Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 75: Borders Yet to Be
Five shocked and appalled people listened to Bronwyn's description of the secret Tevinter base under Denerim. Loghain was still appalled, but no longer shocked, and actually was uncommonly relaxed at the moment. A happy puppy was flopped on his thigh, enjoying an ear-scratching. Loghain was debating whether to name the puppy Amber or Brandy. Either name suited her color. Such a nice little girl. It had never occurred to him to try to imprint on a mabari after losing Adalla so many years ago, but the puppy had her own ideas, and had cried so piteously when he tried to leave her behind that he had relented. Scratching a mabari's ear was remarkably calming. He listened to Bronwyn's story, able to distance himself a bit from the horror of it.
"My father…" choked out Nathaniel. "My father was enthralled by blood mages?" The anguish on his face made the others look away. "I should have known! He never would have done those terrible things of his own free will. Haglin wrote to me, warning that something was wrong… If only I'd come home sooner!"
Loghain said, "We don't know that you could have helped. It appears that they had their claws into him for some time. And he wasn't the only one. Urien and Vaughan, Ceorlic and his wife… Rosalyn's phylactery was destroyed, and Bronwyn's mages tell us she should be free of that infernal influence now. We've kept all the phylacteries of the dead as proof, and written down the names of the living victims."
There had been other phylacteries in the leader's room: ones not ready for use. Some had small amounts of blood in them, some were empty. The role of names was much of the Landsmeet, and at the top were the Queen and Loghain. The Queen's phylactery, indeed, was a quarter full. Loghain was been furious to see that they had blood from him as well.
Some incomplete phylacteries had been tossed aside in a box. Among them was Bryce Cousland's. No longer worth pursuing, and not enough blood for a ritual. Jowan had shown it to Bronwyn, with a sympathetic look. She had taken it and put it away with her things, unable to decide what to do with it. Her own phylactery was new, empty, and not even labeled correctly. She hardly knew whether to be insulted or relieved. Someone had labeled a phylactery for Fergus, but it too was empty.
Cailan's was almost complete. That opened up such frightening possibilities that everyone flinched from thinking about them.
"Should we share this with the Chantry, do you think?" wondered Fergus. He was not sure how he felt about all this. Nothing could excuse Rendon Howe, in his opinion.
Leonas Bryland made a sound of disgust. "I see nothing to be gained by sharing anything with that lot!"
"I agree," Bronwyn said at once. "If we tell the Chantry anything at all, we'll end up having to tell them everything, and that underground hideaway needs to be kept as secret as possible. The mage we questioned thought that more Tevinters would be coming in the spring, and it would be a good thing to snap them up before they can do further harm." She added, "Besides, I honestly don't know what practical help the Chantry would be. We destroyed Knight-Commander Tavish's phylactery, and that of Mother Calendula. There were some other priests and Templars among the phylacteries, too: mostly those who assigned to mission work in South Docks. The Tevinters, I suspect, wanted to curb the Chantry's interest in their comings and goings. I would never have known about them at all, if Ser Friden's mother had not come to me and given me his notes. Unlike his superiors, I was not being influenced by the magic of those who murdered him."
"Very well," Fergus said, "I agree. We won't share this with the Chantry. The main question, as I see it, is: what can we do about—and to—the Tevinters? This kind of vicious, predatory crime calls for retaliation. At the very least, we need to make sure the Tevinters smuggle no more human contraband out of Ferelden."
"Maker!" Wulffe rumbled in agreement. "It sickens me, thinking of those poor people."
"The Denerim harbormaster was under their control, but no more," Loghain said, "As was the captain of the Fade Spirit. Unfortunately, while his phylactery was destroyed, he was still under the influence of long suggestion, and he and his crew resisted us when we boarded the ship. In his hold we found fifteen people. Some had been prisoners for months, and were being kept alive and docile by the mages' arts. When they were recalled to their senses, some of them were…distraught."
That was understating the matter. There was the anguish of the woman who realized that her children were dead, of the man who had lost his wife, of the wife who had lost her husband… It was a grim thing to witness. Of course they had been robbed of everything, too. Some had relatives or friends to go to, some were alone in the world. Loghain passed out substantial alms to them, and advised the women, at least, to go to the Chantry for further help. They seemed to think they had been drugged, and Loghain did not tell them the whole story.
He had impounded the ship, laying down the law to the bewildered harbormaster. That man was not so resistant. Loghain supposed it might be because his phylactery had been used mainly to make Tevinter ships of no interest whatever to him. It took some time before the man could even acknowledge that such a ship as the Fade Spirit was tied up in Denerim Harbor.
"Infamous!" Anora said, fuming. "Infamous!"
Bronwyn's teeth showed white in a bitter smile. "They really despise us, you know. They regard us as savages, only good for exploiting, unworthy of respect or regard. One of the Tevinters told me that I'd fetch a good price in Minathrous. If we sent a strong letter of protest to the Chief Archon, he would only laugh. There are, however, some things we can do. Not only should we be careful of the Tevinter ships leaving this country, we need to alert the harbormasters of all the deep water ports to notify us of the arrival of any of them, lest they find somewhere else to burrow in."
"I agree," Anora nodded. "The letters will go out this very day."
Nathaniel roused himself to ask, "And who is to say they haven't already?"
This was an alarming thought, and everyone in the room gave it some consideration. Fergus wondered about the Tevinters' efforts in Highever. They had already abducted the entire Alienage. Would it be worth their while to maintain a continuing presence? He would have to look into it. Loghain, aware that he claimed the only untouched Alienage in Ferelden, thought that he had best have his people keep a close eye there. Having made such a profitable haul, the Tevinters would be eager for more.
Scout rose up ponderously from the floor and went over to Loghain; first to sniff at Loghain's new puppy, and then to lay his jaw on Loghain's knee to claim his rightful share of ear-scratching. Loghain smiled, and indulged him.
He said, "I've ordered my men to keep secret the existence of the Tevinter lair, and Bronwyn has done likewise with her Wardens. The place will be kept under close guard, and anyone attempting to enter it will be detained and questioned. I'm sending for a dozen of the mages serving in the army, some of whom will assist in this duty."
"Meanwhile," Bronwyn said, "There are certain things we can to protect ourselves from undue influence. My Warden mages have warned me to be very careful with my blood—any blood at all," she said, with a pointed look at Anora, who paled a little. "Blood mages can reconstitute blood from cloth bandages, and can use, it seems, even the amount that would issue from a shaving cut."
"We'll need to give our laundries some scrutiny," Bryland said, bemused. He then smiled slyly, "I'll have to tell my new wife."
This was news to Wulffe, who wanted to know everything, approved heartily, and then slapped Bryland on the back, laughing.
"You old dog! I should have known you were a-courting when you dressed up like a fancy-man for Satinalia!"
The air of anxiety and horror dissipated entirely: there was general talk about weddings and inheritances. Nathaniel Howe remained on the fringes of the conversation, brooding over his father's wrongs, but clearly feeling somewhat validated that a beloved parent should be proved not a villain, but a victim.
Fergus met Bronwyn's eye, rather skeptically. Personally, he had never much liked his father's friend, and thought Rendon Howe enough of a swine in himself to dream up most of his crimes. Still, a man could conceive of things in the shadows of his soul that he would never actually do in real life. Very likely Rendon had needed no more than a push.
However, if the push had made the difference, the Howes could be excused to some degree. Nathaniel had done them no harm and seemed comforted by the revelations.
Bryland claimed everyone's attention when he said, "And what about Teagan? Has anyone heard from him? I sent him word of Habren's marriage and my own. Surely he'll be coming to Denerim soon!"
"And he's been told of Bronwyn and Loghain's wedding," Fergus said. "I've had no reply. I presumed he was already on his way." He shrugged. "It's a good sevenday journey from Redcliffe to Denerim at the best of times."
Bronwyn had a quick, dreadful image of Teagan going to Ostagar to collect Alistair and force him to come to the Landsmeet. Surely he would not dare? Surely Alistair would not be bullied into deserting his duty? She made herself smile at Wulffe, who was speaking, and attend to him. Teagan might not even know where Alistair was at the moment. He might think that Bronwyn had brought him to Denerim with her.
She wondered if he would arrive in time for her wedding. He was no fool, and would understand what the wedding between a Cousland and the Hero of River Dane meant. No doubt he would disapprove. Well, too bad.
"And what news from the Wardens?" asked Wulffe.
"None, I'm afraid," Bronwyn replied. "I'm hoping my Dalish Warden comes before the end of the month. She was told to scout Gwaren and the Brecilian Forest. She should be able to tell us about South Reach and the eastern bannorns. The others were sent west, and may not come for some time, especially if they encounter resistance in the Deep Roads, or the weather turns bad. As to the Wardens abroad," she smiled, dismissing them, "they seem to know nothing, either."
She had put off replying to the First Warden for so long that she had decided not to bother to write to him at all. What good would it do? He had more or less cast her off anyway, and firing back denunciations would waste her time. He was not going to help her, and she was not going to grovel, and that was the end of it.
Instead, she had written to Nevarra, Ansburg, and Antiva, from whom she had received civil letters, and informed them of the horde's curious withdrawal. Since the Battle of King's Mountain, the darkspawn had not been seen in large numbers, aside from the nesting ground near Ostagar. As to where they had gone, she knew no more than anyone else.
Fergus was recovering his good humor, despite news of blood mages and Rendon Howe's partial exoneration. Bronwyn gathered than he and the Queen had come to some sort of understanding, though he had not shared the particulars. It would be silly to plague him about it. Fergus fancied Anora, and really, Bronwyn could not think offhand of any woman in Ferelden who would suit him better. Nor would it be practical to send him tramping off abroad to find another foreign beauty. Besides, Anora, too, seemed much happier in the past few days. Despite finding Aron Kendalls' mangled body, their hunt had been most satisfactory.
Nathaniel asked Bryland, "And what of Kane Kendalls? Does he seem…adequate?"
Bryland spread his hands. "Habren certainly fancies him. The lad is fond of his sisters—sent for them right away. He's eager to learn—not so aloof as his brother." Bryland was inclined to prefer the younger fellow. No such words as "another man's leavings" had crossed the lad's lips. That alone was an improvement. "I can't say much more. I introduced him to Biggert, Urien's seneschal, and they talked quite a bit. And the lad's a good horseman, at least."
"Better than his brother, I hope," grunted Wulffe.
They were all reminded of the fact that Aron Kendalls would be given to the fire tomorrow evening. The pyre was already prepared in the courtyard of the Arl of Denerim's estate: ironic, given that the man had never had the opportunity to live there. Nonetheless, all had agreed that it was a suitable place to hold the funeral, as the man had been the heir presumptive, and was unquestionably a Kendalls. The Kendalls seneschal had been contacted, and all the preparations were in place.
Bryland said, "I was hoping the girls would arrive today, but no such luck. Faline is twelve, and Jancey only nine. Kane thinks they're not happy at that Chantry school, and wants to find them a tutor so they can live with him."
Bronwyn left the meeting reminded of Chantry schools and their pupils. Had the Grand Cleric forgotten her promise to Bronwyn regarding the child Demelza? Bronwyn decided that she had, or that she was stalling for some reason. She sent a polite note to Mother Boann, informing the priest that she, Bronwyn, would be quite at leisure to see the girl the following morning. It was not exactly true, since she was really quite busy, between arms practice and the Queen's Council. In the evening she would have to attend the Kendalls funeral. Nonetheless, she could spare some time for the little girl saved by Andraste's Ashes.
Thus, mid-morning the next day, Mother Boann came calling at the door of the Warden Compound, leading the little girl by the hand.
Neatly dressed in a Chantry pupil's robe, and with hair washed and braided, she made a very different appearance than when Bronwyn had last seen her. The child curtsied to her stiffly, and in stilted tones, repeated the words she clearly had memorized.
"I thank you, Lady Bronwyn, for saving my life. I am forever in you debt."
"You're very welcome, Demelza. Why don't we all have some cake? My housekeeper made some especially for your visit."
Bronwyn, relying on memories of her own youth, could not imagine a little girl immune to the charms of cake. She was not disappointed. Cake and milky tea were evidently rare treats at school.
"I missed Satinalia," Demelza said sadly. "That's when we have cake."
Mother Boann said gently, "You'll have cake on First Day."
"That's a long way away!" the child objected. "This is good," she told Bronwyn, and then poked at one of the cakes. "Why is that one dark?"
"It's flavored with chocolate. That's a kind of spice that comes from the far north."
"I like it. We only have honeycakes at school, but they're good, too."
"Are you happy at the school, Demelza?"
The child shrugged. Mother Boann was scandalized.
"Answer Lady Bronwyn properly, child!"
"Yes, Lady Bronwyn. I like it."
That was hardly a satisfactory answer. Bronwyn persisted.
"What do you like best about school?"
Demelza scowled adorably, in deep thought.
"I get to be clean, and I don't have to feed chickens. I'm afraid of roosters. They're mean! And pigs bite."
"So, if you could do whatever you wanted to, would you go home, or stay at the school?
"Stay at school!" Demelza said forcefully, with a nod at each word. "I didn't like it at home. Nobody hits me as hard at school as they did at home, and I'm not all over muck all the time. And I have shoes."
"I don't like being dirty or being hit either. And shoes are good," Bronwyn agreed. She had imagined the child brutally torn from a happy home, but apparently that was not quite the case. "What is your favorite thing to do at the Chantry?"
Demelza opened her mouth, and then looked guiltily at Mother Boann. In a resigned monotone she said, "My favorite thing is to hear the Chant of Light in praise of Our Lady."
"Yes, yes, of course," Bronwyn said, with sharp glance at the priest, who, to give her due credit, blushed slightly. "Aside from you religious duties, what do you like? Do you like music? Are you in the choir? Or do you like reading? Do you like learning to embroider vestments?"
Demelza clearly found the idea of singing in the choir very funny. "They'd never let me sing where anyone could hear! All the notes sound the same to me. I like my friends. I like reading. I'm a very good reader."
"It's true, my lady," said Mother Boann, "She's learned quickly."
"Would you read to me?" Bronwyn asked. She drew a book from the shelves and offered it to the child.
"I know this!" cried Demelza. "That the 'Adventures of Black Fox!'"
"Why don't you read me a little? Please?" Bronwyn asked.
Demelza considered, and then asked, "Do you mean 'just-read,' or 'really-read?'" She clarified. "That's when you do all the voices."
Bronwyn blinked. "Oh, 'really-read,' by all means."
"All right!" The child's voice throbbed with drama as she began.
"Now it was told before how two hundred sovereigns were set upon Black Fox's head, and how the Lord of Val Chevin swore that he himself would seize the naughty varlet. But the knights of Val Chevin knew more of Black Fox and his doings than the their lord did, and many laughed to think of serving a warrant upon the bold outlaw, knowing well that all they would get for such service would be cracked crowns; so that no one came forward to take the matter in hand.
"Thus a fortnight passed, in which time none came forward to do the lord's business. Then said he, 'A right good reward have I offered to whosoever would serve my warrant upon that knave Black Fox, and I marvel that no one has come to undertake the task.'"
Demelza's voice had dropped alarmingly to a gruff bass. Bronwyn nearly laughed aloud.
"Then one of his men who was near him said, 'Good master, thou wottest not the force that Black Fox has about him. Truly, no one likes to go on this service, for fear of cracked crowns and broken bones.'"
Now she was speaking in a broad Bannorn accent. A moment later, her voice was the blustering villain's once more.
"'Then I hold you all cowards,' said the wicked lord. 'And let me see the man in all Val Chevin that dare disobey the warrant of our sovereign Emperor Pherelon, for, by Andraste's blood, I will hang him forty cubits high! But if no man in Val Chevin dare win my bounty, I will send elsewhere, for there should be men of mettle somewhere in this land.'
"Then he called up a messenger in whom he placed great trust, and bade him saddle his horse and make ready to go to Arlesans to see whether he could find anyone there that would do his bidding and win the reward. So that same morning the messenger started forth upon his errand..."
They let her finish the little story, with the chevalier outwitted, and Black Fox triumphant, as usual.
"You read very well, Demelza," Bronwyn praised her. "And you're right: 'really-reading' is much better than the other kind. If you didn't have to go home, and you could do anything besides being in the Chantry, what would you like to be?"
"Oh, I'd be a lady, and do nothing, like you," Demelza replied at once.
Mother Boann nearly spit out her tea, and remonstrated at once. "Demelza! Lady Bronwyn works very hard to protect all Ferelden."
The child looked guilelessly at them both. "I didn't mean that. I mean," she kindly explained to Bronwyn, " you don't have to do what people tell you."
Bronwyn only laughed. "Even I have to do my duty, Demelza. So you like getting a good education... Once you've finished, you may decide to take orders in the Chantry, but there are many other things you could do. What do you say to becoming a lady-in-waiting? You would only have to do what I told you to do."
"Would I dress like a lady?"
"Yes. You would help me with my clothes and sometimes you would read to me."
"That sounds nice. I'd better work on being the best reader in all Ferelden!"
Aron Kendalls' funeral was an odd affair. Aside from the spectacle of Habren holding hands with the brother of her late betrothed, it was all very political. Ironically, aside from the boar hunt, this was the best opportunity for Kane Kendalls to put forward his claim.
He certainly was winning over the women. Loghain watched the debacle, unable to turn his eyes from awfulness of it all. Unseemly as it was, Kane Kendalls, on the basis of his handsome face, had probably won enough votes tonight to make him Arl of Denerim. Anora managed to keep her dignity, and Bronwyn seemed to find it all mildly entertaining. Lady Amell had eyes only for Bryland. and her sister and niece were discreetly snickering at Habren and her swain. Every other lady at the funeral however, seemed to be afflicted with the desire to be either the handsome lad's sweetheart or mother.
Mothering him was silly and sentimental, but not as revolting as the women who flirted with him. Even sensible women like Alfstanna were starry-eyed in his presence.
His little sisters, too, seemed to adore Kane. Loghain viewed that more tolerantly. In fact, the girls did not seem to be grieving over their stern elder brother at all. Instead, young Kane was whispering plans for treats and amusements, for ponies and puppies, while the flames crackled higher and higher. Carefully, properly, he watered their wine for them like a good brother. Silly women cooed over the sight of so much family affection. Some others, keeping their heads a little better, eyed the girls speculatively, assessing their future value on the marriage market.
Loghain thought them pretty enough, though it was hard to believe that they would ever be as peacock-gorgeous as their brother. One of the Amaranthine banns was discreetly pointing out the older girl to Nathaniel Howe, who looked pained and faintly horrified. She was a grave, grey-eyed, fair-haired child, and would be marriageable in three or four years. As most people reckoned it, it would be a perfectly suitable match. And after all, he thought, with a pang of guilt, the age gap between himself and Bronwyn was far greater than the one between Nathaniel and the child Faline.
Habren appeared annoyed at the attention her newest suitor was paying his sisters. She kept a death-grip on his right hand, forcing the girls to remain on his left. The older girl let the little one have Kane's left hand and kept the child between herself and her brother, already showing more sensitivity and kindness that was in Habren's nature. Loghain wondered how well keeping the girls with him would work out, knowing how jealous Habren was likely to be. Bronwyn noticed it, too, giving him a nudge, and a faint, amused smile.
The following morning was devoting to wedding planning: first with Fergus, and then with a dressmaker. Bronwyn's wedding gown weighed as much as her dragon armor.
Well, perhaps not quite as much, but it was embroidered with countless seed pearls, gold beads, and crystals, and thus the silk and velvet did not rustle, but rather clanked a little as she walked.
Fereldan women typically wore their best clothes to their wedding. Unlike Orlais, where noblewomen were customarily married in white, silver, or gold, Fereldan women chose the colors that suited them best, as their wedding gown would generally henceforth be their best gown until it fell to rags. Bronwyn need never wear rags, but not even she could afford an infinite number of gowns.
This was quite a gown, indeed. Since Loghain had expressed his opinion that Bronwyn looked well in red—and since Bronwyn agreed with him—the asymmetrical draped overskirt was red velvet, its border rich and glittering. The closely-fitted underdress was heavy white satin with long embroidered golden vines rising up from the hem like soldiers at attention. The bodice was red brocade, spangled with jeweled flowers, and the white satin sleeves were cuffed and embroidered to the elbow, coming down in points over the top of her hands. The high collar was a complex matrix of beading and gold thread. Her boned corset of cloth-of-gold actually fit properly, fastening almost invisibly with tiny hooks down the back. A pair of red leather ankleboots had been made to match.
It was altogether an amazing gown, and would serve to receive dignitaries for some time. She felt rather like a bird of paradise in it. However, she was determined not to wear it to her possible coronation. That would make her look, once again, insufferably overconfident. The coronation would require another very elaborate gown, which could not be ordered until she was actually elected by the Landsmeet. Two gowns of the best quality should suffice for some time.
For her wedding she had decided to wear her hair down, falling almost to her waist, and braided back from her face. Her ruby hair ornament would be her only jewelry, aside from her betrothal ring.
Knowing Loghain, he would probably wear black, but she was determined not to care. While she felt that he would look splendid in crimson velvet, she was not going to nag him about trifles. There would be plenty of disagreements in their future, Maker knew.
He was still somewhat annoyed that she had run off on her adventure at the blood mage compound, but Bronwyn gloated over what a lot of glorious loot they'd won. Even the foodstuffs were a gift of the Maker, considering how much Wardens ate. The splendid carpets and silken bedding had been taken away, and some of them were now decorating Bronwyn's own private chamber. The herb cabinet had been installed in the Warden's study, where it would prove useful for their mages. Perhaps they would ultimately take it to Soldier's Peak, where the mages could work in complete privacy.
She had been thinking about Soldier's Peak quite a bit in the past few days. Jowan had performed splendidly during the battle with the Tevinters. Clearly, Avernus' improved potion was all the old geezer claimed. Bronwyn wanted her own dose as soon as possible. Not only did it offer greater strength and stamina, but freedom from the inconveniences of infertility and the horrors of the Calling. What was there not to like about it?
As soon as her dress fitting was complete, she summoned Jowan. He, Morrigan, and Anders had been very busy, attempting to translate the letters, notes, and memoranda found in the Tevinter base. At last report, they had not got through a third of it.
He arrived quickly, but not alone. The runt of the rescued litter, a little black female, had taken to him and imprinted. Bronwyn was glad for him, though she was concerned about such young puppies being exposed to the regular dangers Wardens faced. A mabari did not reach its full adult size and weight until it was two years old. The puppies could be trained, but until they were bigger, they were not fellow warriors, but children, requiring care and protection.
When they had time, leisure, and safety, Bronwyn thought that breeding mabaris to fight beside the Wardens would be feasible and advantageous. At the moment, it seemed too great an investment in time and resources to undertake. Still, the serendipitous puppies were here, and no one could control with whom they imprinted. So far, all her predictions had been proved wrong.
First of all, she had not expected Loghain to carry off one of the puppies. She could hardly begrudge him the kind of companionship that was so dear to her, and it had somewhat mellowed him for the moment. Then, too, while she knew that Anders was a cat person, and that Morrigan disapproved of domesticated wolves on principle, she had thought that Leliana or Aveline might prove attractive to a mabari.
Wrong. Carver Hawke was celebrating his great good fortune, and now this little one had taken to following Jowan about, much to the mage's delighted astonishment.
"Jowan, I need to talk to you." She gestured to him to sit, and he did, his puppy at his feet.
He looked both nervous and anxious to please, reminding her, as always, of a dog who had been kicked too often. No matter what the Circle had done to him, Jowan had many good qualities, and more power than he admitted, even to himself.
"As you know, I promised to send a relief party up to Avernus at Soldier's Peak before First Day. I want to put you in charge of that party."
"Me?" squeaked Jowan. He blushed, and lowered his voice to a baritone far below his natural pitch. "Me?"
She smiled at him, amused. "Yes, you. I need someone to act as liaison between Avernus and the rest of us. He may need assistance with the quantities of Joining potion that we require. Furthermore, he has much to teach. I thought you might find it interesting."
"I would!" Jowan agreed, rather intrigued at the prospect. Avernus was an intimidating old man, but he was also a powerful mage.
"I'm glad to hear it. I want you to leave in a few days. I was thinking on the sixteenth, two days after my wedding. There is some darkspawn blood stored here at the Compound, and you will take it to him, along with foodstuffs and brewing equipment.
"You will not go alone, of course. I have decided that Leliana will go with you. She will have the duty of making the Peak habitable once more. I do not want her, however, included in discussion of magical matters, nor in the history of the improved potion. Leliana's devotion to the Chantry might cause her to speak of secret matters. That cannot be permitted." She gave him a very stern look, so he would understand that she was not in jest. She added, to make herself perfectly clear. "I do not want priests or Templars permitted into Soldier's Peak, nor do I want them given the information that would allow them to make their way through the tunnels."
"Will anyone else go?" he asked.
"Yes. Hakan and Soren. As dwarves with some knowledge of stone working, they can give an assessment of how much actual reconstruction is required, and help Leliana put together a plan. I'm sorry to send you up to such a remote location by yourselves, possibly for months, but I feel it's very important to secure the Peak and Avernus' discoveries. I'll send some more people up to you if weather and events permit."
"I think it will be really interesting," Jowan said meekly.
"Good," she said, pleased with him. "I'll call in Leliana a bit later, and tell her what I have in mind for her. Remember: you will be in command, and you will not share details of the Joining potion improvements with her. It's enough that she will be administered the potion, and be told that it's a refined formula. Other details are not to be shared with her. Speaking of secret matters: I want you to examine the library for books containing Warden secrets. They are to be put in a locked bookcase. While Wardens can read them, I do not want them available to anyone else."
"I understand."
"Another matter that I would like you to look into: I have not been able to determine the extent of the lands originally granted to the Wardens. There is nothing about them in the books here. Very likely Avernus would know. Please find something in writing that I can present to the Landsmeet, so that the Warden rights can be confirmed at that time. I'll make sure that your party is large enough that you can spare a messenger. Perhaps such a messenger might also bring us more of the improved potion."
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Mistress Rannelly was there, and rather excited.
"Warden Danith has arrived, Warden-Commander! And all over mud, she and the rest, too. I served them all bowls of good hot broth, and bread to dip."
Bronwyn was pleased to hear about the arrivals, and thought that hot broth sounded good. A chilly rain had pounded the city since just before dawn. She pitied Kane Kendalls, who would have to mess about in sodden ashes and soaked wood to retrieve something for his brother's urn.
"They're in the Hall?"
"That they are, and worn out, poor lambs."
Tired as they were, they all rose to greet Bronwyn, and were surprised and interested in Jowan's little black puppy. Everyone had had some exposure to war dogs at Ostagar, because of the kennels. A puppy, seen close to, was far more endearing.
"This is Lily," Jowan told them shyly. Bronwyn did not quite see that 'Lily' suited a puppy that was black as a moonless night, but she was Jowan's puppy, after all.
Danith's hair was growing out, Bronwyn noticed. It was still wet, and so darker than she remembered. She was immediately concerned to see that the number at the table was one short. She searched her memory for the name.
"Good day to you all," she said. "I'm glad to see you well. Where is Ketil?" she asked Danith.
"Sleeping in his quarters. He was badly wounded a few days ago, and it slowed us down. Niall thinks at this point he only needs rest."
Niall confirmed this. "I managed to save his left arm, but he shouldn't use it for another few days."
"Well done. Sit down and eat before your soup is cold," Bronwyn ordered. "I think I'll have some myself. How was your journey?"
They all looked to Danith to reply, which Bronwyn thought a good sign. There seemed to be no tensions within the group. A maid brought two more bowls of broth. Jowan attacked his with thanks. Bronwyn spooned hers up slowly, watching the newcomers. No, there was no hostility within the group, but neither did any of them seem particularly elated. Relieved mostly, and glad to be in a safe and comfortable place.
"A success of sorts, Commander," Danith answered. "We found no darkspawn east of the White River, nor any in the Deep Roads near Gwaren. The seal had not been touched from the inside."
Gwaren was safe from darkspawn, at least for the moment. That was plain good news. That the darkspawn had not succeeded in crossing the White River—also good news.
"What about west of the river?"
Danith and the rest looked at each other grimly. Quinn burst out, "It wasn't our fault!"
Danith held up her hand, and he subsided, angrily slurping his broth.
She told Bronwyn, "We found no darkspawn north of South Reach. When we swung down into the Southron Hills, however, we came upon a large party that had attacked a farmhold. The people and animals were killed, and the darkspawn had made themselves at home. It was necessary not only to kill them all, but also to burn the house and all the buildings and to put the Tainted fields to the torch. Seeing the smoke, more shemlen came, and were displeased. Some, I think, wanted to loot, and roused others against us. Rocks were thrown...and some blows were exchanged."
In fact, it had turned into a serious incident, and they had been in considerable danger. Even after the dead darkspawn were pointed out to the mob, some had blamed the Grey Wardens. Danith would never forget the shemlens' insults.
"We never had darkspawn until you Grey Wardens came skulking around here!"
"Aye! They're a devious lot!"
"If you hadn't brought the darkspawn here, Ottis and his family wouldn't be dead!"
"Maybe they're not even Grey Wardens! Them over there are nothing but knife ears! Reckon they're in league with the darkspawn!"
Jowan said, "That's a shame. How could they be so stupid?"
Bronwyn said, "There will always be fools. You did right, even if the locals were too idiotic to realize it. After you're done with your meal, you might enjoy hot baths. Mistress Rannelly will arrange it. Then get some rest yourselves. We can talk more after dinner, Danith. You all look done in."
Quinn spoke up, "Begging your pardon, Commander, but I think you should know about those Qunari."
Everyone groaned. Maeve said, "That's where Ketil was wounded."
Bronwyn raised her brows.
Danith told her, "We did not come to Denerim by the West Road. Instead we took the country lanes along the foothills by Dragon's Peak as we approached the city. We stumbled on a camp of armed Qunari who attacked us."
"And?" Bronwyn asked, read to groan herself. More foreign invaders?
"Well," Quinn grinned slowly, and then leaned over to give the puppy a pat. "We killed 'em all, didn't we? But we got pretty bashed. Good thing we had old Niall here."
Niall turned red, and tried to shrug off the praise. Danith was not having that.
"A very good thing indeed. The power of magic saved us then and at other times, too. The Qunari were formidable."
"How many of them?"
"Fourteen. It was unclear if they were a strong scouting party or if they had...how did you put it, Maeve?"
Maeve said, "I thought it was more likely they'd gone into business for themselves."
"Mercenaries?" Bronwyn considered this. That would be a less worrying explanation. "We might want to ride out and have a look at the camp. We'll talk more about that too. Anyway, finish your meal and rest."
Yes, definitely something to think about. She left them, and went to find Leliana.
The bard was in her room, playing her lute. Bronwyn came in and told her that Danith and her party had returned, and then about her plans for Soldier's Peak. She relieved when Leliana glowed with excitement.
"There is so much that one can do!" the red-haired Warden burst out. "So much potential in that fine old place. Even if one only disposed of the trash and broken furniture! And then…some fresh plaster and paint…yes? A carpenter and a mason could enclose part of the second floor and create a series of fine bedchambers…"
"I was thinking about giving you a set sum. Say…three hundred sovereigns?" Bronwyn smiled at Leliana's enthusiasm. "I would like you to start very prudently. See what can be done with simply cleaning and removing rubbish first. Move on from there. Why don't you start noting down some ideas, and before you go we can talk them over."
"When would we leave?"
"Soon. Perhaps two days after the wedding, or as soon as we can get all the necessary supplies together. We'll send a great deal of what we seized from the Tevinters with you. Jowan will be in command, as he will be working with Senior Mage Avernus. You will have help, of course. Levi Dryden is readying some his family to come up to the Peak and work, and there are the Wolfs at Highever House. They might be agreeable to working for the Wardens…"
"Working for you," Leliana corrected her, dimpling.
"Be as that may," Bronwyn went on. "You will be in charge of the renovations, and will have people to do the labor. You may have to order in materials. Dryden will be your teamster. What you cannot find in Amaranthine, you may obtain later in Denerim, but Amaranthine has many shops and sound craftsmen. The Coast Road, I fear, is not in sufficient repair to bear cartage from Highever."
"I shall begin working on my plans at once!" Leliana said, fire in her eyes. "Our castle will be a wonder of the world!"
"Let's start with 'livable,'" Bronwyn suggested, "and move on from there."
Dinner was a little early that night, since everyone wanted to talk to Danith and her newly-arrived patrol. Ketil joined them, his arm in a sling, looking a bit tired.
The Dalish Warden had come by earlier to give her more particulars of the patrol, and the news that Danith's old clan was occupying and repairing the ancient elven temple. Probably, it would be best to give the Dalish the territory at the upcoming Landsmeet, rather than stringing them along.
She passed along Danith's news to Loghain, too. He was relieved to hear that the darkspawn had no presence under his own city. Hearing about the Qunari camp and its location, he immediately sent out a patrol to reconnoiter and bring back anything they could find indicating the band's purpose and allegiance.
Dinner was festive and plentiful. Carver swaggered in, proudly carrying his puppy. The little fellow attracted a great deal of attention.
"What are you calling him, Carver?" Maeve asked, turned to pudding by big brown eyes.
"Hmmm… I was thinking maybe… Magister."
Bronwyn half-laughed, half-groaned. "Holy Maker, Carver!"
"Well, that's where we found him: in a nest of magisters. It's not as sissy as Jowan calling his dog 'Lily.'"
There was more laughter, and then Carver told the newcomers about their adventures under Denerim. Bronwyn told everyone that they were not to talk about it with anyone else, since they hoped to capture more Tevinters. Since no one at the table liked Tevinters, they were all quite happy to keep the secret.
Jowan arrived with little black-furred Lily, and there was more "oohing" and "aaawing." Trailing behind was the other, yet-unnamed puppy, a tall, tawny pup with a brisk trot. Bronwyn had decided not to sequester the pup. As long as he imprinted in the Compound, his choice was his own. It was never wise to force a partner on a mabari. If he took to Mistress Rannelly and guarded the Compound, that was fine with Bronwyn, too.
"As you all know," she said, after they were mostly done with dinner, and only filling up the corners, "I'm getting married the day after tomorrow."
"To Bronwyn!" cheered Anders, lifting his goblet, and shouts echoed around the table. Most seemed pleased with it, aside from Morrigan, who only rolled her eyes.
Bronwyn inclined her head, grinning. "Thank you. All of you are invited to celebrate with me, first at the Cathedral where the wedding will be held, and then at the feast at Highever House. Wear your dancing shoes."
Idunn asked, "Can we go into the Cathedral if we don't worship your goddess?"
"Andraste is not a goddess…" murmured Leliana.
"Yes," Bronwyn said, her voice overriding Leliana's. "Of course. No one expects you to do anything, and no one will do anything to you. Just enjoy the spectacle and the music. There will a special place for the Wardens and their allies, roped off with grey cording. Leliana will lead you there. The Grand Cleric will give a sermon—which is just a speech—and the choir will sing. Then she'll declare the union binding and we'll all go to Highever House for the party."
"There is more to it than that," Leliana insisted. "If you have no fine clothes, wear your Warden tunics. We cannot leave until Bronwyn and Loghain do. I will give a sign when we are supposed to leave. We should form up by twos in the central aisle."
People looked blank, so she shrugged and said, "Just do what I do."
Soren grunted, still suspicious. "As long as it doesn't involve singing."
The Wardens murmured amongst themselves, wondering what to wear and if they would have to pay admission. Anders solemnly told them 'yes' to that, and Leliana kicked him under the table and denied it.
"Then," Bronwyn said, taking command of the conversation once more, "two days after the wedding, I'm sending a relief party north to Soldier's Peak." She told the newcomers, "When we were in Amaranthine, ascertaining that the darkspawn had not made inroads there, we took the time to visit the Warden fortress of Soldier's Peak. Rumor said that it had been abandoned for two hundred years and was a ruin, but we found that to be untrue. It's essentially sound, and we found an elderly Warden there, working on research. I am sending Jowan up there with Leliana. Hakan and Soren, you will also be of the party. I want you to examine the castle for structural damage and consider whether we need to hire some good dwarven masons. You will be accompanied by some other people I have engaged, and begin work on renovating the castle for our use. Duncan never had time to see to it, but I think it would be of great value to us."
Everyone was interested in this mysterious castle, and some expressed a desire to see it for themselves. Bronwyn told them most of the story, and then those who had been there added bits and pieces.
"This old mage has been there for years?" Danith said, frowning in thought. "I did not know that Grey Wardens could live to be so old."
"Well..." Bronwyn said, deciding to prevaricate a little. Morrigan and Zevran were not Wardens, after all. "There are exceptions to every rule."
The next morning, the first snowflakes of the season sifted down from a leaden sky. It was extremely unlikely that they would be seeing any ships from sunny northern climes until spring. It put to rest one of the many fears that plagued Bronwyn. They would not have to deal with either an Orlesian invasion or a Tevinter infiltration for at least a few months. If only she knew what the darkspawn were up to…
She went to Highever House, to look over the final arrangements for the wedding feast, admire the growing mound of gifts, and talk to the Wolfs. She found them more than amenable to her wishes.
"We wish to serve you, Lady. We owe you a debt that can never be repaid."
"Excellent. You could do much by guarding and maintaining the Warden's fortress. Some other people will be there as well: the Dryden family. They too have my trust. There should be room for you all there at the Peak. Warden Jowan will be in command. Obey him as you would me."
Fergus was told that the Wolfs would be leaving with a party of Wardens two days after the wedding. He raised his brows, but certainly did not object.
"They're your people, pup. And a fairly mysterious lot. Have you ever learned why they all have yellow eyes?"
She smirked at him. "Yes."
"And?"
"A secret."
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"No," she admitted cheerfully. Then more gravely, she added, "Their past is past, Fergus. Let it stay there." She gave him a quick hug. "And now I've really got to get back to the Palace."
Loghain had scheduled some sparring with her that afternoon. Bronwyn almost groaned at the prospect. He was a formidable opponent, and was insistent that she learn the proper way to use her splendid new shield. The Fade Wall was light, due to the enchantments on it, but it was still heavier than the dagger she was accustomed to wielding with her left hand. And then there was the whole issue of walking about with a shield clanking against her back. She could hardly imagine how Loghain had put up with it all these years.
After a bruising training session, a long, hot bath, and a good dinner, Bronwyn put the finishing touches on her new quarters in the Palace. Admittedly, Fionn had done all the real work, but Bronwyn liked to do some things for herself. She organized her few books on the bookshelf, and arranged her keepsakes on her newly-claimed spicewood desk. She frowned and pulled the desk a little closer to the window, then remembered to lock her correspondence box. She sensed a presence, and looked up to see Loghain watching her from the doorway.
"The rooms suit you?"
She smiled. "They're very nice. I love the entire process of making loot my own, and what better way than furnishing my private quarters?"
He snorted at that, and came in, his new puppy trailing at his heels. Bronwyn could hardly imagine a more adorable sight: the tall, grim warrior and the wide-eyed, waggle-tailed little mabari. Scout whuffed at them sleepily.
Bronwyn bent to stroke the puppy's silky head, and asked, "What name have you chosen?"
"Amber. I was considering 'Brandy,' but I suppose if I went about calling for 'Brandy' all day long, I'd soon be known as a hopeless drunkard."
She laughed. "Amber's a lovely name and very suitable. "You're a very pretty girl, Amber!"
Loghain waved his hand at her shelves. "You're not going to leave that out in plain sight, I hope!"
He obviously was referring to her golden bowl, which was gleaming effulgently, in pride of place.
Bronwyn shrugged. "I suppose I should lock it away when I'm not here, but I do like to look at it. And it's…magical. Or at least the Templars said it was. It was might have somehow absorbed some of the power of the Ashes."
Loghain grunted, "Then you should definitely lock it away. The Chantry's likely to send agents to steal it!" He scowled. "That rug there was in the Tevinters' place, wasn't it? How are your mages doing on their translating?"
"Almost done," she said. "They're trying to get everything in some sort of chronological order now, so it makes sense. Anders told me that it's clear that Tevinters have been here for a long time. They weren't much interested in our politics until recently, though."
"I suppose we can thank the Maker for small favors!"
Amber grew interested in Scout and clambered over him, finding the corner of his blanket a wonderful chew-toy. She was very fierce with it, pulling and growling. Scout remained tolerant but unimpressed.
Loghain pulled up a chair and watched the dogs, smiling faintly, Bronwyn kicked over a footstool and sat beside him, leaning comfortably against his knee. Loghain's big hand stroked her hair, and she leaned into the caress, at peace for the moment.
"So, you've seen mine," she remarked. "When do I get to see yours?"
"My dear girl," he chuckled, "You've seen mine."
"How droll. I meant your private apartments here at the Palace. They're supposedly very close."
"Come." He rose and took her by the hand, leading her away and down the hall. The dogs looked up, hurt to find themselves no longer the center of attention, and scrambled after.
Loghain's quarters were very nice. There was a study full of books and bows, swords and armor. An arched, mullioned window was set in a deep embrasure, leaving plenty of room to sit. A big chair was clearly made to fit Loghain's proportions exactly, and a battered leather footstool stood in front of it, bearing the marks of spurs and steel-shod boots. The fireplace had an attractively carved mantel, and on the wall were framed maps and a striking portrait of Queen Rowan in armor. Her dark hair was blowing in the wind, and under one arm she held her green-plumed helmet. She was looking away from the viewer, gazing into the distance. Bronwyn had not realized what a pretty woman she had been.
"That's a wonderful portrait," she said, a little surprised to find a picture of the late queen in Loghain's private study, given what her parents had led her to believe.
"I like it," Loghain shrugged.
The study led to a simple but comfortable bedroom. Off that was a private bathing room with an enameled tin tub. The bed looked very nice. One thing led to another, and Loghain did not try to resist her advances. The dogs, left behind a closed door in the study, responded in their individual ways. Scout, accepting that his people were mating, grew bored and curled up by the fire. Amber whimpered and pawed at the door, worried that her Loghain might be harmed by the alpha female's unprovoked attack. After some time, her protests had an effect.
"Oh, for Maker's sake," Loghain growled, opening the door. "Come on in."
In blithe innocence, the dogs trotted in, nosing about. Bronwyn, wonderfully relaxed and happy, smiled drowsily up at Loghain from the bed. He shook his head.
"You couldn't wait another day?"
"No. Why should we?
"Don't go to sleep, I don't want to have to lug you all the way back to the Wardens' Compound."
"I won't." She bounded up, gathering her scattered garments. "Do you have any wine?"
"Maker's Breath, you're demanding," he muttered. 'You're be the end of me yet."
She smiled at him archly. "If you're lucky. Where's the wine?"
"The table near the desk. Pour me some, while you're ransacking my belongings."
It was very good wine. Bronwyn decided that she, too, needed a decanter and goblets in her apartments. She moved around the room, sipping, examining all his personal treasures, which included a huge codex of maps. On his desk. the edge of another map was barely visible under a pile of books. Curious, Bronwyn pulled it out. At first glance it was an ordinary map of Ferelden. On closer scrutiny, one saw the changes.
"What's this?" she asked, as he came into the study, tying his laces.
"Don't pry, or I won't invite you here again," he told her. He grunted his thanks when she handed him a full wine goblet, and with his left hand, he smoothed out the map she was examining. "This is just something I've been working on in my copious spare time."
"'Borders yet to be.'" Bronwyn read off the scribbled legend at the bottom of the parchment. There were dots and circles to the south and in the foothills of the Frostbacks, and notes indicating that settlements should be established in those places. A red x here and there along the coast, according to the legend, marked a likely spot for a watchtower. More red was spilled on the islands of the Amaranthine Archipelago: watchtowers and settlements proposed, and roads drawn in to facilitate trade and troop movements.
She could barely read the notes next to West Hill, the vast and dilapidated fortress to the west that faced the islands of the Waking Sea bannorn. She squinted, seeing Loghain's exasperation with Bann Frandarel's reclusiveness and sloth in the number of exclamation points there.
Her smile faded as her eyes traveled west to Gherlen's Pass. Roc des Chevaliers was circled in red. She almost snorted. Good luck with cracking that nut.
And then…
"Jader?" She asked, disbelieving. "You want Jader, too?"
He was unfazed by her skepticism. He traced the red dotted line down from the Orlesian port city to the Frostbacks.
"It makes perfect sense," he said quietly. "The northern tip of the Frostbacks end only a short distance south of the Imperial Highway, some forty leagues west of the city. The Frostbacks are ours…or should be. Our relations with the Avvar tribesmen living there are certainly far better than those they have with Orlais. The chevaliers hunt them like game. It's a natural boundary that would be far better and more defensible than anything we now have. That fortress—" he pointed to the small dot by the Imperial Highway, "—Solidor, that would be our western limit. We don't want too much of Orlais. That would water down Ferelden, after all. But this…this much we could swallow. We could use a proper city to the west. This whole area—" his broad index finger swept over the territory northwest of Lake Calenhad "—would be something a buffer zone, safer for Ferelden than a precariously held border crossing. Besides, don't they say that Jader is the most Fereldan of Orlesian cities?"
Bronwyn refrained from repeating Leliana's dismissal of that, saying. "I've been told it's a fine city—beautiful, even. It's certainly known for its craftsmen." She laughed. "And after all, why make anything but great plans? Small plans have no power to stir men's blood."
"Well said." He smiled, his eyes fixed on the map of his imagination.
Thanks to my reviewers: Chandagnac, Blinded in a bolthole, truthrowan, KnightOfHolyLight, RakeeshJ4, Jyggilag, Zute, Nemrut, Kira Kyuu, Graffiti My Soul, Rexiselic, EpitomyofShyness, EmbertoInferno, Guest, Mike3207, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, almost insane, Herebedragons66, JackOfBladesX, amanda weber, MsBarrows, Phygmalion, Jenna53, Enaid Aderyn, Costin, Oleader's One, Shakespira, Have Socks. Will Travel, Robbie the Phoenix, Josie Lange, Tsu Doh Nimh, Psyche Sinclair, and mille libri.
Thank you. Howard Pyle, from whom I stole a bit of Robin Hood.
There need to be more dogs in this story. While everyone talks about Fereldans and their dogs and how omnipresent they are, we don't actually see many dogs in DAO, other than at Ostagar at the very beginning. Nobody has mabaris in Lothering, or in Redcliffe Village, or in Denerim, other than the pitiful curs at the Alienage or mabaris in the blood mage hideout. There are only a few dogs in Redcliffe Castle, and they all have to be put down. Surely a lot of the noblemen in the Landsmeet should have dogs with them. In Awakenings, there's the sick mabari below Vigil's Keep and a dead mabari in the Blackmarsh. There are no mabaris trotting around the city of Amaranthine. We actually see lots more dogs in DA2, off in Kirkwall. I'm still puzzling over that fact that they all seem to be carrying money. Do they have little mabari purses attached to their collars?
Is anyone else bugged by Anora having only one gown, which she wears for all occasions? She wears armor when she addresses the troops before Denerim, but otherwise always wears that rather tiresome blue dress. Even when she drops in on the Warden at the beginning of DAA, to pointlessly inform him/her that no help will be forthcoming, she's still wearing that same dress. Get thee to a seamstress, Anora!
As a Chicagoan, I had to let Bronwyn paraphrase the great architect Daniel Burham. There are many reported variations, but I like this one:
"Make no small plans; they have no power to stir men's blood."
Have a look at the Wiki's map of Ferelden that's excerpted from the full map of Thedas. You will see that Jader is almost exactly the same longitude as Haven. Going all the way to the northernmost end of the Frostbacks squares off Ferelden's borders very nicely.
If anybody's going to GenCon in Indianapolis next week, let me know. I'll be there. They have a lot of interesting programs and writer's workshops planned.