Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 73: Dangerous Lives
"We're stuck inside again," Walther complained, sleet dripping from his cloak. "It's coming down even harder now."
The common room of the Spoiled Princess Inn was a cozy hideaway from the weather. Tara and her party had arrived here on Satinalia Eve, and had taken the two rooms available, waiting for word from Astrid.
Walther shook himself at the threshold, reminding Tara of a dog—but not one as well-trained as Bronwyn's Scout. He and Griffith had gone fishing, and he smelled like it. He tracked in sludgy clumps of melting snow, which rapidly became dismal little puddles. His string of lake trout spread their doubtful fragrance through the smoky room.
Felsi, the dwarven barmaid, snapped her towel in his face and snarled at him. "Wipe your boots on the mat, you great slobbering bronto! And take those stinking fish to the kitchen."
"Hey!" Walther protested without much heat. All the same, he made a great show of clomping back to the ragged mat and meticulously stamping his boots clean.
The door opened again, and Griffith nearly tripped over Walther.
"Better wipe your boots," Walther muttered. "Felsi's on a rampage again."
The maid wasn't having any of that. "Try not leaving your filthy smallclothes lying on the floor when I go to do up your room. Then I won't tell the countryside that Wardens are pigs."
Brosca, Sigrun, and Jukka looked up from their game of knucklebones, sniggering. "Some Wardens are pigs," Sigrun agreed, elbowing Jukka.
"Pigs are good," Jukka replied, in sober judgment. "That roast pig we had yesterday was really good. Better than roast nug any day."
Tara raised her voice in command. "No leaving of smallclothes on the floor…or on chairs…or on the bar. That's an order. Wardens who behave like pigs will be roasted like them."
Mild chuckles. Everyone was too sleepy and too mellow for much excitement. The thing about a proper holiday, Tara reflected, was that you needed another holiday to recover from it.
"Fishing was good, though," Griffith said humbly. He and Walther tramped off with their catch, and there was discussion and debate in the kitchen.
Tara sat back, resting her eyes from her book. Everybody seemed happy enough. Darach was industriously mending the fletching on an arrow. He glanced at Tara and gave her a brief smile, and then was engrossed again in his craft, only remarking. "Trout is good. Baked in the ashes is best, but lightly fried in butter is good, too. It is a shame, my friends, that you have not tasted halla butter."
"Mmmm, butter," Brosca murmured, the word lingering on her tongue. "I hope whatever we get for supper has lots of butter in it. I never tasted butter until I made it to the surface. Let's pity the poor blighters below! No butter for them."
Tara spared a thought for Astrid, spending her holiday in the Deep Roads. Of course, a dwarf wouldn't mind being underground, but there was a horrible world of difference between the city of Orzammar and the Deep Roads. At least Astrid had Shale with her. Tara was not looking forward to her own stint in the Deep Roads. Personally, she was absolutely thrilled to be sitting in a cozy little tavern, with a mug of good ale and an interesting book.
She had just enjoyed her first Satinalia in freedom—at least that she could remember. She had carefully paid everyone their wages, and she had laid out some of the company's coin for a tasty feast. They had all got incredibly drunk and noisy and it had mostly been fun. Also odd, and lonely in some ways. She would have liked to have spent the day with old friends like Jowan and Anders…and Zevran, of course.
A shame Zevran wasn't with her, but he was probably having even more fun in Denerim. It's not like they would have any private time together, with everyone crowded three or four to a room here at the inn. Luckily, the bed in her room was made for humans, and Tara, Sigrun, and Brosca fit on it quite nicely as long as nobody moved. Anyway, Zevran would be at Bronwyn's wedding, and she would not, worse luck. He could tell her all about it someday. The sooner Astrid joined her here, the sooner they could head north to that West Hill place.
They had meant to go spend some coin in the village today, but everyone was too sleepy and too hung over to get up before noon. They had spent a lazy day instead, possibly the laziest day Tara had ever known. It was rather…delightful, in its own way. Darach had gone for a long walk by the lake and gathered a basket of delicious little honey quinces for a snack; and Griffith and Walther had tended to the oxen and finally gone fishing. The dwarves had played games and gossiped. Tara had done nothing…blissful nothing.
Tomorrow. She'd get back to work tomorrow. If the weather let up, they'd go to the village and stock up a bit. Maybe buy a trifle or two with the coin burning holes in their purses. Jukka needed his boots repaired. No one had had time or coin to put together much in the way of gifts for Satinalia, but Tara promised herself that if soap was to be had, she would buy everyone under her command a cake. And order them to use it.
They'd been lucky on the march along the Lake Road. Even the hungry wolves had kept their distance, though their distant howls at night had made Tara long for a big brave dog like Scout. Bronwyn had warned her of bandits and darkspawn stragglers, but the worst they had encountered were some bold beggars, a charlatan selling fake magic books, and a pair of dour Templars going the other way.
The Templars narrowed their eyes at Tara's staff, but she smirked at them and tapped the griffon on her tunic.
"Grey Wardens! Saving the world since 890 T.E.!"
Her party had backed her up with ironic cheers until the Templars were out of sight. She didn't let her friends see her shiver. You never knew who was behind those big bucket helmets.
Musing by the fire, Tara wondered if the Templars were on their way to Redcliffe. Probably. Redcliffe Chantry was still understaffed when she was last there. Or maybe the Arl wanted some Templars at the castle to protect his fancy chapel. Or maybe they were invited to the wedding. Such a lot of weddings. Tara hoped that the Arl of Redcliffe's wedding was nicer than the Arl of Denerim's had been. Rumor said Arl Urien was dead. Tara thought it couldn't happen to a more deserving fellow. The Alienage elves had told he was a swine, even before he begot and raised Vaughan to be an even bigger swine. Bronwyn's cousin had had a lucky escape.
"Another round, Warden?" the innkeeper asked. He was a nice man, Tara thought. He had been nice when she had first come here after Bronwyn recruited her, too.
"Sure. Why not?" She lifted her brimming tankard. "Here's to leading dangerous lives...tomorrow!"
A very savory smell was drifting out to them from the kitchen. It seemed that the trout would be fried.
"Mmmmm, butter," Brosca sighed happily.
Quinn's great strength had proved most useful. Danith was pleased with him.
Even more useful was Niall's magic. He, with Keeper Marethari and five mages from related clans, had joined in cleansing the burial chamber in the vast temple in the depths of the Brecilian Forest. The torn Veil was repaired and the spirits laid to rest. The werewolves had been annihilated on their last visit. The dead dragon was found and its bones were even now in the capable hands of Masters Ilen and Valanthorn, being turned into the finest of elven weapons. Even the giant spiders were no more.
Danith felt that the entire trip had been worth it for this. Had Bronwyn intended it when she sent Danith on this mission? Perhaps so. If that was the case, then Danith was obliged to her, and would think better of her wisdom and her honor in future. The temple—or palace—or fortress— was enormous, and they had found yet more chambers in the upper levels. Some glazing even remained in a few of the windows, the glass now turned an opalescent pale purple with age. The clan had slain and exorcized the restless spirits there.
"It will need work," Marethari sighed, looking about her at the elegant decay. "It will take much work. It will be the work of generations before all this is restored to what it once was, but such secrets are here! I have found whole shelves of books in the ancient tongue. This can be our place of council! This can be our refuge! Rooted here, we elvhen can again grow strong!"
The Dalish did not work in stone, but that, too, must change. Her dwarven Wardens, Ketil and Idunn, looked about them, muttering and nodding. Neither of them were masons, either, but dwarves always knew about stone. And it would not be impossible to persuade dwarven masons to seek employment here and teach some young elves their craft.
First of all, the place needed a good cleaning. The boy Quinn labored willingly with many of Danith's clan, removing ages of filth and debris from the upper chambers and halls of the temple. The next order of business would be to destroy those great tree roots that were prying apart the great edifice. Elves revered trees, but these wayward roots were in the wrong place, and taking what was not rightfully theirs.
The clan had decided to winter here. There was good hunting in the vicinity, and plenty of room for everyone. Even the halla could be protected. The clan could continue their work of cleaning and purifying the place; disposing decently of the ancient bones, and plying their crafts in safety and comfort.
No darkspawn had been seen east of the White River. The clans were discreetly patrolling near the bridges at the Brecilian Passage, and had seen little darkspawn activity. The resistance at Ostagar had been effective enough to prevent the darkspawn from spilling much past the occasional raids near Lothering. Dalish scouts had clashed with the monsters in the Southron Hills, but the darkspawn had been few and scattered. All in all, the war was going well.
Danith stalked through the long corridors, peering into dusty chambers not yet attended to. Memories were everywhere: some proud, some rather disturbing. She had not behaved well here, and when she had paid her Wardens yesterday, she had conscientiously not paid herself. Bronwyn had punished her lightly, after all. Danith knew she herself would not have been so lenient with a shemlen who had betrayed her. Besides, the stoppage of pay was no burden. Danith was not short of funds, what with the plunder she had amassed in her time as a Warden. Nonetheless, the memories here were a punishment of sorts, and an admonishment to do her duty in future.
Shemlen, it seemed, made a great deal about Satinalia, feasting and giving gifts. The Dalish traditionally made more of the coming of spring, but they were not farmers, as the shemlen were. Niall, as a mage, had never had coin or opportunity to give or receive presents, but Maeve had knit socks for everyone in her spare time. Maeve joked that it took more time to knit socks for Quinn's big feet than for all the rest together. The shemlen woman could not be much more than ten years older than the boy, but she tended to mother him, nonetheless.
Knitting was a curious art, and one not practiced by the elvhen, but the socks were warm, and Danith expressed her thanks by giving Maeve a pretty silver amulet she had found on a darkspawn. The shemlen worship of the woman Andraste meant nothing to Danith, but Maeve valued such things. The dwarves, too, seemed to like the idea of a holiday to celebrate their accomplishments and their newly won coin. In the end they had put together a little festival of their own, and everyone had given and received something. It was a good way to bring the band together. In a way, they were Danith's clan now, and she was their Keeper. She must look after their spirits as well as their bodies.
It would be pleasant to stay here, forgetting the war; forgetting the rest of the world. They could be safe here, cleaning and repairing the great temple; telling stories and singing songs; hunting and fishing and gathering. Danith was tempted to settle down here, where one could be a snug as in a spider's cocoon.
For that very reason, they must leave soon. There was much to do. She had achieved part of her mission: she had explored the Gwaren Deep Roads entrance; she had made contact with her clan and others, and had received reliable intelligence that the darkspawn had not penetrated into the Brecilian Forest east of the White river; she had reconnoitered at the temple and confirmed that this place would be the one most suitable for the Dalish homeland.
However, Bronwyn wanted her to make her way to Denerim, to join her there at the Compound, unless the weather made it impossible. In all honor, Danith could not claim that. While the weather was turning cold, there was no reason they could not move on to Denerim. Before she did that, there were matters at hand.
Most importantly, there was more scouting to be done west of the river, where Danith had encountered darkspawn herself, long before she was made a Warden. After assessing the degree to which they had infiltrated, she could give Bronwyn a much better picture of the general security of the southeastern portion of Ferelden. And there was another matter than gnawed at her.
This great temple was not the only elven structure in the Brecilian Forest. Last spring, when out hunting with with her dear Tamlen, Danith had found the mysterious cave that led to a hidden structure very like this—though much smaller. It was there she and Tamlen had unleashed an ancient horror that had taken Tamlen from her and nearly cost her own life as well. It had forced her from the clan, to live on in exile and as a Grey Warden. Deep within an inner chamber, Danith and Tamlen had found a large and curious mirror. Occasionally, Danith wondered what had become of it. Perhaps she should find out.
"The mirror, Keeper," Danith said finally, coming to her for a private word one evening after supper. "The mirror that took Tamlen..."
Concerned and not pleased, Marethari looked at her doubtfully. "What is it that you wish to know, dal'en?:"
"What became of it? We tried to smash it, and I remember nothing more."
"The mirror was Tainted, da'len," the Keeper replied gently. "It was full of darkspawn poison. I think it had been there a very, very long time. Perhaps it was set as a trap, and then forgotten. Or perhaps…" she smiled faintly. "Perhaps it had been there for many ages, a useful tool of the elvhen, and then the darkspawn happened on it and corrupted it. Yes," she mused. "that is most likely."
"Is it still in the cave, Keeper? I had thought to look at that place again, since it is on the other side of the river and we found darkspawn there at the time. However, I must warn my people to take care near it."
"It is…gone," Marethari confessed, her clear eyes grown shifty and reluctant. "It was in our camp for some time, but later I hid it away. It attracted too much attention of the worst kind."
"Who would want a broken mirror?" Danith laughed.
"Merrill."
Seeing Danith's astonishment, Marethari looked away in shame. "I sent Merrill to Ostagar to get her away from the mirror. She was taking an unhealthy interest in it. She had found a reference to it in one of our few books preserved from the time of the Dales."
"Tainted mirrors?" Danith objected, all at sea amidst the Keeper's obfuscations.
"It is an artifact of ancient Arlathan," Marethari whispered, staring deeply into the fire. "It was an eluvian."
"I have never heard of such a thing."
Speaking very softly, Marethari told her an astounding tale. Eluvians had been only one of the many wonders of the ancient empire of the elvhen. Much of what they were used for had been lost to history, but some knowledge had survived. Among other, secret things, eluvians had been used for communication over vast distances. An eluvian in distant Arlathan could have communicated with the one in the Brecilian Forest with just as much speed as it took Marethari and Danith, seated here together, to exchange words.
"But they are lost," Marethari mourned. "Only this one has been discovered in all these long ages, and it is broken and defiled."
"What did Merrill want with it, then?" Danith asked, puzzled. "It is useless."
"Merrill believed that it could be repaired, and untold wonders would be revealed. She means well, but talked too much of it. She even wanted to take it to Ostagar with her, but I managed to persuade her at the last minute that it would be completely shattered by such a long journey. She had brought it to camp to study it—a piece of hideous recklessness on her part. Once she was gone I tried to destroy it with fire, but failed. The enchantments are powerful. So, with great care, I took it to a remote part of the forest and buried it deep in the earth." She smiled wryly. "And planted a tree over its grave. Thus passed the last known eluvian of the elvhen. Merrill will never forgive me, but it is for the best."
Danith sat back, considering. Part of her longed to see that wondrous mirror again, and was deeply disappointed that she would not. She almost asked the Keeper where the mirror had been buried, and then, with a trickle of fear, wondered if that was the evil magic of the thing, tempting her as it had before. She must think no more of it.
"It is well," she said briefly. "The hidden place will make an excellent camp for hunters, especially in inclement weather. If the spirits are indeed gone from it, we should let the clans know of its existence. While it would not lie within the borders of the realm of the elvhen, our scouts and hunters will still range far and wide. Since we found darkspawn there once, I will take my party there, and we will scour the land for more signs of them." She gave Marethari an odd, sad smile. "Perhaps I met yet find Tamlen."
"Tamlen is lost, dal'en," Marethari said, touching her hand gently. "Lost."
The Wardens departed the next day, looked back wistfully at the marvelous temple, and headed west. It was one of those brilliant autumn days of cool, still air and radiant sunshine. The halla stepped daintily on the carpet of fallen leaves, and the Wardens grew cheerful with the pleasant walk. Danith noted how much better Niall was keeping up. The unhealthy layer of white flab she had noted in many of the Circle Wardens was now lean muscle, and he seemed happier, fitter; more his own man and less a poor prisoner of the priest-folk.
Life was easy, and game plentiful. Even the dwarves were learning the lore of stream and tree; which animals were good to eat, and which should be avoided. They camped, and journeyed on. They did not take the wide dirt road that led to the town of South Reach, but instead plunged into the forest, following a game trail south. This narrow path was often used by the Dalish, as they passed quietly through the trees, evading the shemlen villages. Danith had a written pass which gave her and her Wardens the freedom of the Arl of South Reach's castle, but she would go there only if she must.
Her preference was to explore the trails, seeking out darkspawn; then to see the little hideway with eyes unclouded by fear and pain, and finally, when she had done all she could do, to turn north, and make for Denerim overland by the lesser backroads. Enough people traveled on the West Road that word would spread if darkspawn were seen there. Better to discover what might be lurking in secret.
A time-worn but excellent bridge spanned the White River east of South Reach, just below The Falls of Cormac. It was a place of astonishing natural beauty, and Danith took great pleasure in leading her Wardens here. They stopped to eat their midday meal under a sheltered slope, a fine view of the falls before them. Their halla cropped the verdure with graceful content. White spray diffused the light into soft glints of color. The rushing water boomed as it crashed down and swirled under the bridge. The air was chill, but still full of life. Danith loved this spot.
"My clan camped in this place early last spring," she told them. "It is not far from here that I encountered darkspawn and found an underground dwelling of the elvhen."
"It still sounds very strange," Steren remarked, "for the elvhen to live underground."
"I think it's clever," Maeve spoke up. "You said it was accessed by a cave. Caves have the same temperature year round. If you didn't want to spoil the countryside, but wanted a snug place to live, why not construct it in the most sheltered way? In the Southron Hills, where I'm from, people often build their homes into hillsides, and roof them with sod, so you can hardly tell there's a house there."
"I've seen those sod houses!" Quinn waved his enormously long arms in excitement. "One had goats browsing on the roof! The place was covered with clover and meadowsweet."
Idunn shrugged. As a dwarf, all of this made sense. "Obviously, it's smarter to live underground, even if it's just underground. Those ancient elves were supposed to be smart, so it follows that they would build smart, too."
Ketil shrugged. Living underground was so obviously logical that there was no need to belabor the point.
The conversation struck Danith deeply. There was much in what they said. The great temple to the east was not entirely below ground. A handsome dome rose imposingly above the trees crowning the structure. In addition, there was a large wing on the south side that was three levels in height. Most of that wing had not been explored when she was here with Bronwyn, for the door was concealed and had only been located when Marethari had had the time to walk completely about the entire structure and consider ways in which the inside did not match the outside. Then, after painstaking search, doorways had been revealed and opened. Most of the these new chambers and passages were unhaunted, but were instead the lairs of birds and mice. Many were bright and airy, and might be most pleasant abodes in warm weather. The ones at the topmost levels were open to the sky, the roofs having collapsed long ago.
However, the greater part of the structure was underground, safe from weather and insulated from great variations in temperature. One was used to the idea that an important building must be a tower, for that was the way the Tevinters built. But perhaps the elvhen of old did not think that was necessary or beautiful, and created buildings that harmonized with the natural world, rather than flaunted their domination of it. It was…a pleasant thought.
At the temple, the clan had taken up housekeeping in the big entry chamber and the rooms opening from it. There, they would be sheltered against the fiercest winds and heaviest snows. Summer grass was being dried and stored for the halla, even though the resourceful creatures could subsist well on tree bark in the cold of winter.
The hidden place she was seeking west of the river was entirely underground, with some openings among the rocks cunningly arranged to permit light. She remembered seeing sockets for torches and brackets that appeared to be some sort of fixture for more illumination. Danith knew that the dwarves had created underground lighting that burned for ages. Perhaps her elven ancestors had also devised such wonders.
She needed to see the place again: the place where Tamlen had disappeared and her old life had been taken from her. She needed to see if the darkspawn were still there, or if they had left traces of their passing. She needed to be sure—if there was the least possibility—that she had done all she could do to find out what had become of Tamlen.
The underground place had other uses as well. Word was out about the elven temple, but the shemlen did not know about the other, smaller place Danith had discovered. The shemlen Chantry would come prying eventually, making the same sort of trouble that had ultimately caused the loss of the Dales. The Keepers were taking council about that. There were old magics that could be used to hide part of the Dalish lands. Not all of them, Marethari advised: let the priests think they had seen everything, but protect the temple and deflect their attention to the deep forests. They would wander round and round, convinced that the Dalish were few in number, and living exactly like the animals they hunted. If they found the smaller place, they might think that that was the ancient temple, and go home, satisfied and contemptuous.
She thought the mouth of the cave was graven in her memory forever, but it was not so. Fortunately, she had spoken at length with Marethari, who had not only come to rescue her when she was injured, but had returned there twice. After striking the false path a number of times, she at last struck on the true one, and soon found the curious opening in the earth. It was late, and the sun's rays slanted at a low angle. The forest murk was close around them, and little light penetrated into the cave mouth.
"Is this it, Dantih?" Niall asked, anxiously peering into the depths. "It looks like a hole in the ground."
"That's what a cave is, mageling," Ketil grunted.
Danith smirked at Niall, and sniffed at the air, but smelled only old mold and dust.
"Yes. This is it. I am certain. It is growing dark, and the halla need tending.. Let us camp here tonight, and explore in the morning. We need to examine this site for darkspawn traces, anyway."
Marethari had assured her that they had burned the Taint where they found it, but Danith would not be easy until she done it for herself. Black scars here and there showed where Marethari's fires had cleansed. Now at the beginning of Firstfall, the forest was no longer lush. Many trees were entirely bare of leaves, and after careful search, a few near the cave revealed threads and blots of Taint that might before have been concealed by foliage. Niall carefully seared this away, hoping not to kill the trees altogether, but to prevent the slow decay of Taint.
"The Deep Roads are foul from the darkspawn," Danith said. "Black and foul. We cannot let the Taint take this great forest, as it has the Deep Roads."
Ketil demurred. "The stone of the Deep Roads isn't Tainted. You can't Taint stone. The Taint grows on the lichen on the rocks, you see, and builds up in creeping strands," he explained. "And if blood is spilled or flesh hacked, it grows there, too. All this wood is in a lot more danger than any stone."
"All the more reason to cleanse it thoroughly," Danith said primly. thinking back to the underground building. She was of two minds about seeing it again. It was where she had last seen Tamlen. Filthy spiders had lived there, and evil spirits. Yet while haunted and dirty, it had not shown the kind of Taint they had seen in the Deep Roads near Ostagar. For that matter, the entrance at Gwaren had been thick with crackling black dust of old and rotten Taint, but she had seen nothing of that marring the little underground elven dwelling. Some elegance remained, like the fine bones in the face of an aged beauty.
So they searched the area carefully, brushing branches aside and poking through dead leaves and fallen trees. After a while they grew thirsty, and Quinn and Maeve were sent to fill everyone's canteens in the nearby stream. Danith returned to her examination of the forest, hearing their laughter and horseplay from afar. Her eye was caught by a jewel-like beetle, scuttling busily up the bough of a beech trees. It was a harmless creature: its green carapace iridescent and shining. Danith reached out to pick it up, thinking to show it to her friends.
Steren sniffed the air and quickly lifted a hand in silent warning. Danith caught it, too, hardly noticing as the insect made its escape. Half scent, half some nameless sense tingling at the back of her thoughts, she knew that their enemies were upon them. She thought with horror of Maeve and Quinn, gone to the stream for water…
"To arms!" she shouted. Dwarven voices ceased in the tents, and Ketil rolled out onto the stony ground, already drawing his weapons.
"Move!" growled Idunn, stumbling over him. The dwarf woman crouched, sword and dagger clenched in white-knuckled tension. The air moved and rippled, and a horrible chuckling rose up behind them. There was an ominous pause, and with a loud and horribly musical cry of "Hoon! Hoon!" the darkspawn revealed themselves and rose up to claw at them.
"Shrieks!" screamed Idunn.
"They're all shrieks!" Nuala screamed back, stabbing one of the monsters in the eye with an arrow.
The knowledge that all these creatures had been born of an elven woman made them even more horrible to Danith. Grotesque, pointed ears rose up like horns from their skulls. They did not run, like elves, but bounded like monstrous hares. They did not even carry weapons or wear armor, but fought like beasts, with fang and claw.
Danith brought down one, or nearly. It thrashed and screeched, pinned to the earth, until Ketil swung his axe.
Creators! They were surrounded. There must be six of the creatures, barreling toward them, rearing up, claws extended—
A blade clove one of creatures' brain in two. It fell, and Quinn was revealed, canteens still slung over his shoulders.
Niall had been too shocked to respond at first, but he was fighting now. He froze a pair of the shrieks into bizarre statues of ice. Maeve, running up, shattered one to bloody shards. One by one, the creatures were brought down and destroyed, still hooning.
The last of the shrieks was smaller than the rest, and clothed in ragged leathers. His gait was different, too...not the loping beast-charge of the shriek, but more man-like. It was running at her. Danith took careful aim and sighted down the shaft... The creature paused, staring at her.
"Lethallan," it croaked.
Shocked stupid, Danith lowered her bow and stared. The creature came forward, walking like a man, hands outstretched. Danith scrambled back from the thing—the dead thing— the blackened and foul, hairless and white-eyed thing.
"Lethallan," it pleaded.
"It speaks!" Steren shouted. "It is an...elf!" His pause made his words almost a question, but who could recognize one of the elvhen is this pitiful monster?
Danith, tempted to hope, came forward. She had survived. Perhaps…
"Tamlen?" she whispered.
"Back, monster!" shouted Nuala, planting an arrow deep between the creature's feet.
It cringed away, hiding its ruined face with unnaturally long fingers. "Danith, lethallan, do not look upon me! I did not know it was you in this camp!"
"Friend of yours?" Idunn asked outright, ready to strike him down.
Danith stared the more, her worst fears realized. She had been saved. Why not Tamlen?
"Tamlen..." she managed. "I can help you. Cure you. There must be some way."
Bronwyn had told them the formula for the Joining potion…what was it? Darkspawn blood… Niall had some lyrium… surely she could get to Denerim… Bronwyn must have the Archdemon blood…
"No," came Tamlen's distorted, muffled voice. "There is no hope. Nothing can help me. I hear the song now, and it is my only comfort."
"The song?" Quinn whispered to Maeve. "Does it mean the Archdemon's song? Is that a darkspawn?"
"It's a ghoul," Ketil grunted, his axe still raised. "It happens to dwarves, when they get the Taint in them. They start looking like darkspawn, and then they go crazy. Never saw an elf ghoul before, though. Better to kill it, Danith. It'll spread Taint, and it's likely to turn on you in a flash. Once they start hearing the song, they're the slaves of the darkspawn."
"He's right," Idunn agreed, sturdily backing up her friend. "You'd be doing him a favor. I'd rather be dead than a ghoul."
The Wardens hefted their weapons. Without a sound, the ghoul fled, rushing silently back along the forest path toward the stream.
"Tamlen!" Danith cried, racked with grief. Hardly conscious of herself, she dashed after him, forgetting her companions, forgetting everything.
"Danith, wait!" shouted Niall, trying to follow. A branch hit him in the face.
"Come on!" Quinn roared, sprinting away.
Danith raced ahead, wanting to find Tamlen, talk to him, help him; but hardly knowing what she would do if she caught him. The bare branches formed an endless tunnel, keeping her from Tamlen. She crashed through them, calling his name. Her Wardens chased her, puffing and shouting, but she paid them no heed.
The trees thinned out near the stream, and she saw him at the bank: his back turned to her, crouched, trembling. She slowed her pace and put out her hand to touch his shoulder.
"Tamlen…"
Like a snake, he struck out at her with a dagger in each hand. Her reflexes were good enough to evade the right-hand stab, but his left-hand dagger slashed her across her ribs, grinding against them. She screamed out in pain and surprise. He lunged at her again, his eyes mad, his teeth bared in a snarl. Danith stumbled backwards, and fell, her breath knocked from her, blood slicking her belly. Tamlen shrieked in triumph, and reared back to strike.
And in that instant, Niall's hex turned him to ice, and he became a moment of violence frozen in time. A second later Quinn's greatsword cut him in two. The bottom half fell to the water's edge. The top half, spurting blood, collapsed forward, arms outstretched.
"Well struck!" bellowed Ketil. "That was a mighty blow indeed!" He slapped the boy on the back, like a proud father.
"Niall!" Maeve shouted, "Danith's hurt!"
They crowded around Danith, concerned and sympathetic. Nuala fetched water, and the wound was cleaned and mended.
Idunn patted her on the shoulder. "An old friend of yours, wasn't he? That's hard. We see it in the Legion from time to time. Too much Taint, too many darkspawn, and a friend turns ghoul. It's never easy. I know."
"His name was Tamlen," Danith whispered, not wanting to look at the horror nearby. "He was of my clan."
Steren gave her a serious, compassionate glance. "His body is Tainted, and must be burned. You must rest, while we see to it."
"I shall build up the fire," Nuala said softly, "and make us all something to eat."
Niall finished his healing, and Maeve helped Danith clean herself, her hands gentle. Quinn and Steren were moving the… body away to some flat rocks, talking quietly to Niall, who would destroy its Taint with fire. Tamlen would be free and could go to the Creators cleansed. Burning tears flowed freely, and Maeve put her arm around her, holding her fast. Never, in her strangest dreams, had Danith imagined being helped and comforted by a shemlen woman.
But they had all stood by her: shemlen, durgen'len, and elvhen alike; stood by her when she had lost her head and her judgment; spoken kindly to her and not blamed her. They were all her true clansfolk and friends, and Danith swore she would not fail them again.
It was not so bad, being in charge, Alistair reflected. At least not this time. Aside from Ser Cauthrien, nobody Alistair was particularly in awe of had remained in Ostagar, so there was no need to be embarrassed. And he had lots of help.
Petra and Emrys were better at sums than he was, and they saw to it that he got everybody paid on Satinalia. Better yet, they actually toted up the amounts and made the proper entries into the account books, so nobody would think Alistair was stealing from the Wardens. It was very convenient.
Satinalia had been tremendous fun. They had made puppets and put on a show. Perhaps the most fun was the look on Sten's face, as he sat in the audience watching the Adventures of Black Fox. Maybe it was the quality of Alistair's Orlesian accent as he portrayed the wicked lord of Val Chevin. Oghren wasn't the only one to get completely and utterly stinking drunk. A lot of the garrison had, actually.
He half-sang to himself, "When Loghain's away, the Wardens will play…"
All the cellars under the great complex of buildings at Ostagar had been thoroughly cleaned out. No horrors remained there. Alistair had led a expedition to move along the Deep Roads where they could access it at the Blightwound. Aside from a few blind tunnels, they had encountered no darkspawn in the five miles they had traveled north, nor in the three miles they had gone east. They had found the actual Ostagar access point, which for some reason the darkspawn had not used. Asa thought that perhaps the tunnel there was too narrow and the rock too hard for the horde's convenience. And besides, they had given Ferelden a much nastier surprise emerging in force out of sight.
Right now, more darkspawn were to be found in the mountains and forests overlooking the fortress. The creatures seemed to be impervious to snow and cold, but Petra insisted that couldn't be entirely true, because freezing spells worked on them perfectly well.
It had been Nevin's brilliant idea to try to hunt darkspawn in the mountains while wearing snowshoes. Actually the hunting part had been super. There was absolutely no problem hunting darkspawn through the snow while wearing snowshoes. The problem, as Alistair put it later, was fighting darkspawn while wearing snowshoes. It was tricky. They were lucky that Petra was an absolutely super mage, and that Adaia had brought along enough bombs to blow up all of Ostagar.
As it happened, the bombs had also caused an avalanche, but that had been all right too, since most the snow had fallen on the darkspawn and the Wardens had dug Sten out in time. The Qunari hadn't been very pleased though. Spoilsport.
And tonight, the snow was so heavy and the wind so bitter that there was no question of going anywhere, snowshoes or not. There was nothing to do but sit by the fire and play chess. Or not play chess, since Alistair was a terrible chess player. Emrys, having a gentleman's education, could play the lute a bit, so they all sang songs and got drunk again.
Asa rose to her tiny dwarven height, and announced, "I will now teach all you ignorant sods a good dwarven song. A traditional song. 'Nug Pancakes!'"
"Ewww!" groaned Adaia. "Somebody squashed a nug?"
"Hey!" rumbled Oghren. "Nug pancakes are tasty!" He leered. "Oughta give 'em a try, cutie!"
"Ewwwwwww!"
"Let the dwarf recite her traditional lore," Sten demanded. "it would be less insipid than the conversation."
Asa stared at him owlishly. "All right! Just for that…I will!" She took a deep breath, and then began chanting in a loud, nasal whine:
"Nug sits in the mud
Nug wiggles his ears
You catch the nug, he slips away!
Nug gets to live another day!
Nug sits in the mud
Nug wiggles his toes
You hook the nug, he slips away!
Now the nug runs off to play!
Nug sits in the mud
Nug wiggles his nose
You tickle the nug, he laughs away!
Now the nug sits on my plate!"
Petra, not nearly as drunk as most of them, rolled her eyes. "It sounds like a nursery rhyme!"
"It is a nursery rhyme!" Oghren guffawed. "So what?"
They all laughed themselves silly...well, all but Sten, and he looked like one the novice masters at the monastery: tolerant of holiday idiocy, but looking forward to making their lives hell tomorrow.
Adaia, on the other hand, looked incredibly pretty: dressed in her nice gown, her dark gold hair shining richly in the candleight. She saw Alistair looking, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. At the moment, he couldn't imagine anyone with whom he'd rather be snowed in.
The long dark of the Amgarrack Road was one of the more grueling experiences of Astrid's career. She was deeply glad that the she had the support of Rodyk and his Legion veterans. While the Road was not actively defended by the darkspawn, there were pockets of them everywhere, popping out from side tunnels, ambushing them a half dozen times in the course of every march. There was no doubt in her mind that Tara would beat her to the meeting place, unless things had gone disastrously wrong on the surface. Astrid cherished every rest stop. Grey Warden stamina was a fact, but it could be challenged by constant combat.
Shale had proven its worth a hundred times over. Not just because it had a golem's strength and resistance to damage, but because its mind was whole and unimpaired, and it could fight cleverly, attacking at just the right moment. Astrid had not heard of independent golems, but in her opinion they were definitely the best kind. And her admiration was not one-sided.
"It seems to me that it is superior to most squishy creatures," Shale remarked to Astrid. "It must come of superior origins."
"I am an Aeducan, and the daughter of a king of Orzammar," she replied. "I suppose that might be considered 'superior' in some circles."
"Perhaps that explains it." Shale allowed. "At any rate, its fighting is most satisfactory."
There was another new ally, too: a man she had once known fairly well. She wondered why he was here, but supposed that he would tell her in his own time why he had chosen to travel the Amgarrak Road.
Darion Olmech was a notable scholar, not a warrior. He had chosen to march with the host of Orzammar in order to document their achievements. The Shaper of Memories would want detailed records of the events, of course, and Darion was not the only scholar traveling with the army. He was curious about Shale, and often questioned the golem at length. He had also struck up a friendship of sorts with Aeron, who had an encyclopaedic knowledge of songs and stories from Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches. The two of them exchanged lore at every stop. It was very entertaining.
They were at it again. Aeron was reciting an old tale, rhythm and music in his voice.
"…When Luthias grew to manhood, he became known for his charisma and bravery. While shorter than his fellow warriors, Luthias was stronger and doughtier than any warrior in the tribe. When Luthias was still a young man, Mabene sent him to the dwarven city of Orzammar to negotiate an alliance. Mabene's tribe had come into conflict with other Alamarri, and he needed as much help as he could get.
"Luthias was unable to convince the dwarven king to aid his tribe, but fell in love with the king's daughter, Scaea. Luthias and Scaea fled the dwarven realm and returned to his tribe. Scaea taught Luthias the art of fighting without pain, the berserker state known as the 'battle wrath;' and with it, Luthias became a renowned warrior…"
She would like to hear more of the story, but the rest break was over. "Wardens! Legion!" Astrid shouted, "Prepare to move out!"
"I'll tell you what happened later," Aeron promised Darion, under his breath.
"What was that story you were telling?" Astrid asked.
"The Tale of Luthias Dwarfson," Aeron told her. "A very old Alamarri legend."
"Was this hero really the son of a dwarf?"
"No. Just short."
"It ends badly, does it not?"
Aeron grinned at her. "It's a heroic adventure! Somebody always dies."
"Not if I can help it."
Hunting was the most exhilarating of sports, in Bronwyn's opinion. Nothing less could have coaxed the high nobility of Fereldan out in questionable weather to race and chase about the lower reaches of Dragon's Peak.
Decimated as their numbers were, they still made a brave display: tents with the colors and arms of the Crown and great houses of the land; splendid horses in brilliant trappings; a mob of servants assuring that the their betters would enjoy the simplicity of outdoor life without lifting a hand to anything other than a weapon or a wine goblet; and the lords and ladies themselves, in their finest riding array.
Bronwyn had been promising herself a day to investigate the rumored blood mage hideout, but had not had a moment to herself. She was pulled from one place to another: first with fittings for her wedding gown, then with arrangements for the feast at Highever House. She must attend meetings of the Crown Council. Her Wardens needed her guidance, and Loghain demanded her attention. And every noble in the city seemed to be seeking her favor and inviting her to banquets and balls and salons. A traveler from foreign parts, seeing all the festivities, might never guess that this nation was at war with unnatural ancient monsters, and threatened by its nearest neighbor. Despite the whirl of gaiety, Bronwyn had plenty of serious business to think about.
What was she to do with Leliana? Bronwyn was fond of her. Leliana was brave and skilled and a delightful companion. Because of her, Bronwyn had learned of a deep and sinister conspiracy against the security of Ferelden. However, Leliana was fanatically devoted to the Chantry, and could not be kept from telling them everything. She was incapable of seeing that she was doing wrong or causing trouble by doing so. Bronwyn was now extremely sorry that she had brought her to Denerim. She should have sent her off on one of the patrols, and let her fight darkspawn, which, to be honest, Leliana did extremely well.
Well, she must think of something. Jowan had also annoyed her, but she had already decided that Jowan would return to Soldier's Peak and act as a liaison and assistant to Avernus. She would send him immediately after the wedding, with a pair of new Wardens, a wagon train of supplies, and perhaps the Wolfs. Jowan had shown no ill effects from Avernus' potion—rather the contrary—and Bronwyn was inclined to ask for her own dose.
But Leliana, Leliana, Leliana! What to do? Perhaps she should send Leliana to Soldier's Peak as well, and put her in charge of refurbishing the place. That was the sort of work her bard would do well, as long as she was given a budget and orders not to exceed it. Yes, perhaps that was the thing to do. It would get her away from Denerim altogether. Leliana would be sorry to miss the Landsmeet, but Bronwyn did not want her talking to every priest, brother, and Templar in Denerim.
Today was meant to be a day of pleasure, and Bronwyn determinedly put her Warden issues aside. When had she last gone on a great hunt like this? Not for over a year, and that was just a family hunt in Highever. She sighed, and put her parents' faces from her mind as well.
Arl Wulffe's little hunting lodge at Stonycroft was too small to house his guests, and Fergus' neighboring manor was even smaller, so they had fallen back on the common expedient of bringing tents. Dinner would be served indoors—at least for the nobles. Bronwyn hoped the weather would not disappoint them.
She was dressed for hunting in elegant hunting leathers, brown highlighted by green dagging at shoulders and hips. She was carrying her sword and dagger, of course, but had also brought a bow and arrows, in addition to a cylindrical case containing a number of Master Wade's special spring-loaded spears. It would be interesting to see what they did to a charging wild boar. Slung across her shoulder was Kolgrim's magnificent dragon horn. It should do splendidly in the hunting field.
Scout was excited and restless, obviously eager for action. Everyone in Denerim was spoiling him with treats, Palace and Compound alike, and he needed to work off the excess smoked sausage with a long run on the mountain.
Another party was arriving, their herald carrying the South Reach ensign. Habren's shrill voice rose up from the riders, complaining to her maid about her hair. Of course Habren would insist on coming along. It happened that the day for which Wulffe had arranged the hunt was just beyond her prescribed thirty days of deep mourning. Arl Urien, it seemed, was utterly forgotten. Life went on.
The Hawkes were nearby, talking in low, excited tones. Fergus had found horses for them, and even Leandra would ride part of the way, though she had not promised to keep up with the hunters. They all looked very nice. Bronwyn noticed, with a hint of amusement, how Leandra was fussing over Charade, whose prospects were almost as shining as her own. Had Rothgar approached her? Carver was here, blooming with the notice his good looks attracted, no doubt happy not to be compared today, at least, with his absent brother Adam.
Fergus emerged from the largest of the Highever tents, smoothing his hair.
"Is that the Queen?"
Bronwyn smirked at him. "No. South Reach. You can practice your courtliest bows on Habren. We can only hope her betrothed will not be jealous."
"Who's that with them?"
Bronwyn looked, recognizing all but one of the party. Cousin Leonas had brought his three children, and was accompanied by Aron Kendalls. Riding beside the prospective Arl, on a rather middling horse and accompanied by a mabari, was unquestionably the handsomest young man Bronwyn had ever seen.
Really.
Bronwyn had known quite a few handsome men in her life. Most of her relations among the nobility were good-looking. The nobility, in a sense, bred for looks and courage, just as kennelmasters bred mabari for the same qualities. For that matter, many of her Wardens were remarkably handsome men.
This young man, whose golden hair rippled back from his brow, whose clothes did not quite fit him properly, was quite another order of being.
Fergus grinned at her, whispering, "Don't stare."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You were staring. I saw you. I'll bet my jaunty hunting chapeau that that's Aron Kendalls' younger brother!"
"Holy Maker!" Bronwyn felt herself blushing, and then burst out laughing at herself. "I'm glad I saw him before he saw me!"
"And you must think of your own betrothed," Fergus reproved her virtuously, shaking a finger in the manner of their old tutor Aldous. "Don't let yourself be led astray by a pretty face!"
The South Reach party stopped to chat with acquaintances on their way, and so the Couslands were prepared and Bronwyn moderately in command of herself by the time Bryland brought his family and guests to their tent to greet them. Cousin Leonas and Lady Amell actually blushed, conscious of their situation. Bronwyn gathered from the expressions on the the faces of the children that they had not yet been informed of their elders' plans. The Bryland boys were happy to see all of them, and complained about Killer being left at home.
"He's too young, boys," Bryland said, for what sounded like the hundredth time. "He would only get hurt. Next year."
Habren whispered something to Kendalls, probably telling the younger brother the identity of the people before them. Without permitting Arl Bryland to make the proper introductions. Aron Kendalls gestured to the handsome man behind him to come forward.
"My brother Kane," he said carelessly.
Kane Kendalls' white and even teeth showed to advantage in a broad smile.
"My lord teyrn. My lady."
Bronwyn felt like laughing again. The young man's voice was as alluring as his looks. He bowed gracefully, while his brother looked on with ill-concealed impatience. Habren regarded the younger Kendalls as she would a nicely underdone lamb chop, and seemed ready to eat him up. Fergus and Bronwyn exchanged brief, discreet glances. No wonder Aron Kendalls had not been eager to bring his brother to Denerim.
Scout, for his part, liked the stranger's mabari bitch. She had a lovely chestnut coat.
More horses thundered up the road. Anora arrived with Loghain, and the talk became lively and general. Bronwyn smirked at her brother, who was admiring Anora's long legs. nicely displayed in her hunting leathers and high boots.
Oh, dear. Loghain was glaring at Fergus. Bronwyn nudged her brother, who raised his eyes to Loghain's, and gave him a limpid, innocent smile.
More dogs joined them, baying and jostling. Wulffe waded into the midst of them, greeting everyone affably, talking to the huntsmen. They had a scent and a trail, and word of a big sow not far from the lodge.
"All right!" he roared. "Your Majesty, I pray you do us the honor of leading us out!"
Anora smiled graciously, though Bronwyn suspected she had no great love of hunting. She rode well, however, and looked very attractive on horseback. They set off at a good pace, horns blowing and dogs baying.
Bronwyn winded her own horn, and the music of it echoed off the mountainside. She dug her heels into her horse and followed the hounds.
They would not ride the boar down, of course. Once the dogs had it cornered, it was customary to dismount and finish off the beast with swords and spears. As usual, the hunt all too soon dissolved into chaos: huntsmen galloping hither and yon; dogs distracted by rabbits or taking what they imagined to be shortcuts.
And, as always, some of the participants vanished for most of the day, trysting rather than hunting. They generally made their appearance hours later, very disheveled, with stories of falls and twisted ankles and lame horses.
Loghain seemed as inclined to hunt as Bronwyn, so they stuck with the bulk of the pack. Quite early on, they lost track of Anora and Fergus. Loghain's lips thinned noticeably. Bronwyn forbore to laugh at him. She was having too good a time. She blew a Highever call on her horn, so Fergus would have some idea where she was.
Up a rocky slope they scrambled, and then were in the bracken. A group of riders detached from the main body and began shouting. Scout barked, and took off in pursuit. Laughing, Bronwyn spurred her horse after him. Loghain smiled at her enthusiasm and followed. It was shaping up to be a splendid day.
Well, this is a splendid day, thought Anora. The sun was shining, the air was fresh, and she had for once escaped her tiresome retinue of bodyguards and servants. She and Fergus had turned off down a little narrow path which led them away from the bloody-minded hunters. The horn calls and shouts and barking were fading, and they rode peacefully among tall fir trees.
Fergus cocked his head listening. "That's Bronwyn! She's off after her quarry, I expect."
"It was very thoughtful of Arl Wulffe to plan this escape from our usual daily tasks. My father enjoys hunting, though he rarely has time to indulge himself."
Fergus grinned knowingly. "And you? You don't enjoy hunting? Your appearance would suggest the contrary. I have never seen such a splendid huntress."
She blushed, knowing that she had made an extra effort for him. "Well, a queen must appear like a queen, after all. I do enjoy riding and I don't mind shooting fowl." She gave him an arch look. "In fact, I am a more than adequate archer. As for this sort of hunting? Well...it seems to me all too often to be merely the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable."
He shouted a laugh, and startled a flock of magpies from their trees. They rode on, smiling. After a time, Fergus decided it was time to speak.
"Your Majesty...Anora... it is no small pleasure for me to have you to myself at last."
"Indeed?"
Oh dear, she was being coy, like some dithering milkmaid.
They rode very close, their knees almost touching. Anora risked a quick glance at him, and found him looking at her, steadfast and kind. Cailan had never looked at her in such a way.
He asked, "Have you made plans for what you shall do after the Landsmeet?"
"My father has suggested that I stay on in some administrative capacity. Perhaps even Chancellor..."
"I did not ask what your father planned. What do you want to do?"
Live life! Have a child! Be loved!
She did not speak her thoughts, but instead replied, "I suppose that depends on what is offered me."
He reached out and caught at her reins, halting both the horses.
"Then let me make my offer. I cannot express how much I admire and love you. When I found you alive at the tower chapel, my blood rejoiced as it never did before. My heart, my hand, all that I have is yours, if you will do me the great honor of accepting them."
No man had actually ever asked her to marry him. It all been...arranged. For that matter, it had all been arranged before she had ever met her future husband. She tried to control her face, but some painful hope must have seeped through, for Fergus went on.
"I am no king, but I am an honest man, and I will love and honor you as an honest man loves and honors his wife. We will have a good life together... or as good as the two of us choose to make it. So tell me, lady... will you have me?"
She mastered herself, and said, "It is too soon for any public acknowledgement. People would talk if I did not mourn Cailan for at least a year."
"Let them talk. I was thinking of Guardian."
A wry, helpless laugh escaped her. "And so was I."
He clasped her hand in his. "And so it begins! We think alike, in spite of all the world!" His brown eyes crinkled in a smile, and he pulled her closer. "Do not think me overbold if I seek a pledge of your good faith."
The kiss surprised her. It surprised her that he would dare, and then that she should like it so very much. When he broke it, her lips sought his again, and the kiss deepened, warming her blood.
"Your Majesty!" Riders were pounding down the narrow lane, coming into view. It was Anora's royal bodyguard, their voices smugly joyful that they had found their royal quarry. Anora and Fergus moved a way from each other a little, and Fergus dropped her hand reluctantly.
"Your Majesty!" the captain burst out. "We beg your mercy for failing to keep up with you!"
"That's quite all right, Fenton," Anora said graciously. "I have had the protection of Teyrn Cousland."
There was nothing to do but rejoin the hunt. Fergus led the way, following the distant horn calls. Hunters flashed through the trees ahead of them like shadows. A riderless horse, wild-eyed, came at them at a dead run, coming the other way.
"No one ever said that boar-hunting was a safe sport," Fergus remarked. He urged his horse forward, wondering if someone needed help. The trail was narrow, and they rode for some time before they entered a small glen, hemmed in by dark evergreen.
"Man down!" shouted the captain, pointing.
The party moved forward. Fergus saw what the captain meant. Someone was slumped behind a rocky outcropping. A red rocky outcropping. Fergus dismounted and beckoned to the captain to follow.
Aron Kendalls had not had a very lucky hunt. He lay in a pool of blood, quite dead, arms and hands bitten, his face bruised nearly black. There was a deep stab wound in his belly. The captain whistled.
"Reckon a boar tusked him, poor gentleman! What a shame! The beast mauled him right fierce."
The ground was certainly trampled. Horses could panic when a boar charged. A pity the man had not had his own mabari to fight at his side. It looked, in fact, as if most of the trampling had been done by a horse, since there were hoofprints on the man's hunting leathers, but that was not that surprising, after all.
Fergus was about to order the men-at-arms to take up the body, when he remembered the conventions, and that he had no right to order the Queen's men to do anything.
"Your Majesty," he said instead, "if it please you, some of your men should take him back to Stonycroft Lodge, and some others should seek out his brother. It will be heavy news."
"Of course," Anora agreed at once, thinking quickly. "I think we had best return as well, to offer what comfort we can. Lyde, you and Roark search for Master Kane Kendalls. Tell him that his brother has met with a misadventure, and escort him to the lodge. Then find Arl Wulffe and let him know. Arl Bryland should be notified as well, as the Kendalls are his guests."
One of the guards dismounted, and the bloody corpse was put over his saddle. Slowly, they headed back in the direction of the Lodge.
Anora glanced over to Fergus, sorry that such a happy occasion would be marred by a death. She refused to take it as an omen, or anything else so silly. If people would rush about chasing dangerous animals, such things were bound to happen.
Denerim's succession was once again in question, but the man had heirs. His good-looking younger brother was here, and no one knew anything against him. Very likely the Landsmeet would accept one young Kendalls cousin as easily as they did the other.
She glanced again, and Fergus understood her, very much to her satisfaction. They rode a little ahead of the sad procession, talking softly of other, happier, things.
Thanks to my reviewers: Oleander's One, Hydroplatypus, Chandagnac, Nemrut, Phygmalion, Girl-chama, JackOfBladesX, KnightOfHolyLight, Guest, Patchworker, Herebedragons66, Mike3207, Enaid Aderyn, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, timunderwood9, darksky01, Kira Kyuu, Robbie the Phoenix, Sarah1281, amanda weber, Jenna53, Blinded in a bolthole, Shakespira, truthrowan, Rexiselic, almostinsane, Costin, pocketcucco, mille libri, Zute, Josie Lange, Sakura Lisel, and Tsu Doh Nimh.
There are no forensic investigators in Ferelden.