Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 56: Queen Rowan's Blood-Red Gown

Gently rolling waves lulled them to sleep for most of the voyage to Redcliffe. The rest was a welcome one, especially for poor Scout, whose injuries were still mending. Bronwyn had some remarkable bruises on her throat, handprints in vivid browns and yellows. The companions mourned and rested, and prepared themselves for the long ride through the Hinterlands.

They also did quite a bit of reading. Genetivi's Travels was passed around and proved quite the find. Bronwyn learned a very great deal from it. Genetivi had traveled as a common man, not as a noble nor even as a Chantry official, and learned much about Thedas that its rulers never saw.

All of them studied Flame and Scale to some degree. The mere mention of dragons was painful, but they must know all they could if they meant to survive another such encounter. When that subject grew too depressing, there was always the smutty novel they had found among the other books in the storekeeper's chest: an implausible romance in which a woman sell-sword won the heart of the Prince of Starkhaven. Zevran enjoyed critiquing the naughty bits.

Tara had filched Discovering Dragon's Blood from the temple: only one of many treasures that were moldering on the bookshelves there. Yes, Blood Magic was forbidden, but this was not the blood of men or elves, but of dragons; and Bronwyn's eyes widened at some of the possible uses for the contents of her little gold vial. Truth be told, she now wished they had taken more. Some of the potions and tinctures were risky, but so was the Joining, after all.

They were not far from Redcliffe when Bronwyn called them together for a council.

"We've had an extraordinary adventure, and seen things no one has seen for long ages. However, I must ask you that they remain secret, at least for now."

"But—" Leliana protested instantly. Bronwyn held up a hand. She had expected this.

"We are in a Blight. The country is in chaos. To spread the news about the Temple and Shrine might incite people to go there, but how many would survive? They need no longer need fear being fed to a dragon, but the villagers of Haven will likely attack without warning."

"I see," Leliana nodded. "You think we should wait until the the Chantry can mount a proper expedition."

Bronwyn intensely disliked the idea of turning the place over to the Chantry at all, but Leliana would not understand. "I think we need to defeat the darkspawn before that happens. We may need the swords of the Chantry before this is over. I think it would be a very bad thing for them to be distracted at this time. Also..." a brilliant excuse came to her. "It would be very wrong to gossip about this, instead of informing the Grand Cleric first. Surely the honor is hers."

To her relief, Leliana fell for it. "Oh! You are right! What an insult it would be, not to reveal this wonder to her first of all! But how to do it?"

Bronwyn said soothingly, "We must wait until the Blight is under control. Then, when I am in Denerim, I will arrange an appointment, and lay our proofs before her. She will know best what to do." Bronwyn devoutly hoped the Grand Cleric would think her mad or drunk, and have her escorted from her office at once.

Zevran only smiled, seeing through her, and Tara shrugged, displeased. Bronwyn wondered exactly what bothered the elf girl about this, as Tara was certainly not a devout Andrastean. Was she, like Bronwyn, not comfortable with the idea of telling the Chantry anything? Perhaps, as a mage, she would prefer to study the libraries and artifacts there at her leisure, without Templars in control.

Bronwyn loathed the idea of the Chantry turning that place of wonder into some grubby, money-making scheme. The Guardian would not tolerate the Chantry levying a fee for entering the Gauntlet, of course. More likely, they would keep the true shrine hidden, and put up a huge statue of Andraste in the outer Temple, with a copy of the Urn and charge for pinches of some common wood ash. Perhaps she was too cynical, or too selfish, but the thought of exploiting the shrine sickened her.

And the people of Haven would submit or perish. There were unpleasant folk, to be sure, but it was, after all, their village, and it was not as if Bronwyn had been invited there. How many more would die if Bronwyn set the Templars on them?

At least she had gained her point for now. Leliana agreed to be silent about the Urn, until the proper time. There was another thing to be addressed.

"You each have a pinch of the Sacred Ashes, the rarest and most precious remedy in all Thedas. I urge you, just as we are saying nothing about the shrine, to say nothing openly about your own pinch of Ashes. In fact, say nothing about them to our other companions. I must tell Loghain about the pinch we obtained for the Queen. I must tell him in brief of our adventures and the shrine, but I shall ask him, too, to keep those secret. I think he would agree with my reasoning."

Loghain would, she was sure. He would not want the Chantry claiming any part of Ferelden territory for their own purposes. They would have to talk in confidence about Haven, because Loghain would probably think that the villagers ought to be paying taxes and answering to a proper bann. But relinquish control of it to the Chantry? Highly unlikely!

"Are you going to tell him about the other Ashes we got?" Tara asked, pert and direct.

Bronwyn thought about it, and then replied. "No. He was not there. He did not see what we saw. He did not face the Gauntlet with us. You must realize that once the secret is out, people would come from far and wide for the Ashes. A wealthy ruler would hire armies, pay any amount of coin to possess them. The secret of where they came from will be dangerous enough. Loghain can know about the pinch we obtained for the Queen. They will be administered to the Queen, and we shall pray that they are all we hope for. We do not need to boast of this, surely."

"If it becomes known that the Queen was healed by the Ashes," Zevran pointed out, "there will be a wild rush to track them down and seize them."

"Then we must keep the secret," Leliana said firmly. "No one must know before Her Grace the Grand Cleric can take the proper measures to safeguard them. Teyrn Loghain and the Queen will have to know, of course, but no one else!" Her eyes were very wide. "We must swear our friends at Ostagar to secrecy, too!"

After two days of inactivity, it was good to be back on dry land. Before they could present themselves to the Arl, there were errands to be run in the village. Two of the horses needed to be re-shod, so as soon as they stepped off the boat, they sought out the village blacksmith. There was probably a farrier at the Castle, but Bronwyn was uncomfortable with putting herself too much in Arl Teagan's debt. While they waited for the horses, they stopped at the shops to restock their provisions. Afterward, they decided to while away some time at the tavern. Bronwyn hoped to pick up a little local gossip, not filtered through the Arl's own people.

They made the steep hike up to the tavern and found the door open to the mild autumn air. The pleasant scent of good ale drifted to them, luring them inside.

"The King's Pint!" Leliana smiled, pointing at the crudely painted portrait of a blond and grinning King Cailan quaffing from a foaming mug. "What a quaint name!"

"And as true and honest a name as ever a tavern owned!" A striking red-haired woman behind the bar smiled at them. The innkeeper, they guessed, or his wife. "The sweet young king himself was so good as to quench his thirst here, the day after we were delivered from the monsters. Drank his pint down like a man, and had another!" She noticed their tunics, and her smile widened. "Grey Wardens! Just fancy! What will you have?"

They had the ale, of course, and it was very good. The innkeeper's name was Bella, and she was glad to tell them all the news of this part of the world.

"Had business with the smith, did you? Fine fellow, that. He's new to the village, but who isn't, save me and the priests? The walking dead thinned Redcliffe out, and no mistake!"

"It must have been terrible for you," Leliana sympathized.

That was all Bella needed to sit down with them and give them the whole gruesome story.

"...and I'm lucky to be alive. None of us would have got through another night if the King—Maker rest his sweet soul!—and Teyrn Loghain hadn't come marching to save us. The old Arl's son was a mage! A mage! And a bad one, too! Raised his father from the dead and turned him into a monster! Killed his own mother! They said he was born disfigured, with a crooked back and eyes like fire... They should have guessed something was wrong with him from the first. Mind you, I never laid eyes on the lad. His mother held herself and her own too high for that. Orlesian, you know. Arl Eamon ought never to have married her. Nothing good ever came from that lot."

Tara shifted on the bench, but could hardly argue. The arl's son had been a mage, and he had slaughtered the village and killed his mother. "But you were saved," she said, "and now you have Arl Teagan. He seems very nice."

"No finer man alive," Bella agreed. "He's put good people in the cottages and seen they had work. Helped get the harvest in with his own hands, and not too proud to come here afterwards and stand the lads a drink. You never saw old Arl Eamon doing the like for his folk." She lowered her voice to give them the best gossip. "There's talk he'll be taking a wife soon...Arl Teagan I mean... and a proper Ferelden girl, too. When he does, we'll all be that pleased to wish him joy!"

"Naturally," said Bronwyn. "Everyone likes a good wedding. Any idea who the happy bride will be?"

"Well..." Bella's fine eyes glittered with satisfaction. "A girl right here in the village! No high-born Lady Muck for our good Arl. That little girl Kaitlyn Merton, and a sweet thing she is! But don't spread the word. It's a secret!"

"Of course not," Bronwyn assured the innkeeper, musing over the term 'high-born Lady Muck.' She supposed that was exactly how some people would describe her. "And what other news have you heard?"

Bella had heard plenty. Everyone was sorry about King Cailan, of course; and no one knew who was to be king. It was sad that the King and Queen had no children, and some said either blood mages or Orlesian trickery was to blame. Hard to say. There had been a rumor a month or two ago that the Queen was with child, but it didn't seem so. Anyway, there was that northern lord, Fergus Cousland, but nobody in Redcliffe knew him. Some were saying that Queen Anora should keep the throne, but others said that Teyrn Loghain should wear the crown outright, since he'd had the running of the country since the Rebellion.

"And with him and the Girl Warden," Bella said with satisfaction, "it's likely we'll be done with the darkspawn soon! They killed the Archdemon's chief captain, you know...a great dragon hiding in the Wilds. The Girl Warden killed him herself, and now they call her the Dragonslayer. It's an Age of Heroes we live in, right enough!"

Bronwyn was slightly puzzled that the woman had not guessed that Bronwyn was in fact the Girl Warden herself. Perhaps Bella did not expect the Girl Warden to walk into her tavern. Perhaps Bronwyn was not tall and glamorous enough to live up to the legend. In fact, she knew she was dirty, smelly, and looked like she had lost her last fight. Her armor was good chainmail but not gleaming plate. And perhaps, too, the last few months had taken their toll. Perhaps she was not so obviously the "Girl" Warden anymore, but more a weary, battle-scarred woman warrior.

Then Bella took note of Zevran and Tara. "At least you were saved from that wicked Arl Howe! He sold elves to the Tevinters just like in the bad old days! They say the Alienage of Denerim is empty as a drained wineskin now. The Wicked Arl got a great chest of gold for them—blood money, I call it—and was struck down by the Maker for his sins."

"I hope that's true," Tara said fiercely. "I hope the Maker gives him what for!"

There was talk—strange talk— that King Maric had had another son, and that he had been kept in the dungeons under the palace from boyhood, fed on cakes and honeygrass tea. He was King Cailan's twin, and had been hidden away because two princes would have led to trouble.

"Mind you," whispered Bella. "I don't put much stock in that. I don't like to think that Good King Maric would have done that to his own son. If there were another boy, it stands to reason that he would have been raised up as a prince, just like his brother!"

"Yes," Bronwyn said quietly. "You'd think so."

They were greeted kindly at the castle, and the absence of Cullen was noted. The appropriate words of sympathy were expressed and acknowledged. Bronwyn could briefly assure Bann Teagan that they had found no darkspawn west of Lake Calenhad, and then there were blessed, blessed hot baths in the handsome bedchambers they had stayed in before.

"My lady!" a maid cried, aghast at Bronwyn's cuts and bruises. "You look like someone tried to strangle you!"

"Someone did try to strangle me," Bronwyn said evenly, soaking pleasantly in the perfumed and steamy bathwater. "He's dead, though, and there's an end."

A shocked, sympathetic murmur, and the girls went about their work. Bronwyn nearly fell asleep in the bath, hardly noticing as one of them cleaned and trimmed her battered nails. The door opened a little, and another serving girl slipped in, a wealth of scarlet silk fluttering from her arms.

"You're too tall for any of Arlessa Isolde's things, my lady," giggled the maid. "So the Arl said we were to look through the trunk Queen Rowan left here years ago. She was a warrior, too, like you. We found this. It's old-fashioned, but very fine." Bronwyn managed a slight smile. It was blood red, and cut off the shoulders. The color disturbed her a little, reminding her of Cullen's blood-soaked body, the last time she saw him. It smelled of the herbs it had been kept in: rosemary and rue.

Remembrance and regret, she thought, in the language of flowers. An old-fashioned gown, yes, but in a soft, soft silk. She should not complain of the ominous color. No one here would understand.

"It's splendid," she agreed. It was kindly thought of, and she should be grateful to have something other than her Grey Warden garb to wear to dinner. It would be a pleasure to feel like a noblewoman again, and not so unworthy to be Eleanor Cousland's daughter. She dug through her looted jewels and resolved to wear as many as she dared: her emerald ring and some big gold earrings, certainly. Her ruby necklace was with her things at Ostagar. Pity. Well, she would wear it when she returned. As for her bruises, they were the marks of honorable combat, and she was not ashamed of them.

The maid combing out her hair whispered— in her very countrified way— "His lordship said you was to keep the gown 'an it please you, m'lady. No use in it sitting in an old chest 'til the next age, says he!"

"I shall remember to thank him. Such a bright, cheerful color."

Zevran and Tara had been quicker with their baths—which were only basins of hot water brought to their little room, after all. The maids also brought some fine clothes for them, assured them that they were theirs to keep, and then left, making stiff, uncertain little curtseys. Nevertheless, Tara liked the chestnut brown velvet dress, embroidered in sea-green, and liked even more Zevran's doublet of dark yellow satin.

"We look splendid, carina," Zevran said, helping her fasten the heavy demon-headed necklace. He turned her around, smiling, and gave her a long, sweet kiss. Then he offered his arm to her with great gallantry. "Come. We shall go down to the Hall, and see what entertainment there is to be had!"

There was entertainment there, of a sort. The knights and the Chantry contingent were there already, including a young sister who was Mother Hannah's new clerk. The young Mertons were here again, too. Perhaps presenting the Wardens with some of his vast store of rich garments had given Teagan the precedent to be likewise generous with his distant cousin. Kaitlyn looked very pretty in her sky-blue gown: a noblewoman rather than a mere poor relation. Zevran and Tara smirked at each other, remembering the innkeeper's gossip.

Little Bevin was insatiable in his hunger for stories. To while away the time before the Arl and the Girl Warden would make their appearance, the young chantry sister had agreed to tell them all a thrilling tale of wickedness punished. Tara and Zevran drew near to hear it, and found it...not at all what they would have chosen as entertainment.

The Chantry Sister's Tale

In the city of Val Royeaux there was once a school, whose teacher was a wise and learned sister. In front of this school was a beautiful image of Andraste. Many children of the prosperous went there to study their lessons and learn to sing the Chant of Light. as little children do. Among these children was a little boy seven years old, the son of the widow of a chevalier. On his way to and from school, day by day, wherever he saw the image of Andraste, he would sing a verse. Thus had the widow taught her little son to honor Our Lady, for "a learned child is a blessing upon his parents and unto the Maker."

But in that very street, in a dark and crooked house, lived an apostate: a wicked maleficar. His evil heart was so filled with hatred when he heard the little voice singing the Chant that nothing would do but he should drive the child from the world. The mage had an ugly, squint-eyed daughter—young, but already tainted by the evil of magic. The mage told his daughter to lure the child to the house, where they could work their will on him. And so the girl did. She held out a sweet red apple to the child as he was passing on his way homeward, and said, "Come into my house, little boy, and I shall share this apple with you."

Thinking no harm, the child walked in, but never did the sun shine on his departure. Instead, the maleficarum used him for their monstrous rites. The child, crying for his mother, was stripped naked, shamefully abused, and locked in a cage of iron. This cage was suspended over a cauldron.

The child still sang the Chant, praying to our Lady that She would take him up to Her, and the singing so enraged the evil maleficar that he took a great knife, and cut the child's throat to the bone. The blood flowed thick and red into the cauldron.

"Make sure you get every drop!" cried the maleficar's squint-eyed daughter. They drained the body for purposes of their vile blood magic, and then threw it into a public midden.

The widow waited all that night for her little child, but he did not come. Therefore, as soon as it was day, with her face pale from fear and anxiety she searched for him, until finally she learned that he was last seen in the street near the school. The good sister there called on the Templars, and the child's body was found later that morning, stabbed dead and gnawed upon by rats.

There was a great hue and cry throughout the city, and a good man who lived in the same street thought much on the matter. He watched the dark little house for some days, and then he went to the Templars and reported that those in the house were apostates, and probably maleficar. Who else would have killed an innocent child?

So it proved. The Templars boldly broke down the door and dragged the evil mage and his ugly daughter into the light of day. They were revealed to be mages, drained of their mana, and taken before the magistrates, where they were put to the question. At first the maleficar denied that he was a blood mage, and claimed to know nothing of the child's death, but in the end he and his daughter confessed that they had killed the child just as described before, and then used the innocent blood for their evil rites. In time, after much close questioning, they gave the names of other apostates, and they too were captured and confessed to blood magic.

Every one of the foul coven was sentenced to further torment and a shameful death before the whole city. He who deserves evil shall have evil. Therefore, they were broken on the wheel, disemboweled, and after that hanged, according to the law.

The poor mother gave all her possessions to the chantry, and then herself as well; for she took vows as a sister. As to the good man who discovered the maleficar, he was richly rewarded on earth, as he will surely be in Heaven. Praise be to the Maker, whose gaze sees all!

Tara listened in growing horror and distress. While the rest murmured and applauded, Zevran took her firmly by the elbow and walked her away before she struck Redcliffe Castle and everyone in it with lightning.

"That's….disgusting…." she hissed in Zevran's ear. "Disgusting! What a horrible story to tell a child! It could give him nightmares! Who are they calling 'vile?'"

"Yes," Zevran agreed patiently, "Very foolish, too, since it is obvious to me that it was most probably the informer who killed the child, and then denounced the apostates to cover his crime. The mages confessed, of course, because in the end everybody does."

Tara considered this. "You really think so?"

"Yes. It is implicit in the narrative. But the people by the fire," he jerked his head toward the devout group, "are not ones to hear that which would not please them."

"That's a horrible story," Tara repeated, almost shaking with anger. "The only reason I'm not making a fuss is because I'm a guest, and I'm eating Arl Teagan's food, and wearing clothes he gave me. I hope you understand that. I don't want to ever hear that story again." She frowned, pondering it. "Or maybe I'll tell it the way you interpret it..."

Leliana floated in, clad in her lovely gown, intricate gold chain, and rich sapphire ring. Her bright red hair was neatly trimmed, and a single braid was bound by a gold ornament. She beamed at the sight of her friends in their grand garb, and came over to talk to them.

"What is wrong? Is Tara upset?" she asked.

Zevran murmured, "An objectionable story about the evils of magic. They do not know that Tara is magical herself."

"I don't want to make a scene, but it was really insulting," Tara said firmly. "And knowing that it's their honest opinion doesn't make it any better!"

Once again, Tara imagined the mages retreating to their own, hidden world, known only to them and a few trusted friends. Only the Grey Wardens valued mages, anyway. Finding a way to truly keep themselves secret and safe would not be depriving the rest of the world of anything it wanted. Except for Tevinter, and Tara felt nothing but hatred for them. There were ways for mages to create magical barriers to hide themselves, but those enchantments were frowned on as being inconvenient to the Templars. And there were the phylacteries. Perhaps Jowan had glimpsed a dusty corner of the truth. Maybe the first step really was the phylacteries...

Leliana's curiosity was roused about the story, but she was properly tactful. "Then we shall speak of other things. Come. We must pay our respects to the Revered Mother."

Bows and curtseys came first, then idle chatter followed: mostly about the wedding of the daughter of the Arl of South Reach to the Arl of Denerim, which was to be held in ten days' time.

"Is Lady Bronwyn going to the wedding?" Kaitlyn asked, dreamy-eyed. "It will be ever so elegant, I'm sure. Arl Teagan has sent a wedding gift of the loveliest silks and velvets!"

Bevin was disgusted. "The Girl Warden fights monsters! She doesn't have time for a stupid wedding!"

Leliana smiled winningly at the little boy, and sympathetically at his sister. "Probably the Warden-Commander will be too busy, even though Lady Habren is her cousin. I know that she visited her when she was in Denerim recently."

"Oh," Kaitlyn sighed, disappointed. Then she brightened. "Maybe she saw her wedding gown then! I wish I were brave enough to ask her about it!"

Tara made bold to speak up. "I didn't meet Lady Habren, but we met her little brothers. They came to dine with us at the Wardens' Hall."

Bevin looked ready to burst with envy. The conversation was broken off with the entrance of the Arl and the Warden-Commander.

Altogether, they made a brave show at dinner, and Teagan seemed to relish the sight. He smiled and bowed deeply to Bronwyn, stunning in her new finery. She returned the courtesy, enjoying the sensation of silk against her skin, rather than that of leather and mail. Looking down the table, she noticed that Zevran and Tara were well-dressed, and that each wore a matching jeweled earring. As love tokens went, it was no sillier than others she had seen. And sure enough, there was the little Merton girl. She would make a very pretty Arlessa...

"So there were no darkspawn to the west?" Teagan asked Bronwyn again, visibly glad of the news.

"None that we discovered, my lord," Bronwyn assured him. "A violent gang of bandits, but all too human."

"I am sorry for the loss of your companion. He seemed a most gentleman-like man."

"He was." Bronwyn did not want to discuss Cullen with someone who knew nothing about him, and changed the subject. "Do you have a letter for Alistair, my lord? Or for anyone else at Ostagar, for that matter?"

Teagan smiled. "I already sent my own courier, but I thank you. Ah! It appeared dinner is served…" He offered her his arm.

Bronwyn smiled back, and with some ceremony they took their places at the great table. Toasts were exchanged, and a delicate broth of seethed mussels was set before them. Bronwyn spooned it up thoughtfully, glad for a chance not to talk. She was not much surprised that Teagan had already written to Alistair. She hoped that Teagan did not think her low enough to open his private correspondence, or even to "lose" it in transit; but perhaps it was best that he had taken the matter into his own hands. Possibly his letter had reached Alistair by now. Knowing Alistair, he would share it with friends—most likely Astrid. Possibly he would take it straight to Loghain. The two of them really had been getting on well lately. She could imagine pretty clearly what advice Alistair would get there.

She had considered openly raising the possibility of her own claim to the Crown—allied with Loghain—with the Arl, but had decided against it. He had already made it clear that he would not even support Fergus. How much less, then, would he wish to support Bronwyn and a common-born consort. Let him think her duplicitous, if he liked, but she saw no profit in tipping her hand to him. If Teagan clung to Alistair as a candidate, he was in for a disappointment. Who was his second choice? Surely not himself! Other than the handful of banns sworn to Redcliffe, he would have little support either for himself or for a previously unknown bastard son of Maric.

Thinking of Alistair made her think of Cullen, and she sighed to herself. They would miss him. They would miss his sword and his courage and his company. Bronwyn was really going to have to bestir herself to recruit more Wardens. There were some decent men here. Many had been killed when during the attacks by the walking dead, but more had come to the village to replace them. That red-haired knight…Ser Perth? Bronwyn sipped her wine thoughtfully, mulling it over.

"Excellent! Rainbow fish in cream!" Teagan interrupted her thoughts. "Try this dish, Commander, I pray you..."

She savored every bite, her mind ticking through possibilities.

Not Perth, she decided. Too devout. He might well have problems dealing with the mages among us. Look at how hard Cullen struggled...

And bringing a replacement back to Ostagar might cause undue pain to those would mourn Cullen's loss. She finally decided that Teagan had too few men already. It would be best to go back to Ostagar, let her people mourn their brother, and then talk over the recruitment issue with them. Perhaps they would even suggest names of likely candidates.

Then, too, the Landsmeet was less than two months away. She needed to see that the darkspawn were kept at bay long enough to settle the matter of the Crown. She could not do it here, in a gown of blood-red silk.

On the first day of Harvestmere, they saw the Tower of Ishal once more.

Only eleven days had passed since their departure, but the landscape had changed: already autumnal and cooler, the leaves turning yellow and brown, beginning to drift down onto the Imperial Highway. The snow line on the surrounding mountains seemed to swoop lower, misty-grey and forbidding. As they rode closer, the wind brought them the midden-stink of the camp.

They were seen, too. Little was hidden from the windows at the top. Some of their friends and comrades were there and waiting when they cantered up and dismounted. The greetings were broken by Tara's raised voice.

"Where's Jowan?" she cried, distressed at his absence. "Where's Jowan?"

"He's fine, elfkins," Anders assured her, giving her a hug. "We're all pretty much all right. He's off with Brosca and Sten on a patrol to the northeast."

"Where's Cullen?" Carver said, coming forward, scanning their number with concerned blue eyes.

A very brief silence. Bronwyn forced herself to speak. It would be easier in Brosca's absence.

"We lost Cullen."

A longer silence. Carver was distressed, Danith grave, Oghren curious, and Anders and Morrigan expressionless. Bronwyn was relieved that they decently refrained from smirking. There was no love lost there.

More needed to be said. "We found what we were looking for, and we have it; but it was guarded by a High Dragon."

"Nasty," Anders said, now more concerned. "How is everybody?"

"You should look all of us over, Anders," Tara said, "Scout, too. It was bad."

"Six of you against a High Dragon!" Oghren said, slapping his chest. "That's a fight for the songs. Lucky you only lost one!"

"We do not feel lucky in losing Cullen," Leliana replied, "but I confess I was surprised I survived. We fought madmen as well, and found—

"Let's take it inside," Bronwyn said, more tired than she wanted to admit. "And find something to eat. We'll tell you about it, but not here. Where's Alistair?"

"In council with the Teyrn," Morrigan said, "both he and Astrid. Loghain will wish to see you at once, you know."

Bronwyn called to a passing soldier. "Tell Teyrn Loghain that the Warden-Commander has returned and will report to him soon." She muttered, "As soon as I have dinner and a wash."

Morrigan did smirk this time. Bronwyn smirked back, happy to see her.

"Help us unload the horses," she said, "We've got enough loot to finance the Wardens for some time."

Alistair and Astrid with Loghain…Adaia at her workshop…Jowan, Sten, and Brosca in the field. She would have to repeat her tale of woe, again and again, but she was not going to make these friends wait. Bowls of unappealing mystery stew were put in front of the travelers, and other than Leliana they ate without taking much notice of it.

"We found Haven," Bronwyn said, in between bites. "We found Haven, and we found the shrine, and the Urn, and the Ashes. Genetivi is dead—just as you guessed, Morrigan, only worse. The village is hidden away because they worship dragons there in the old Tevinter way—only they called their dragon Andraste. They chained Genetivi up, pumped him for information, and then they fed him to their 'god.' The villagers told us all about it: they were proud of it. too."

"They tried to kill us," Leliana said indignantly, her voice cutting over the shocked, bewildered response. "They attacked first. Their Chantry priest was a man and a mage! It was he who locked up the poor brother. Their warriors fought like madmen."

Tara cut in eagerly. "They called them Reavers, and they were pumped up on dragon's blood. It makes people red-handed killers, and awfully hard to put down."

Zevran pointed out, "—but there was much beauty there as well. The great temple was immense and glorious, though much dilapidated."

"—they had libraries you would not believe, Anders!" Tara told him, waving her spoon. "Maybe more books altogether than the Circle!"

Bronwyn swallowed, took a long drink of cider, and continued the story. "Behind the temple was a system of caverns. That's were the cultists raised the dragon young. I didn't keep count of all the dragonkind we faced there… heaps of dragonlings and at least four drakes…"

"Don't forget that other drake outside!" Tara reminded her.

"Wait!" Oghren protested. "They were raising dragons? For what? Food?"

"I'm getting to that," Bronwyn said. "Anyway, we were confronted by the leader of the cultists: a complete madman. He had drunk dragon's blood too, and it makes people very aggressive... He thought we could be of use to him. He and his lot couldn't get to the Ashes. They were in a shrine across a barren plain and protected by a…well…sort of spirit. Kolgrim thought we could get past this spirit and reach the Ashes."

"And then," Leliana burst out, "he wanted Bronwyn to defile the Ashes buy pouring dragon's blood on them!"

Bronwyn tried to calm them all. "That was because they thought that Andraste had been reborn and that the Ashes were holding her back from her full reincarnation. I pretended to agree, and we went out to meet their Andraste—"

"—and that's when we found out it was a dragon!" Tara declared. "The man sounded his horn and the dragon flapped down right in front of us. I have never been so scared, but the crazy man introduced Bronwyn to it and it didn't attack us then."

"Kolgrim gave our leader the title, 'Andraste's True Champion,'" said Zevran, with a graceful gesture of respect. "Unfortunately for him, it was more true than he could have guessed."

"So we went to the Shrine and met the Guardian," Leliana said, in a more subdued way. "And we were tested. Only the worthy pilgrims could see the Ashes."

"Stop!" cried Morrigan. "It is too complicated and improbable to take in so quickly." There were nods of agreement. Carver was visibly confused and distressed.

"I agree. What sorts of tests?" asked Anders, very curious. He moved from one traveler to another; examining them, targeting recent wounds with healing spells.

No one wanted to tell much about them in detail. "They were very painful and unpleasant," Bronwyn said. "The Guardian knew everything about us."

"Everything?" Danith raised a brow, clearly skeptical.

Bronwyn considered, "He knew more than any spy could know. He knew things that none of you know. At any rate, there were, indeed, tests."

"I don't think we should tell you any more about it," Leliana said. "Possibly the tests are different for everybody."

"Can't we tell them about having to walk through fire? Naked?" protested Zevran.

"My kind of people!" cackled Oghren. "All of you? Bare-arse naked?"

Bronwyn waved that away, unamused. "Being naked was uncomfortable. The fire was far more alarming. At any rate, we survived the tests and saw the Urn. I was permitted to take a pinch for the Queen. We have it. Then we had to go back and face Kolgrim and his henchman. We had a very hard fight of it, and then the dragon…"

"It was really big, and really hateful," Tara said softly. "It caught Cullen in its jaws and killed him."

"It ate him?" Danith asked, horrified.

"No!" Leliana shook her head, distressed at the idea. "We did not allow that. Bronwyn and Tara damaged its wing as it flew at us, and made it fall. Then, when it was stunned, we finished it off. But poor Cullen was… killed."

Eyes filled with tears. Anders had disliked Cullen quite intensely, but he was sorry for his friends' grief. He patted Leliana's shoulder, and then squeezed Tara's. Morrigan pursed her lips, impatient with the display of sentiment for someone she had despised. Of course the man had been a useful sword, but all the other baggage that came with him had been extremely tiresome. He had never figured in her own private plans...

"He died bravely, I am sure," Danith said, feeling awkward.

"Very bravely," Bronwyn agreed. "We brought back Yusaris. He would have wanted you to carry it, Carver."

"Me?" the boy asked. "I mean…it's an amazing sword. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely sure. The possessions of a Grey Warden are the property of his brothers and sisters. You use a greatsword. You should have the best."

"Thanks!" Carver burst out. He picked up the sword and cradled it in his arms. "I won't let you down...or him."

"Brosca's going to take it hard," Oghren predicted. "She was crazy about that big nug-humper."

"I know," Bronwyn said wearily. "I'll tell her privately when they come back. Let's try to keep all this to ourselves, anyway."

Leliana declared, "We have decided that it would be best not to reveal the existence of Haven, the Ashes, or the Temple until a proper expedition can be mounted. The Grand Cleric must be informed."

Bronwyn saw the rolled eyes: Morrigan, Anders…Danith, too. "It's a distraction right now. And we don't want to give the Orlesians any reason to cross the border to claim Ferelden territory, even for the Chantry. Besides, Haven is dangerous." She pushed her bowl aside.

"Now…tell me what's happened while I've been gone, and make it quick, since Loghain will be impatient to find out about the Ashes!"

"You have a letter," Morrigan said instantly. "From your brother. It came three days ago."

"Really!" Bronwyn got up to look for it. It was lying on her cot, along with some other papers. She wanted desperately to read it at once, but listened to the others first.

There had been fighting, of course. The darkspawn had made an attempt to tunnel beneath them again, only into the southern camp. The dwarves had detected it and there had been a vicious underground battle.

"Nearly got shortened by a head," Oghren admitted.

"A good thing you were not, dwarf," Morrigan sneered, "else you would have been too small to notice, and I should have stepped upon you!"

"Alistair got cut up pretty bad," Anders told Bronwyn. "He's still recovering." He noticed the sword strapped to Tara's back. It was not the fake she had been wearing. This was jeweled, and runed with magic, and real. "And what's this?"

"It's my sword!" Tara told him, glowing with satisfaction. "Look at it! You too, Morrigan! It's for mages. Let's see if you can touch it. It stings everybody else!"

"Have fun with that," Bronwyn said, "I must really look at Fergus' letter."

While the mages played with Spellweaver, and Zevran showed the others the golden plunder of the dragon worshipers, Bronwyn broke the seal of Highever, and her eyes devoured Fergus' words, written in their private code.

Dearest sister—

Take all the thrones of Thedas and welcome, as long as you leave me Highever!

Yes, I am smiling, but not in jest. I considered your words and your schemes. I think it would be best at this time if I were your tanist, rather than leaving the North to be King. That is, until the Blight is over, and you and Loghain can make some fierce baby warriors to continue your line. Perhaps the Grey Warden lore is nonsense. Couslands do their duty, and never fail to breed. I would back Cousland fecundity over Warden superstition any day! But have it as you will: name me your heir at the Landsmeet. It will satisfy the fears of some.

Marrying Loghain may help you win a throne, but I wonder if it will make you a happy woman. That reservation aside, I am not going to tell you how to feel, nor how to give your heart. I caution you only to guard yourself and hold your honor high, as always. It is you who will be Queen by right of blood. Loghain and his sworn men in the Landsmeet may well insist on granting him the Crown Matrimonial, but you will always be the Queen. Father and Mother would be so proud.

I thank you for the gift of Ser Adam Hawke. He has done good service here, and from our first meeting. Someday I shall tell you about that, and we shall laugh. A fine fellow, and a pleasant companion.

The last of Howe's men fled west. Word is that they will sue the Crown for pardon. They may receive such a pardon, but they will not travel through this teyrnir. I shall insist that they be shipped south to take part in the fight against the darkspawn, as they should have months ago.

Other Howe henchmen rioted in the town, and were slain. The North belongs to the Couslands once more. Howe left a great treasure of gold behind. That is the good news.

The bad news is that the gold will be sorely needed. Highever itself and the villages of the teyrnir were ruthlessly looted, as was the castle itself. The unhappy elves were sold and their Alienage leveled. Only a handful remain, hidden by kindly townsfolk. Howe was building some sort of pleasure palace for himself on the site of the Alienage. I will not be continuing that work, and am still considering what is best to do with the half-finished foundations. Perhaps I shall have some stone houses built there, or sell off the house lots. We may be getting a great many new people in town, with the end of fighting and so many coming north to avoid the darkspawn.

Your room will be ready for you whenever it pleases Your Majesty to visit. Much was lost, but not everything. I am erecting a marker at the mass grave where our dear ones and our good friends and servants lie together.

I will endeavor to put Highever and Amaranthine is such good order that it will be possible for me to come to the Landsmeet to support you. In fact, I would like to go to Denerim earlier than that. The Queen will need help as her rule comes to an end; and perhaps it would be best to petition her in person and settle the matter of Howe's men before the Landsmeet gets its grubby collective hands on it. Some of the Howe's officers have kinsmen among the nobles.

So let us say that we shall meet again in Haring, and perhaps even sooner. I seem to recall that our Cousin Habren is marrying Urien Kendall in Harvestmere. I do not see how I can manage to attend the wedding, but I have sent a gift to the happy couple from the treasury of Rendon Howe: a great platter of enameled silver, patterned with the night stars. I wish them joy of it. You must send them something handsome yourself, or they will remember the lapse and hate you until the day they die.

All this talk of marriages wearies me. Do not say it. I know my duty and will do it, but I shall not marry only for power and influence. Love is the greatest adventure of all; and having known true happiness, and having seen it in our parents' marriage, I will settle for nothing less. Nor should you.

Your loving brother,

Fergus

"Dear, dear Fergus!" Bronwyn burst out. No one could have a better, kinder, wiser brother. Her friends were coming over, looking concerned, intensely curious about the letter. Bronwyn mastered her face, and looked up with a smile. "He's well. Highever is his. Carver! Your brother is safe with mine, and Fergus is very pleased with him."

"Of course he is," muttered Carver. "Everybody loves Adam."

Bronwyn knew better than to talk Carver out of his resentment, and splashed her face with cold water and tried to organize her ghastly hair. She had Fergus' leave to pursue the crown. She had the Ashes, her debt of honor to Anora; paid for with the blood of her faithful Warden Cullen and the people of Haven. She would lay it all before Loghain, and they would take this kingdom for their own.

Thanks to my reviewers: demonicnargles, Nemrut, Aoir24, RakeeshJ4, blinded in a bolthole, EpitomyofShyness, Oleander's One, Zute, Dante Alighieri1308, Hydroplatypus, Kira Kyuu, euromellows, Rexiselic, MsBarrows, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, JackOfBladesX, Girl-chama, Herebedragons66, KnightOfHolyLight, tgcgoddess, Judy, kirbster676, Jenna53, Jyggilag, almostinsane, mille libri, Eva Galana, Josie Lange, Tsu Doh Nimh, Shakespira, Untamed of Wildwind, Costin, Gene Dark, SkaterGirl246, unlock. your. heart, and Enaid Aderyn.

The chantry sister's story is derived from The Prioress's Tale by Chaucer. In her version the villains are Jews. Accusing despised groups of ritual child murder has a long and shameful history. I'm absolutely certain the chantry would promulgate stories like this to inculcate fear and suspicion of mages. I added my own twist of a "virtuous informer." I'm willing to bet that there is a standard bounty for information on secret mages.

Yes, the gown is THAT gown of Rowan's, worn in a critical scene in The Stolen Throne. Yes, Loghain is pretty sure to recognize it.

With this arc complete, I will turn now to a chapter of Keening Blade.