorted, and took her hand in his big one, his thumb caressing her palm in a startling exciting way. "Your report, Commander? How did Anora take the news of Cailan's double-dealing?"
"Bravely. It was a dreadful shock, of course, but she is soldiering on..."
"And the Dalish?" He squeezed her hand, and kissed it lightly.
Was he trying to throw her off-balance? He was doing an awfully good job of it, wounded as he was. She decided that two could play that game. Her free hand touched his stubbly jaw and she leaned close to kiss him sweetly. He seemed to like it very much. If he had been entirely himself, he probably would have delayed the rest of her report. But he was not quite himself, and Bronwyn sat back, a little more confident. Her heart fluttered a little, remembering the truly terrible news she must give him, but she would try to soften it as best she could.
"More Dalish are joining us. I found the clan of Keeper Zathrian. It is now the clan of Keeper Lanaya, and she will be here with her people within the month."
"You didn't have to recruit a Warden to win her favor?"
"I had to do plenty to win the clan's favor, but I got no Wardens from it. It was ridiculously complicated, but now it's done. I met with Master Wade in Denerim, and he had some very interesting ideas, including a harpoon-like ballista bolt, which could be used to entangle and disable a dragon. Jowan is remaining in Denerim to research dragon-hunting lore, among other things."
"Ah. Have you been given the news about Howe?"
She smiled tightly. "I have. I know that he is dead and that Delilah and Thomas were murdered with him. It seems so cruel and unnecessary. It's certainly not what I wanted."
"Nor your brother, from his avowals to Anora. He sent her a hasty note. Apparently he's looking into some other of Howe's misdeeds, but Anora wrote that she would say more about them once they could be definitely confirmed."
"Other misdeeds?"
"I daresay some other murders he was involved in. I'm willing to swear that the man never willingly or knowingly had dealing with the Orlesians."
"Perhaps not." Bronwyn was willing to let it go, now that the man was dead. "Perhaps he did not, but certainly others have." She gestured at his shoulder with her free hand. "That was a present from our western neighbors, don't you think?"
"Probably. Bastards. It's not the first time they've tried to kill me."
"Loghain..." She must tell him, here and now, when they were quiet and alone. He must have time to compose himself before others saw him. "Loghain...as you know, I met with the Queen..." She had thought about how to tell him, but nothing she had invented was good enough.
His face changed. "What is it? You said she took it well enough."
"I said that she was brave. As it happened, the news was not the only thing she had to bear. I visited, and we talked, and during that conversation, something quite awful came to light. She put it in her letter that I was to bring to you." She pulled the folded parchment from her pocket, reluctant for him to see it and be hurt."We're keeping it as quiet as possible. Before you read it, I want you know that she was in good spirits when I left, and Jowan remained to help..."
"What has happened?" he snarled. Dropping her hand, he seized the letter, unfolded it, and scanned it quickly, his face taut with fury and anguish.
My dear Father—
Bronwyn has no doubt assured you that I am much better than I was when she first met with me. That is true. I hesitate to write these words, for you are certain to say "I told you so!"
Erlina, my trusted Erlina, was a spy, and had been for years. I discovered that she had been poisoning my tea for some time. Had Bronwyn not been there, it is likely she would have succeeded and escaped. Luckily, Bronwyn was there when Erlina was exposed, and knocked her down with one blow. I had been feeling so very ill and weak, and I believed it was some sickness. That was the plan, Erlina confessed. I was to fall into a decline, and no longer be in the way of the grand schemes of others...
He read it all, and then read it again. If Cailan had stepped into the room at that moment, Loghain would have killed him, whether he was wounded or not; whether Cailan was King or not. The idea that Cailan might have been a party to this was so painful that Loghain groaned aloud, and then tossed the letter aside and dropped his head into his his hands. Bronwyn laid her hand on his arm, and gave him time to pull himself together.
"Bastard Orlesians," Loghain growled, sick at heart at what had been done to his child. There would be blood for this. That they had attacked him was nothing: a soldier grew used to people trying to kill him in all sorts of ways. But that they would seek Anora's life, for their convenience... "You should have brought that bitch to me."
Gently, Bronwyn said, "The Queen commanded otherwise. I believe we got all we could hope to get from her, and it gave Her Majesty some comfort and closure to know that Erlina would harm no one else."
"I suppose." He rubbed his hand over his face. His shoulder ached a bit, and he rubbed that too, grimacing. "She didn't hint at the attack on me, I take it?"
"No." Bronwyn wondered about that a little, and then said. "It's entirely possible that she would have known nothing about it. It would be safer, surely, to keep that plot as secret as possible. I suspect the Empress has yet more little schemes in store for us, but the worst have been thwarted, so far."
Loghain sighed. "Anora..." His voice trailed away. "Anora said she felt all right once that fellow Jowan worked some healing magic. Did she look better?"
"Much, much better. He agrees, though, that Wynne is the best choice to treat the Queen."
"I'll see to it. Wynne's a good sort, for all her fussing." He picked up the letter again and smoothed it out, hissing at the pain in his shoulder. "What's this Urn of Sacred Ashes nonsense that Anora's writing about?"
"It's not nonsense—not entirely, at least. We met a respected scholar near Lake Calenhad. Brother Genetivi is his name. He believes that that Andraste's funerary temple is out in the Frostbacks. His researches indicated that there is a village called Haven where he might find people who knew the exact location. I think there might be something to it, because someone is certainly interested in suppressing the information. When I was in Denerim, I went to call on this scholar, to see if he returned home safely. He had not, and there was someone pretending to be his assistant, rifling through his papers. He had killed the real assistant some time before. I took the notes and the other maps, and have them in my possession."
"Show me the map."
She had expected this, and had brought it along. Spreading it out on his lap, she said, "I brought everything else with me to Ostagar, too. It's in my saddlebag."
"Just the map for now."
His fingertips traced eagerly over everything unfamiliar to him. "Haven," he grunted. "Never heard of it. It's on the Ferelden side of the Frostbacks, though, so it's rightfully ours. They should be paying taxes. I suppose it might be considered part of Redcliffe...no...I don't think there's any overlord out there. Interesting..."
It was interesting. Where there was a population center, there was a potential bannorn he could use as a reward for an outstanding soldier. Or Cailan could, properly primed. If they all survived the Blight, he wanted Cauthrien to have land of her own and a place in the Landsmeet...
"And Honnleath...I've not heard of that place either. Perhaps I'll go and have a look someday. So," he said, sitting back, "this Genetivi was going to Haven to find out about the Urn. No word of him since? Not even at the Cathedral?"
"I fear not. I went there, of course, when I interviewed Mother Boann about Adaia. She was telling the exact truth, by the way, though it's a moot point now. Anyway, as to Genetivi: he has friends at the Cathedral, but they've had no word of him since his journey west. I fear the worst, but I did warn him."
"It's all rather...far-fetched...don't you think?"
"I don't know," Bronwyn considered. "There was certainly an Andraste. Chantry lore tells us her faithful gathered her ashes. That much I think we can accept as true. Obviously not all her followers were killed, or there would be no Andrasteans today. It only makes sense that they would have honored her remains. It's possible that a party carrying them into the safety of the mountains might have met with misfortune, but it's also possible that they did not. The odd part of the story, I grant, is that the world does not know of this temple. Perhaps there was division amongst the followers...some sort of dispute about how the remains should be bestowed. As Haven is not in the Anderfels or Par Vollen, but here in Ferelden, I don't see it as either impossible or inappropriate to investigate these clues."
Something unpleasant occurred to Loghain. "It is...possible...that the Chantry knows of this place and is trying to keep it secret. Perhaps they've known of it for years. Not the rank-and-file, of course, but the Divine and the high clerics. I've heard of Genetivi. He's been in trouble with them in the past for printing things they didn't care for."
That was a frightening thought, and the Divine was based in Orlais... Bronwyn considered it and shook her head. "I think if the Chantry were behind it, it would have been managed much more efficiently. There wouldn't have been just the one spy in the house, and the dead body would already have been disposed of. The Chantry could seal the house, anyway. I don't think the Orlesians are involved, either. If they thought they could lay hands on the Urn, they would have sent a far more experienced and dangerous agent. No. I don't think either the Chantry or the Orlesians knows about this."
Loghain considered it too. "Good. Let's keep it that way. Can your Wardens be trusted not to talk?"
Bronwyn felt a little nervous about that. Cullen and Leliana were so devout. "Only Tara was with me when I searched the house and killed the spy. She's extremely reliable. I did talk to my recent party about keeping this quiet. No one but me has read the notes or seen the maps. I'll tell everyone again that they are not to discuss anything that happened in Denerim with outsiders."
Loghain leaned over the map again, fixing it all in his mind. "Intriguing. Ferelden soil. It seems...appropriate. I'm serious about not wanting this rumor spread about. The Chantry would claim it as a religious foundation."
"I understand."
"If there's a way to heal Anora, we must have it. My daughter will keep her life and her throne. Every scheme of that bitch Celene will be thwarted. We will defeat the Blight, and Cailan..."
There was a something in his face that Bronwyn had not seen before—or at least not when the son of his old friend was the topic of conversation. "Cailan.." he growled, the word bitter in his mouth.
"He may know nothing of any of this, Loghain," Bronwyn counseled him. "Nothing of the attack on you, and nothing of the poisoning of Anora. If I were Celene, I would tell him nothing at all."
"His ignorance makes him no less culpable," Loghain said grimly. "It's his dabbling in secret diplomacy that encouraged the Orlesians to do their worst."
"Yes, but we can't be the ones to say anything about it. We've succeeded in keeping the attack on Anora secret. Just as the Orlesians have no idea that Marjolaine is dead and the marriage treaty miscarried, they do not know that Erlina is not still at her poisoning in the Palace. In a few weeks some agent may report that the Queen is still alive and healthy, and they will investigate, but I see no reason to tip our hands." She patted his hand, smiling wryly. "At the moment, your face, my lord, is a book that even our king could read."
He grunted at that, looking very weary. He folded the letter and then, the map. "Put these in the box over there," he said, pulling a key from a pocket. "And lock them up."
She did, protesting only a little. "It's my map."
"It's secret Fereldan intelligence. I'll give you another map. We know today of two Orlesian spies in the army. I can only presume there are more."
That was an alarming thought, but obviously true. The Empress was fabulously rich, and could afford many agents, most of whom probably knew nothing of the others' existence. And there was still the possibility of the King's involvement...
"Really," she said, almost to herself. "We'll have to be very polite to the King. A thousand dangers may beset us on every side, but we'll have to smile 'like innocent flowers,' as my mother used to say."
Loghain snorted a sour laugh. "If I smiled like an 'innocent flower' at him, he'd know his days were numbered. You'll have to settle for the usual bad temper, and so will he. Now come back here to me."
Welcoming back the Girl Warden was made into something of an occasion. A rather festive dinner was readied for the King, the Wardens, and the leaders of the armies. Bronwyn came down with Loghain to find King Cailan's behavior to her was somewhat cooler than in the past. His eyes widened a bit at her newly green eyes and her long scar, but he said nothing about them, which was fine with her.
She also found that the place of honor at His Majesty's side was now occupied by the fey and fragile Dalish Keeper Merrill. On the other side was the dwarven commander, Lord Piotin Aeducan. It was appropriate enough, Bronwyn granted.
Merrill seemed unaware of any tension. She greeted Bronwyn in a most friendly way, and introduced her to her loyal advisors, Maynriel and Thanovir. "And they are old friends of Teyrn Loghain, too."
That seemed to be true. Loghain was at his ease with the greying elves, and they with him. It was a glimpse of his past to see him with some of his Night Elves.
Cailan leaned forward to ask Bronwyn about her travels. "Bronwyn! I do hope that your dealings with the other Dalish went smoothly. With...let's see...Keeper Zathrian's clan?
Bronwyn smiled, picturing herself as an innocent flower. "It is now Keeper Lanaya's clan. Keeper Zathrian is, alas, no more."
"Oh!" cried Merrill, huge eyes moist and wistful. "What a pity! He'd been their Keeper so long! Was it a sudden illness?"
Further down the table, Tara bit back a snort. "Pretty sudden." Zevran hid a grin. Astrid grimaced, and speared another slice of mutton. Danith was miserably reliving it all.
Loghain said dryly. "Perhaps it did not go quite so smoothly."
Bronwyn did not want to get into the whole awful story, lest she grow angry again. "Keeper Zathrian's death was a shock to his clan, but Keeper Lanaya has promised hunters. They should be arriving in a sevenday, or a little more."
Danith added, "The Dalish are true to their oaths. They will come."
"All the same," Tara persisted. "I wouldn't call it smooth. Not with an ancient elven temple, and curses and werewolves, and undead phantoms, and a dragon. And Bronwyn had to swim underwater to find the werewolves' lair. That was pretty horrible."
There was a growing stir at the tables, as people stared, their attention caught by "curses," "werewolves," and "a dragon."
"A dragon," Bryland nodded, unsurprised. "Bronwyn killed it, I expect."
Not wanting to go on about it, Bronwyn tried to wave it off. "It wasn't a very big dragon..."
Zevran put in, "The werewolves were the real problem."
Cailan found it all quite exciting. "Werewolves? Really? What were they like?"
He was looking at her, so Bronwyn knew she must answer.
"Big, Your Majesty," she told him. "They were big. Quite impressive."
"Strong and fast," remarked Astrid, reaching for another chicken leg. "They needed no other weapons than their fangs and claws."
"And they could talk—" Tara began, and then saw Bronwyn's tiny headshake. "What? They could talk! It was creepy."
Cailan was entranced. "Well, what did they talk about?" He muttered, "What would werewolves talk about?"
"Mostly about how much they hated being werewolves," Bronwyn said. There was laughter, some of it very uneasy.
"Lanaya's very nice, though," Tara remarked. "I think she'll be a very good Keeper. Don't you think so, Danith?"
Without hesitation, Danith agreed. "I believe she will put her duty to the clan first, as a good Keeper should. And she wisely understands that there is no hiding from the Blight in the forest, but that the clan must stand with the other free peoples of Thedas against the danger."
There werre polite murmurs of approval from all the tables.
"Well said," Merrill enthused. "Oh, well said!"
"Well said, indeed!" Cailan beamed at the Dalish Warden. She seemed to him just what a Warden should be. "A toast to the alliance!"
The Wardens cheered loudest of all. Loghain glanced at them, and then glanced again, his eye caught by a remarkably handsome man he had not seen before. No. He had, in passing, seen that face today during the battle...
"A new Warden?" he asked Bronwyn, jerking his head in the direction of Adam Hawke.
"No. He's Carver Hawke's brother. He's come to see if his brother is all right...and mostly, I think, to try to get some patronage from me. He's looking for a commission. He's very nice: very well-bred. That mabari there is his."
Feeling eyes on him, Adam turned and smiled at Bronwyn. It was a remarkably white and engaging smile. The dog smiled, too. Loghain instantly said to her, "Anora wrote something about your brother needing good men in the north. With all the losses at Highever—and now Amaranthine, too..."
"What a good idea!" Bronwyn said, pleased at the suggestion. "Just the thing! Alistair thinks he's quite a sound fighter. I'm sure Fergus will find a use for him."
"Well, that's settled then." Loghain sat back, smiling ever so slightly. "I trust Alistair's judgement. If you like, I can write young Hawke a recommendation, too."
Quite a bit of drinking followed, which did not much trouble Bronwyn, since she was eating enough to offset it. Loghain was careful not to overindulge, and was more interested in observing the antics of the diners, anyway. Cailan, however, was getting a bit pink with the wine. He spoke up, ready to be amused.
"My friend Lord Dace," he said, lifting his cup in salute to the dwarf, "tells me that you Wardens have a custom of telling each other stories. Would it be asking too much if we could hear one tonight? All of us? I should like it of all things."
Bronwyn opened her mouth, ready to negotiate some sort of entertainment, when Adaia, brave after four cups of good red wine, croaked out, "Your turn, Danith!"
Danith knew it was, and had been wondering how to get out of it since the word "stories," had passed the shemlen king's lips. Escape was impossible. All eyes were turned to her. To try to evade this duty would be cowardice. The shemlen king was friendly to the Dalish and to the Wardens. He must be kept so, for the good of all the People.
The Commander was looking faintly alarmed, as if she expected that Danith would know no stories fit for a shemlen king and his chieftains. Danith would prove her wrong. The story she would tell was not an excuse, but it was a way of explaining herself. She rose to her feet, and bowed gravely in the king's direction. She was actually bowing to Merrill, her Keeper, but the shemlens would not understand that. She raised her voice so that all in the great stone chamber could hear, and know that a Dalish hunter feared them not.
"I shall tell a tale of the elvhen, for those are the stories I know. One of you once asked me 'What is a Keeper?' There are many answers to that question. Our Keepers are obeyed and revered, not only because they are the keepers of our lore and custom, of our heritage and song, but also because they are the Keepers of our people. It is they who keep us from harm: who lead us unscathed through the dangers of forest and plain; who guard us from the dark creatures of both the waking world and that realm beyond which the shemlen call the Fade."
She glanced briefly at Bronwyn, and then at Merrill, and said, ""For countless generations our Keepers have been our guides and heroes. I shall tell of one of them: the Keeper Iloren."
Danith's story of Iloren, the Dalish Keeper
In the days after the rising of the Archdemon Zazikel, the dark ones covered every corner of the land. The Archdemon drove all the nations of the world before him, shemlen and elvhen alike.
In the far north are the lands which the shemlen call the Anderfels. There the hills wander the plains, and the earth is eternally baked beneath the uncaring sun. There, too, a clan of our people once lived, struggling to survive the Blight.
Iloren was their Keeper. A hunter in his younger days, crafty as any wolf, he led his people always just ahead of the darkspawn who chased them. But the old hunter knew that even halla cannot run forever. They must turn and fight, or be run down.
At the foot of the white cliffs of the Merdaine, the darkspawn cornered Iloren's clan. That night, the moon was strangled by clouds. The earth was concealed by a dreadful mist that rose out of nowhere, so that the elvhen could not tell up from down. In the confusion, the darkspawn attacked.
But Iloren had prepared for them. All around the camp, the hunters had strewn dry grass, brush and brambles. When the sound of rustling footfalls began, Iloren and the other hahren called upon the old magic. They struck out with lightning, and though the bolts missed the darkspawn, they hit their target all the same. The sea of kindling lit, and not one of the dark creatures made it through the fire to reach Iloren's clan.
The firestorm raged through the night. The clan clung to the stone of the cliffs, their skins near to blistering from the heat. In the morning, it was over, and the darkspawn dead lay in bone and ash before them, their Taint cleansed by the purifying flames.
Carefully, Iloren's clan picked their way among the remains and headed south, finding respite at the little lake they called the Winter Water. There they drank deeply, and there they rested and considered what they should do next. Some were for going south, to join their cousins in the Dales. Others wished to stay in their ancient lands, hoping that they were now free of darkspawn. Iloren sat unmoving, deep in thought
At length, he arose and said, "Hear me! Shall we live as hunted beasts all the days of our lives? The Dales lie far to south. To win to them we must face a thousand dangers. The darkspawn are against us this day. Another day it will be the Tevinters, seeking slaves, and yet another it will be the lords of the Anderfels, of Nevarra, of Orlais, ready to quarrel over the dwindling game of the Blighted forests. Let us go west and find a new place, far from the troubles and quarrels of Thedas!"
Many rejoiced at his words, and others shook their heads. Hahren Rhonnar said, "Shall we leave this land, where the elvhen were the first to walk among the trees? Shall we leave the place where Arlathan shone like a star: greater than all cities since its time?"
"I shall leave," answered Iloren, "for my purpose is to walk beyond the sunset. Come, my friends, it is not too late to seek a newer world!"
Thus was the clan divided. One portion elected to travel south to the Dales. Their journey was long and hard; and many died, and many were taken by the darkspawn.
The other elves kept faith with Iloren, their Keeper. They turned west, and were last seen struggling up the merciless and cloud-capped slopes of the Hunterhorn Mountains, the wall at the end of the western world. Whether they perished there or found a land beyond is not known. From that day to this, no one has ever had word of what happened to those elves, or to Iloren, their Keeper.
Applause and chatter. The elves seemed pleased that their heritage had been honored. Cailan lifted his golden goblet again. "A fine story! I love hearing of the deeds of the elvhen!"
Some of the human nobles took note of that, and there were quiet mutters, too low to be overheard. Loghain's eyes swept over them. Cailan's interest in the beautiful young Keeper Merrill was causing some unpleasant comment. If he had not been so angry at Cailan, he would have taken it upon himself to give the lad some advice. Right now, however, he was sitting very comfortably with Bronwyn at his side, and was content to allow Cailan enough rope to hang himself.
The dwarves liked the story well enough, too, or at least the parts that dealt with killing darkspawn. The dwarves were very fond of stories that involved killing darkspawn.
Lord Piotin Aeducan said, "A clever strategem against the darkspawn. Fire traps... Isn't that something like the tactics you and the Wardens were trying out today, Teyrn Loghain?"
Cailan answered instead, his face glowing. "Indeed it is! We can learn so much from the old tales!"
Loghain grimaced. More bloody legends and fantasy. Bronwyn caught his eye and smiled mischievously.
People went back to gossip and drinking, but the Wardens still had much to say about the story.
"Beyond the Hunterhorn Mountains," mused Tara, her eyes dreamy. "They say the world ends there, but maybe not. So should the elves have followed Iloren, do you think? I think I would have."
Danith bit her lip and nodded. "That is the crux of the story. Each must answer it for himself. The Dales were known to be a land safe for elves—at least in those days. No one knew—no one knows to this day— if anything lies beyond the Hunterhorn Mountains. Ought one to obey one's Keeper, or judge for himself, using the best knowledge available? Was the Hahren right? Or was Iloren a wise visionary, who led his people to peace and safety in a land known only to elves? My heart has always said that his clan should have followed Iloren, but I do not know if that is the ingrained obedience to a Keeper; or because the situation of elves in Thedas is so difficult and intractable; or even because I love the idea of finding a new land."
Bronwyn was silent, thinking it appropriate to let the elves have their say about an elven story. It was intriguing, though...the idea of exploring beyond the mountains. Received wisdom said that the western edge of the world ended at the Hunterhorn Mountains and south of them, at the Tirashan. To the north it ended with the jungles of the Donarks and the sea that separated Thedas from the Qunari-held islands of Seheron and Par Vollen. To the south were the frozen wastes beyond the Wilds, too forbidding for even the hardiest cartographer. To the east was the limitless Amaranthine Ocean, too powerful and treacherous for safe sailing. Was there an edge where the sea boiled over like a waterfall? That made no sense to her, for then all the water in Thedas would long since have gone. Was there a great wall at the end? Aldous had shown her a scholar's map of Thedas, a rectangle with neat, straight lines enclosing it. That seemed odd, since nothing in nature had neat, straight lines. Perhaps even the highest mountains or the broadest waters held secrets on their far sides...
Zevran considered. "The journey from the Anderfels to the Dales would have been long and perilous indeed. Of course, in those days, the Dalish could not have known that their possession of the Dales would be all too brief. I do not know what I would have done, without knowing Iloren himself. Were he the leader for me, I would have been his man, however mad his vision."
Loghain listened in silence, and then whispered to Bronwyn. "Don't listen to the elves. The Frostbacks are quite far enough."
Sorry it took so long to get this massive chapter out. Between the sorrows of RL and the complexity of fictional events, I thought I'd never be done.
The opening chunk of Danith's story is from the Codex entry: The Tale of Iloren.
No one in Ostagar knows about the slavers, because Anora is waiting for further confirmation of Fergus' discovery that Howe was doing business with the Tevinters. Once the scope of his dealings gets out, the news is going to be explosive. With the letter Fergus sent Anora from the city of Amaranthine, it was indeed confirmed, but Loghain has not yet received Anora's dispatch about it. That's in the next chapter.
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