Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 88: Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears a Crown
It was clear that the Landsmeet would be over in a day or two. A few betrothals were announced, a few weddings celebrated, and quiet plans were made to send the "Coastal Improvements" mission on its way north.
The exact location of the lands granted to the Dalish was marked on the map and agreed to by Marethari. Loghain was saving that for the last order of business, when everyone was too tired and too eager to go home to put up a serious opposition. Not a single nobleman of Ferelden would lose a fingerlength of land from it, but there was certain to be resistance to anything favorable to elves.
The Council, at least, was in agreement about the concept. Even Teagan, whom Loghain had expected to oppose it on general principles of opposition to Loghain, only said that the Dalish must expect and tolerate visits of Chantry missionaries. Bronwyn groaned inwardly, A slippery slope. First the missionaries would come, and when those were ignored, the Templars would move in to compel belief and arrest the Keepers... And then they would see the Fall of the Dales all over again. How to prevent it? She wracked her brains, trying to think of ways to prevent that disaster. There was only so much disaster-prevention she could manage. The elves might be fairly safe for a few years. Meanwhile, there was still a Blight and a possible Orlesian invasion to deal with.
They must bid farewell to their Orlesian guests, too. Their ship had been thoroughly searched, and two men found hiding aboard. They were taken to Fort Drakon for questioning, and it was decided that they would not be surrendered to the ambassador. These men, Dagonet and Lenoir, had been going about collecting juicy intelligence here in Denerim: news of troop movements; news that the darkspawn had withdrawn from Ostagar—something which Loghain absolutely did not want the Orlesians to know; news of the rumored Dalish land grant. That was one more thing that did not need to go beyond their borders at the moment. They must get rid of the Knight-Divine and the noble Duke before the announcement was made.
As to the Nevarran affair, they had worked hard and quickly to move things along. Nathaniel had a band of eight picked men to go with them: two knights, four men at arms, and two servants. The knights, Ser Zennor Stone and Ser Erald Mac Morn, were sworn to Loghain, and were sober, talented swordsmen; the four men-at-arms were selected from Maric's Shield. Sergeants Darrow and Kain were trustworthy veterans, and Rhys and Walton were highly thought of. The servants, too, Mapes and Dudgeon, had known hardship and battle, but were young enough not to find the journey too arduous.
Bronwyn took Carver aside to tell him of the proposal. He was thrilled at the idea until he realized that Adam was going, too.
"Is that the only reason you asked me?" he demanded, looking very hurt. "Because Adam's going?"
"No," Bronwyn said patiently. "It's not the only reason. I must have a Warden go. Between us, and to be perfectly blunt, I felt it best to send a human, because you never know how hidebound and prejudiced other people are going to be. I prefer to send a man because the rest of the party is male and we don't need romantic distractions. I thought of you because I know you: you're a proven warrior, and I think it's going to be very dangerous. Yes, I did consider the fact that your brother is going and I thought that was a positive, because for all your rivalry and quarreling, I know you would never turn on each other or on Ferelden."
That rather took the wind out of his sails. "Bann Adam," he muttered.
"—And Warden Carver," she added. "I think you, Arl Nathaniel, and your brother will make a powerful team. Who can you think who'd be better than you? I've got to have a Warden there, Carver. Someone I can trust, and who can see the big picture. I have a mission for you that I have not disclosed to anyone else—no, not even the King."
He looked up, much more pleased.
"Yes," she said, "you must keep this quiet. You need to visit the Warden-Commander of Nevarra. I need you to get him to talk to you frankly, face to face, about the situation in Weisshaupt and about why no one has offered us help—I mean real help in good faith. There may be things he will tell you in person that he would not trust to a letter. Our order has many secrets, and great energy seems to be directed at keeping them from our own people!"
She was not being entirely honest. She could think of Wardens who were more mature, but she did not know them as well, and in the end blood was a mighty bond.
"Also," she said, "You need to find out all you can about the old Nevarran dragon-hunters: what weapons they used... their tactics... everything, really. Surely the Pentaghasts would like the chance to boast a bit."
"Aren't you going to send a mage with us?" he asked, with a sly grin. "Bethany would love to get out from Mother's thumb!"
Bronwyn laughed. "Your mother would probably assassinate me if I sent all her children to Nevarra! I'll admit I think your idea is good, but if we send a mage, he must be a Warden. Anyone else and the Chantry might try to interfere. Whom do you suggest?"
Flattered at being asked his opinion, Carver hesitated, and then said. "Jowan. He gets along with all the posh types. And carrying that staff that looks like a sword, he blends in. Nobody will know he's a mage until he zaps them. You can say he's our secretary."
"I'll consider that," Bronwyn said. "Yes, It might be better to send two Wardens on a mission to another Warden post. There might be magical lore that Jowan could pick up, while you deal with the commander. At any rate, you'll have the best equipment and the warmest clothing. Court dress, too, for we'll need to make a good impression on the Nevarrans."
Carver groaned. Bronwyn was standing for no nonsense.
"And it can be all black and grey, for all I care, but our ambassadors aren't going abroad looking like beggars!"
Captain Isabela was sent an intriguing message, and met a representative of the mission at the one place no one was surprised to see a nobleman visit: Denerim's finest brothel, the Pearl.
On seeing her, Hawke no longer wondered why she had made an impression on Fergus. He knew her at once from Fergus' description, even though Hawke himself had never set eyes on her before. Captain Isabela was a damned fine woman, with luminous amber eyes, a roguish grin, and skin the color of old honey. She had the air of someone who had seen it all, and knew how to handle herself in even the worst of it.
He made his way through the tables near the bar without hesitation, giving her his best smile.
"Well!" she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. "If it isn't my new best friend!"
She liked the coin Fergus was paying. She liked the idea of tricking Orlesians. She liked Hawke, for that matter.
"I can't promise a timely arrival, though," she said, "not in this weather. Oh, I think I can make it out of the harbor all right, and I'll sail for the northern shore directly. I can leave tomorrow, for that matter. Ten to one I can make it to Kirkwall. The cargo's a good idea, and I want half the profits. I know just the man to get us a good price for it. The problem, Handsome, is getting back to Ferelden and navigating that nasty little obstacle course near the Virgin Rocks. You may have to row out to the ship, and we'll have to settle on a range of arrival dates."
"I'd be surprised if we could get to Kilda before the 23rd," he said. "Could I buy you another drink?"
"You can buy me anything you like, Handsome," she replied. "Be generous."
He smiled, feeling comfortable with her. She was, after all, the same sort of woman that he was a man. Knowing that, obviously, did not make her more trustworthy. She would be on their side, as long as it paid well and offered her amusement.
So he bought a bottle of Madam Sanga's finest Antivan red, and deep bowls of spicy fish chowder. While Isabela wolfed down the food and drink, Adam laid out the dates she needed to meet him and his associates in Kilda. The 24th of Haring, or as soon as the weather permitted; the pay highest the earlier she got there.
"And once we get to Kirkwall, we'll pay you for your time there, We want you to wait for us while we take care of our business, and then get us home."
"Any idea how long that might be?"
"Maybe a month. Maybe less."
"Hmmm. I want a letter of marque and reprisal from your King...Queen...whatever... licensing to me to attack their enemies at sea and bring the captured ships and cargo to the safety of Fereldan ports for sale."
"And what do they get?"
"A fifth of the profits."
"Half."
"You're dreaming. A third."
"Sounds good. I think they'll grant it. Once the mission is a success."
They probably would. Licensing privateers was a way to run a navy on the cheap. It would also bring gold into the royal coffers, which Adam thought was probably something very much to be desired.
They haggled a little over the amount of coin to be paid outright, mainly because not haggling would be boring and rather insulting. Isabela named further demands, and Hawke assented, smiling as she led him into one of the private rooms.
Two bands of friends arrived on the twelfth. The first was that of Merrill and a dozen of her companions, who were passed through the Great Gate of Denerim with considerably greater courtesy than the guards had shown to Marethari a few days before. Merrill too, ended up visiting the Alienage, and like Marethari, found plenty of room in the sprawling former Orphanage. There was great excitement among the Dalish when Marethari described the extent of land to be given them.
"But will the darkspawn allow us to enjoy it in peace? The Blight is not yet over," Merrill said softly.
"More to the purpose," Marethari pointed out, "Will the shemlen priests allow us to enjoy it? We must find ways to protect ourselves—no, not the old ways, Thanovir, but subtle ways. If we can persuade the land itself to hide us, we may not once again fall to the Templars' swords."
The great news was that their shemlen friend Bronwyn had been declared Queen by the nobles. She and Loghain were married now, and he was King. That gave the two of them more power to enforce their will, but their power was not absolute.
"Still," Maynriel said cheerfully, "they are more likely to favor us than anyone who might rule this kingdom. We should call on them, since this is their home. They would certainly not enter our camps without making their presence known."
"Truly," agreed Marethari, "and there are others you should meet: our cousins here in the Alienage, and especially their hahren, Valendrian."
Word was sent to the Warden Compound of Merrill's arrival, and they were given a friendly welcome. Loghain made a point of joining Bronwyn, and they sat and talked more of the plans, looked at the maps, and considered how this one change would cause other changes.
The sun shone brightly that day, though it was still cold. There was much to see for elves unused to town life. They explored the Alienage at length, curious about Alarith's shop, since he was not a craftmaster, but one who sold the work of others. The Dalish did not have merchants, per se, but Alarith was a pleasant man, and happy to trade for furs and Dalish crafts.
"When we have land of our own, our way of life will change somewhat," Merrill remarked, almost to herself. "We have the Temple, of course, but some might wish to live outside its walls. It is inevitable that a village will spring up around it."
"Elves have lived in cities of their own before," Maynriel pointed out. "What is important is that we plan carefully, and not create a filthy, rambling warren like this Denerim!"
To Bronwyn's manifest joy, the other arrivals were Tara and her Wardens, and they were given a hero's welcome at the Compound, late that afternoon. No, one, unsurprisingly had offered to bar Shale's way. The six other—much less stony— party members were in fairly good shape, though chilled by their march from the Wending Wood. Anders fussed over them.
"Still got your ears, elfkins? It'd be a shame if you couldn't wear hats anymore!"
"Don't own a hat," she complained. "I should get one. Helmets aren't very warm!"
They were deeply relieved to see Aeron alive and well. Catriona gave the minstrel a heartfelt, sloppy kiss, while everyone else cheered and catcalled.
Food was served and for awhile there was no interest in doing anything but eating. And drinking, to get rid of the taste of the improved Joining potion. After the first edge of hunger was blunted, the servants were allowed to help the newcomers out of their cloaks and gear, while baths were drawn and beds made up. Bronwyn came down to meet them, excited at the news.
"Tara! Brosca!"
"Hey, Boss!" Brosca ran over to see her, still gnawing on a chicken bone.
"Look at you! Queen of Ferelden!" Tara dropped a curtsey, forgetting that she was not wearing a skirt. Her party followed suit, dropping to one knee in respect.
"Up!" Bronwyn ordered. "Wardens kneel to no one! Tell me everything while you're eating."
A rumbling, sarcastic voice spoke, causing Bronwyn to look up in surprise.
It said, "I neither bow nor eat, so perhaps I should tell something of what transpired, while the squishy folk devour the comestibles."
Bronwyn looked at the creature in bemusement. She had seen golems, but never been addressed by one.
"Shale, I presume?"
"You do."
A burst of laughter, which Bronwyn joined, somewhat nonplussed.
"Be respectful, Shale," Tara reproved the golem. "This is the Warden-Commander and the Queen of Ferelden. Maybe not quite as grand a being as the Mighty Golem King of Snark, but pretty close."
Anders got close enough to Bronwyn to whisper, "Should we give them the new Joining potion? It would give them a boost."
"Good idea." She raised her voice again. "Anders has a healing potion for each of you new arrivals. Take it right away, and then enjoy the rest of your meal."
Tara downed hers obediently and then made a horrible face. "What is that? It tastes almost as bad as—" She cut herself off abruptly. "Ummmm... I mean..."
"Tell you later," Anders promised.
There was much to learn. The first, exciting news was that Tara had indeed come from West Hill to Denerim nearly entirely by way of the Deep Roads, only excepting the walk from West Hill to the access point, and to Denerim from the silverite mine in the Wending Woods.
"And you had no trouble? You saw no darkspawn?" Bronwyn pressed her.
"No darkspawn, Bronwyn. And the way was really pretty wide open. We brought a wagon with us, and had to take it apart and put it back to together, which was no fun. Shale pulled it." She whispered to Bronwyn. "It's in the stables, but we need to unload. It's got an emperor's ransom of lyrium in it, packed in an old tin tub!"
"What?"
"No lie, Boss," Brosca said eagerly. Her voice dropped to a confidential growl. "There's a lot of treasure in the Deep Roads, if you know where to look."
"For Maker's sake, let's get it inside and locked up right away," Bronwyn said, already out of her chair.
"I shall carry it," Shale offered, "if some individual can be troubled to open the door."
The tub was wrapped in heavy canvas, and Shale, as directed, brought it into the study. Bronwyn gasped when the cover was thrown as aside and the size of the windfall revealed.
"This is worth..." Words failed her. "I actually don't know how much this is worth," she said, rather lamely.
"Lots," said Brosca. "Astrid figured it would last the Grey Wardens for hundreds of years, and there's more where that came from."
"The tub looks old. Where did you find this?"
Brosca beamed. "In a place called Kal'Hirol. Old dwarven thaig. Important. Astrid thinks the deshyrs are going to be really chuffed when they hear it's all cleaned out."
"Where is Astrid?"
Tara told her. "She thought the mission wasn't complete until we made sure we could get all the way to Orzammar, so she went that way with half the Wardens and half the Legion. Our half stayed at the silverite mine. They've got supplies for another week or so, but they could use more. Astrid's got some food growing in Amgarrak Thaig, but Kal'Hirol is too messed up without a lot of work. Anyway, it looks like the whole Amgarrak Road is clear right now."
"Holy Maker," Bronwyn swore. "Call all the Wardens to the Hall. Call Rannelly, too, and all the servants."
The crowded in, wondering and excited. Bronwyn stood at the head of the table, looking stern, and waited until the last trickled in.
"Not everyone's here," Bronwyn noted. "Where's Zevran and Danith?"
"The elves went to the Alienage, Bronwyn," said Maeve. "They said they'd be back before full dark."
"When they get back, send them straight to me. Don't tell them anything before I have a chance to talk to them."
When the rest were gathered, she said, "We welcome today Senior Warden Tara, and Wardens Brosca, Sigrun, Jukka, Darach, and Catriona. We welcome our ally, the golem Shale, who is to be treated with the same courtesy as all our other companions."
"Ooo! Courtesy!" Shale snarked. "What a concept!"
Bronwyn did not smile, but went on, "My first word is for the staff. You may hear some very interesting and surprising things from our travelers. You are not to repeat a word of it. Not to anyone. This is vital. You are to tell Warden business to no one. The lives of the Wardens and the safety of this country depend on it. Do not speak of our business to your own family. Do not speak of it among yourselves, for you may be overheard. Mistress Rannelly, our lives are in your hands. Please take the staff to the kitchen, while I address the Wardens and allies."
"Of course, Your Majesty dear. We won't fail you. I'll tell them all what's what."
When they were gone, Bronwyn leaned forward and spoke urgently. "Most of you have now heard that our comrades came all the way from West Hill largely by way of the Deep Roads. That cannot be become common knowledge. In fact, I intend only to tell the King, the Dowager Queen, and my brother. This is a major tactical secret. Those of you who have been present for the Landsmeet as guests witnessed the day that the Orlesians arrived and threatened this country. That we have a way to traverse northern Ferelden unseen and unhindered by weather is something that must be kept silent. Do you all understand me?"
Mumbles and nods. Bronwyn repeated, "Do you understand me? Must I have each of you take an oath of silence?"
Tara looked at her wide-eyed. "Of course we understand, Bronwyn. Are the Orlesians going to invade? During a Blight?"
Anders said, "They don't like all the uppity mages being out of the Tower, even when they're saving lives. Or maybe because they're saving lives. They don't like our Bronwyn and her Loghain wearing crowns. They don't like anyone very much, I think."
They talked for some time, going over the story of the march north, the battles, West Hill, and the horror of the flesh golem at Amgarrak. Shale had been there as well as Catriona, and they all had quite a bit to say about it.
"Hardly a golem at all," Shale sneered. "Simply a mindless savage monster. I am quite of Warden Astrid's opinion that the Tevinter mage the dwarves hired was some sort of fraud. Of course, she was quite rapidly a dead fraud..."
Tara added, "She had dozens of casteless murdered, and used their flesh to make the thing, and then—get this, Anders—she used a Fade spirit to animate the hulk."
Morrigan scoffed in contempt, while Anders and Niall groaned.
"It was horrible," Catriona said quietly. "It stamped one of the dwarves to death. It threw others against the wall. It was incredibly huge and powerful. And fast. And then, when its head detached and attacked Astrid, running on those creeply little legs... It was unbelievable. I kept shooting and shooting, and I might as well have been shooting at hay bales. Only heavy axes and swords could cut into it. I really thought we were all going to die. Astrid saved us. It was ghastly that she lost her hand."
"I wish I could have done more for her," Tara agreed, "but the dwarves made her some things she can put on the stump, and so she's able to do a lot she could do before. She's such a hero."
"She's all right," Brosca said, very happy about the bag of treasure that was even now bulging on the floor by her feet. "We accomplished a lot. The Legion's pretty pleased too. And we had lots of other adventures, too. We should tell you about how we met Shale..."
"Maybe later," Tara said, not wanting Honnleath to be a subject of general discussion. "Did Aeron tell you we had desertions?"
"He did. We have every reason to believe that they were killed by the darkpsawn in Amaranthine."
Brosca slammed her fist on the table, making the tankards jump. "All right! Sodding justice!"
That seemed to be the general opinion of Tara's party. Even mild-mannered Darach nodded sagely.
"Did someone find their bodies?" Catriona asked.
"I believe I did," Bronwyn told her, and then related the tale of the Architect and the battle in the silverite mine.
Carver blurted out, "Bronwyn rode a dragon! There was this huge chamber and the dragon took off with Bronwyn on its back, and she went up and down, and the dragon tried to scrape her off, but Bronwyn held on and stabbed it. It was something, I can tell you!"
The dead deserters were forgotten, and there was laughter and disbelief, and then there were toasts.
"I want to ride a dragon like that!" Brosca declared. "I'll bet the Archdemon could carry us all at once!"
In the midst of this, the elves returned from the Alienage: Danith, Cathair, Steren, Nuala, and Zevran. It was a merry meeting. Tara hesitated, wondering if Zevran had found a fresher, prettier elf girl at the Alienage, and came forward shyly.
Zevran saw it, and went to her at once. Falling gracefully on one knee, he took her hand and kissed it.
"Cara mia," he declared, "Once again, my life is complete as I see your face. Let the night come at once, for you shall shine in it like the silver moon!"
"Awwww!" said the Wardens.
"Ewwww!" said Morrigan, waving a hand in weary disgust.
"So..." Tara ventured. "You're happy to see me."
"Tesoro," Zevran assured, "It is not a dagger I have in my pocket. Or more properly, not just a dagger."
Bronwyn wondered if the two of them should not just go to Zevran's room at once. She got up to leave. "We'll talk more. Tara; you and Brosca please come see me early tomorrow morning and bring your maps. If you're all up to it, come join us tonight at the Palace, too."
The meeting broke up, and Bronwyn left for her apartments and the Wardens variously for baths and their quarters. Those new to the Compound were taken on a tour by Maeve, who was very house-proud of their fine home. Catriona and Sigrun were to join Aveline and Maeve in their room, and Jukka and Darach were shown to the larger men's quarters. Anders and Niall discreetly gave the newcomers the word about the improved Joining potion. As for Shale, it found a quiet corner of its own, where it loomed over the armor stands.
It was not until her early breakfast the next morning that Tara noticed the puppies playing under the table.
"Whose dogs?" she asked Zevran.
"That one—" he pointed —"is Carver's. He has named him 'Magister' in memory of the adventure that delivered him to us. His friend is not yet claimed, though not for lack of bribes to win his favor."
"Really?" Tara was hopeful. "I used to be afraid of Scout, until I found out he was a sweetheart. And that he could rip out genlock throats with one bite. I wish I had a dog. Everybody respects a dog."
Zevran patted her thigh, amused. "It is true. Everyone in Ferelden respects a dog."
"Here, girl…er…boy. Do you like bacon?"
"Everyone likes bacon," said Quinn, sitting on the bench opposite. "Hey, sport," he said cheerfully, tossing a bit to the pup. "Maybe he likes all of us so much he can't decide."
Catriona came in, smiling archly at Tara and Zevra. "I never thought you'd be up so early."
"Bronwyn wanted to talk to me about the Amgarrak Road. She's really excited about it."
"Personally," said Catriona, "I've seen about all I want to of it, but a soldier goes where she's ordered." Her voice softened and she leaned over to give the independent puppy an ear scratching. "Hello, precious."
Tara knew herself happy, here with Zevran, with a wonderful breakfast in front of her, nice puppies playing under the table, and friends in plenty. Important friends, too. Bronwyn was Queen, and liked mages. Tara had been to the Palace feast the night before, wearing her lovely dress given to her by Arl Teagan. Things were changing for the better… if the darkspawn or the Orlesians didn't kill them all.
"Anybody seen Anders?" she asked. She needed to talk to her fellow mages about Honnleath and the new warding spell she had learned there, but they were not to be found so early, the slackers.
"Anders always sleeps late," Carver told her. "Here, Magister, try these sausages…"
"Niall, then?" Tara persisted.
"Haven't seen him. Everybody was wiped out after last night. I like a good party as much as anybody, but I'll be glad when the Landsmeet is over."
"Not as happy, I suspect," said Zevran, "as our illustrious Commander."
"Really?" Tara asked concerned. "What's wrong?"
"I would not know," said Zevran. "I only observe. In my country, however, there is a saying: 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.' She has much to concern her, and more than her rightful share of enemies. The Landsmeet is a necessary evil, but I think she has had enough of nobles and their plotting."
"Everybody's always plotting," Quinn remarked. "Human nature, I guess." He blushed, "and… elven and dwarven nature too. No offense."
"None taken," Tara assured him, amused. "What's the weather like outside? I was too dopey when I woke up to look out the window."
"Pretty white," Carver said. "The dogs and I took a walk. Pretty cold, too."
"Rats," Tara complained. "I wanted to go to the Alienage."
'Why do we not go tomorrow, cara mia?" Zevran suggested. "You have your meeting with our noble Queen, and then, this afternoon, you should come to witness the mysteries of the Landsmeet. It is a rare and delightful opportunity to watch nobles in their natural habitat."
Tara was rather taken with the idea. "I never thought I'd have the chance. Pretty good for an elven mage, I'd say. Look, Brosca and I are going to see Bronwyn now. As soon I get back I'm calling a mages' meeting. I learned a neat new spell I want everybody to learn!"
The servants and guards were nice enough to get Tara and Brosca into the Palace, and then direct them up staircases and down confusing halls until they found the Queen's Apartments, which were where most people thought they would find Bronwyn.
"'Come see me,'" Tara, muttered. "Like we're supposed to know where she is, now that she doesn't live at the Compound anymore!"
Brosca shrugged. "Well, everybody does seem to know where she is. Relax, it's just another Palace, just like my sister lives in. How hard can it be?"
Tara's annoyance and embarrassment dissipated, once she was shown into Bronwyn's sitting room.
"Boss!" Brosca burst out. "This is great!"
"It's really nice," Tara agreed, looking around her. She liked the little flowers in the carpet a lot. Come to think of it, there were some silk rugs in the storerooms. She could lay one on the floor in her own room. This room gave her lots of ideas about fixing up her own quarters.
"Glad you like it," Bronwyn smiled back. "Come in and sit down. I want to hear all about your adventures."
They talked for some time. Bronwyn, obviously, was most interested in the darkspawn movements and the clearance of the Deep Roads.
"Loghain very much approved of your map," she told them. "Giving the places you encountered the darkspawn as well as the numbers was very helpful. If Astrid finds the way clear to Orzammar, it will give us a way to keep in contact with the dwarven kingdom all winter long. We'll also use it to pay a visit to Soldier's Peak."
"Oh, I'd love to go!" Tara enthused. "I'd like to visit with Jowan and Leliana. Let's go!"
"Not all of us," Bronwyn said. "I don't think the place is ready for that many. But when we go, I'll definitely take the two of you along."
"Sounds like fun, Boss," Brosca smiled. She wouldn't mind another chance to skim a bit more off the Kal'Hirol treasury.
Bronwyn had to go to her council meeting, but Brosca's curiosity was not satisfied.
"Can we see your crown?"
"If you come to the Landsmeet today," Bronwyn said wryly, not looking forward to wearing it, "you'll see it on my head. But all right. It's exactly like Loghain's, so we match."
So the heavy gold object was trotted out. Compared to the crown that Caridin had made for Bhelen it seemed pitifully plain, and Brosca was disappointed for her friend, thinking that the human deshyrs must be a bunch of cheap bastards. It should have some big rubies under each of those leaves, and maybe a ring of diamonds around the bottom. It should have something sparkly on it, anyway. Then she had an idea: Tara could write out a letter to Bhelen...nah...maybe to Rica. Rica could wheedle Bhelen into sending proper dwarven-crafted crowns to Bronwyn and the big guy. Didn't kings give each other presents? Bhelen owed Bronwyn a lot.
"Magetown?" Anders repeated, astonished. He had hardly known what to expect when Tara called the mages to a meeting, but this was beyond his imaginings. "A town of mages? A secret town of mages?" His smile burst forth. "That is the neatest thing I ever heard!"
Niall was even more astounded. In the Circle, he had been a member of the Isolationist Fraternity, where mages dreamed of leaving Thedas entirely, and creating their own ideal society. While they were blowing hot air about it, other mages were living that reality in a place called Honnleath.
"They're not all mages," Tara confessed. "Just a lot of them. Mages and their families. Maybe the husband or wife is a mage, and some of their children are mages. They use a lot of household spells I've never seen before, but then we never needed them in the Circle. Morrigan, have you ever heard of cooking and cleaning spells?"
"I have not," Morrigan replied, rather huffily. "Flemeth did not approve of using magic for frivolous ends."
"But it's not frivolous, really," Tara said. "They're some nice, everyday chopping and boiling spells... a spell to get stains out of linens... that sort of thing. Matthias told me they were derived from larger-scale spells, but they're quick and useful and don't take much out of you. The old man Wilhelm who was their leader for a long time had views," she snorted, "about 'living in peace,' so the people were weak on their primal and entropy spells. I gave them some remedial training. But they had this warding spell that I've never even read about. It creates a barrier that no darkspawn could break through, not even using magic. Really powerful—like a wall. What's absolutely brilliant about it is that spells and blows don't bounce off. Their energy is absorbed, making the barrier even stronger. You need something to anchor it, but let me show you. I'll use that doorway. Anders, get on the other side and I'll shoot spells at you."
"Yes," Anders answered, dead-pan. "I really to stand there while you shoot spells at me."
"All right!" Tara jumped up, nothing daunted. "Then you can shoot spells at me! I'll put up the barrier, give you a wave, and then you can send a fireball my way!"
"Tara?" Niall said, growing nervous. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"
"Come on! Prepare to be amazed. This is going to great for all of us!" She ran into the hall, stretched out her hand and murmured the incantation. She felt a smooth buzzing under her skin, and then grinned at her friends, waving them on.
"Er..." Anders grimaced. "I don't think so. I don't see anything."
"You asked for it!" Impatiently, Tara fired a bolt of lightning straight at them. Anders and Niall ducked. Morrigan flung up a hasty shield spell. None of those things were necessary. The lightning stopped at the doorway, spread out in a pool of cool light, and with a faint ripple, the doorway was transparent again. The other mages stared, and then each took a deep breath.
"Hit it!" Tara yelled. Or rather looked like she was yelling, because her voice did not travel through the barrier either.
"Let me see..." Morrigan approached, intrigued. She put out her hand at the doorway and came in contact with a smooth, hard, transparent surface. She rapped on it sharply. There was no sound, and the barrier did not yield in the least. "Impressive..." she muttered. "Stand back!"
She tested spells for some time. Tara grinned at her with cheeky impudence, unharmed, unaffected. Neither an entropic spell, nor a primal spell could pass the barrier. Anders found that not even a healing spell passed; all were absorbed into the barrier. Tara put up her hand at one point, and they watched while she took the barrier down.
"See? And there's also a version that makes you invisible and makes people avoid the barrier itself. You can anchor it to all sorts of things: trees, rocks, fence posts, houses. The people at Honnleath got sloppy and complacent and nearly got overrun by the darkspawn, but some got into a cellar and put up the barrier. The darkspawn couldn't get at them, but the people might have starved to death there if we hadn't come on the scene. It's great when you're camping. I'm going to teach it to the Dalish. It'll make their camps safe, too."
Niall was still bemused by the idea of a town where mages lived unharassed by the Chantry. "It's sounds perfect."
"It's not perfect," Tara said, shaking her head. "They're mostly farmers. They have to work hard. They have to make a living, but their magic helps. It doesn't do everything for them. It doesn't solve all their problems. But yes, they have nice normal lives, and people don't run around turning into abominations. One little girl was being bothered by a demon, but we got that sorted out pretty quick. I don't think they'd want a lot of mages with phylacteries coming there, bringing the Templars down on them, but otherwise it's great. I knew I was going to like it when I saw that there was no Chantry there. The houses look better than in any town I've visited, probably because they're not supporting a Chantry!"
"No Chantry?" Anders asked, with growing delight. "No Chantry at all?"
"I have already given orders to put the Orlesians' ship in order," Loghain announced to the rest of the Council. "They will be received at the beginning of the Landsmeet today, given a letter to the Empress, and escorted to the docks. The crew is being taken from Fort Drakon to the docks now. They will leave on the evening tide with instructions not to make port anywhere in Ferelden. I've done with pampering our enemies."
The letter, written by Anora and her long-time secretary, was a cool and perfectly polite political nothing. It was merely a pro forma communication from King Loghain and Queen Bronwyn, announcing their accession to the throne of Ferelden, and expressing their regards to Her Imperial Majesty as their neighbor.
Bronwyn was annoyed not to be included in the composition of the letter, but accepted it as part of Anora's duty as Chancellor. Reading through it, she found nothing to complain of, as the letter was remarkable only for its restraint. There was absolutely no point in sending threats or insults, however satisfying they might be. It was vital to try to put off any Orlesian invasion as long as possible, in order for Ferelden to prepare to counter it. The coronation of Loghain Mac Tir was provocative enough.
The letter was signed and sealed. Bronwyn was almost becoming accustomed to writing the words "Bronwyn, Queen of Ferelden."
And now, it was time to discuss the Dalish.
"We want to present the grant tomorrow, as the final act of the Landsmeet," said Bronwyn, seizing the moment. "The Orlesians will be gone, and won't be able to gossip about it. Those of us who have stood beside the Dalish—and there are many of us—will agree that it is best that they are suitably rewarded for their courage. The Council has already agreed to it in principle. This was the will of King Cailan, and it is incumbent on us to honor his commitment."
That largely silenced Teagan, who knew that Cailan had indeed wanted very much to reward his Dalish friends. He had felt that not enough was being said about his royal nephew, and that the last act of this special Landsmeet would be to honor his memory was deeply satisfying to him. That did not mean that he expected it not to meet some resistance and some very unpleasant remarks. He had done his best to meet and talk with his own banns, and present arguments as to why this was not only the honorable thing to do, but a good thing in itself. Let the Dalish have a little place of their own, and there would be fewer of them traveling the country, poaching game and quarreling with the locals.
Kane did not see how this affected him at all. His father-in-law had explained the map to him. The Dalish land was far to the south, days from Denerim. For all Kane cared, all the elves in Ferelden could move there, including the layabouts in the Alienage that the Queen fussed over. Maybe they should move there, and be with their own kind. Kane was more interested in getting home, and inspecting the kennels he had discovered he owned. The girls wanted puppies, going on and on about the King's 'cute little Amber.' Maybe one of the bitches was about to whelp. It was be wonderful if both the girls could have their own mabari friend. Reluctantly he set aside the pleasant dream. People were looking at him and still talking about the bloody elves.
"The Chantry is going to insist on sending missionaries," Bryland said glumly. "There will trouble. Not this year or the next, perhaps, but eventually."
"I've talked to the Dalish leaders about the importance of dealing courteously with Chantry personnel," Bronwyn said. "If they can keep their interactions peaceful, the Templars may not see fit to move in."
"You're more hopeful than I am, Bronwyn," said Fergus. "But I agree that we must honor the late King's promise here. "At least the agreement is under the authority of the Crown, and the King and Queen have the power to mediate any disputes."
The document was quite explicit about that. The grant was irrevocable, but the land was called a "protectorate of the Fereldan Crown." The Dalish would be self-governing within their borders, but still legally subject to Fereldan law outside them. The Dalish, as subjects of the King and Queen, were also entitled to their protection. A small, token tribute was written in, which a Dalish delegation must present at every spring Landsmeet. That was the palpable, concrete sign of the contract between the parties. The Dalish had not liked certain clauses, feeling they limited their independence, but it was the best everyone could do. The elves did not have a vote in the Landsmeet, but they had the right to attend and speak, which would not please some humans.
"After this, we should be finished," Anora told them, rather pleased. "Everyone will be glad of that. The Kornings and the Mac Coos are not going to put up a fight about their boundaries after all. We've already put quiet pressure on Bann Frandarel about keeping watch on the coast, and after consulting the treasury, we should be able to squeeze the coin for renovation of the tower on the Isle of Mourne. It commands all of Denerim Bay, and could give word of any fleet heading to the capital."
"We can't start construction on any of this until the weather improves," Loghain said, his face sour, "but by mid-Guardian we can make preliminary surveys and transport the materials. By Drakonis we had better put our backs into building our defenses."
Bronwyn was eager to inform those concerned about the situation in the Deep Roads. After the Council broke up, and Anora and Loghain were talking quietly together, Bronwyn asked Fergus and Nathaniel to speak to her, and quickly told them the news.
"My Wardens from West Hill arrived yesterday. The Amgarrak Road is clear all the way from that infamous silverite mine to the Deep Roads access point a mile from the fortress. Obviously, you'll have to travel on foot, but the going should be quick and easy. I have maps of the route, and we have a golem who can haul a wagon of whatever supplies you need."
"The Deep Roads!" Nathaniel stared at her, full of instinctive horror at the idea of descending below the surface. "Truly? They are free of darkspawn?"
"Good," Fergus gave her a nod. "I've already sent our ship off to Kirkwall. All that remains is to get Nate and his men to Kilda. This sounds like the way."
Loghain and Anora joined them. "The Deep Roads are clear?"
"The Amgarrak Road across the north of Ferelden is clear," said Bronwyn. "So say my Wardens. I can't guarantee that entirely, but they found no evidence of anything. My guess is that there might be some stragglers in side tunnels. Our party will be more than powerful enough to deal with them."
Fergus cocked his head. "'Our' party?"
Loghain scowled at her.
"Absolutely," Bronwyn replied, not about to be intimidated. "I need to inspect the Deep Roads myself, in my capacity as Warden-Commander. I want to visit Soldier's Peak and have one of my mages go with Nathaniel. The Landsmeet will be over, and that means that it's time for me to search for darkspawn again."
Loghain did not trust himself to speak calmly to those infernal Orlesians. It was important to be calm, to put on an Orlesian mask of good manners, to pretend that he did not know that they were trying to cut his throat. He knew Anora could manage it, but it would have to be Bronwyn, whom even the Orlesians seem to regard as having some sort of right to the throne. They held a brief conference, in which he and Anora told her what she needed to say. That only seemed to irritate her.
"I know perfectly well how to speak to ambassadors," she said. "Especially to ambassadors who will not like anything I say. I saw my father and mother gild the word 'no' in all sorts of ways. We're not granting them anything they want, and we're rather insultingly giving them the boot. I will phrase all the shameless hypocrisy as politely as possible."
And so she did. First she took great care to look her best: dressing in the elaborate gown she had worn at her wedding. Her hair was carefully arranged around her crown, and everyone seemed pleased at her appearance when she glided into the Landsmeet Chamber, her hand on Loghain's arm.
Duke Prosper and the Knight-Divine were escorted in, under guard. The Duke had evidently brought a great deal of fine clothing, for he was arrayed in a different doublet and hose than the one he had worn on his arrival. These were equally colorful, exquisite— and even picturesque. His beard and hair were perfectly arranged, and he appeared quite at his ease. He certainly, Bronwyn mused, did not lack courage.
The Knight-Divine was not so calm. He looked ruffled, like a hawk readying itself for an attack. There was something seething under the surface, and Bronwyn suspected it was anger.
Of course, they had been confined to their quarters for the past seven days, leaving only to witness the coronation—which they could not have found very enjoyable. True, the Knight-Divine had been permitted his interview at the Cathedral with the Grand Cleric a few days ago, but had not requested another audience.
The men bowed, though the Knight-Divine's bow was rather cursory.
Bronwyn took the lead, as planned.
"Your Grace. Knight-Divine. As gracious as your visit has been, it is now, alas, the time for farewells. We are impatient for you to transmit our regards to Her Imperial Majesty. Your crew has been set to work preparing your ship for your departure with ample supplies. Only your presence is needed there. Here is a letter for the Empress, expressing our respect to her, and informing her of our accession." She gestured to a clerk, who handed the document to the Duke, bowing.
She smiled, and gave them the real message. "The independence of Ferelden is innate, immutable, and indisputable. We are a free people, back to our earliest origins. We need neither foreign gold nor foreign arms to defend ourselves. We owe no fealty and pay no homage to those outside our borders. That said, the hand of Fereldan friendship is always outstretched to those who reciprocate in good faith. We look forward to peaceful and profitable relations with the Empire of Orlais and its illustrious Empress. Go now, with our wishes for your safe journey, and with these tokens of our gratitude for your endeavors."
Impatiently, Loghain snapped his fingers at a footman, who came forward, bearing flat, silk covered boxes. Opening one, the servant revealed to the Duke a large disc of gold, set with a carved emerald. It was attached to a long silk ribbon and could be worn around the neck like an order of honor. It was a particularly fine piece of loot that Bronwyn had found among the Architect's treasures, but the Orlesians did not need to know that. Bronwyn had assured Loghain that the jewel had been carefully cleaned with fire, but Loghain did not care. In fact, he would have been better pleased had been infected with Taint. That would have been too obvious, he supposed. The box for the Knight-Divine contained a similar item.
Bronwyn wanted to give them something particularly costly, partly to show him that the Crown of Ferelden was in no way necessitous or poor; and partly to rebuke the Empress' breach of manners. Celene, after all, had sent no gift to Ferelden, as was customary upon the accession of a new monarch—even upon the accession of a monarch one disliked.
Duke Prosper, understanding all this perfectly, accepted the generous gift with another elaborate bow and a twitch of his lips. It was clever of the girl. She had put him in a very awkward position. He could not keep this secret, and such a very a handsome gift might suggest that she had bought his loyalty—especially as no gift was being sent to Her Imperial Majesty. All in all, it was better played and more polished than he would have expected, had it all been left to the bandit Loghain.
There he sat on his stolen throne, wearing a doublet as black as his heart, stroking his mabari puppy and smirking grimly; while his fair and noble young queen did the honors.
"I shall convey your message to the Empress, Your Majesty," Duke Prosper assured her, "and I shall have much to relate of my experiences in Ferelden."
She smiled graciously, and turned her attention to Ser Chrysagon. "Knight-Divine," she said "We are also grateful to you for honoring us with your presence at such an auspicious time. Express our devotion and respect to Her Perfection, and assure her that Ferelden, the birthplace of Andraste, remains a bastion of devotion to her."
Duke Prosper admired the diplomatic ambivalence of the Queen's words. Devoted to the Divine— or only to Andraste? The Knight-Divine was too disgusted to play the courtier.
"I shall return," he gritted out, controlling himself with an effort. "Indeed I shall return. I shall tell Her Perfection of what I have seen—and heard—in this country!"
His tone caught the attention of the lords and ladies assembled. Charade and Bethany exchanged glances, lips twitching, remembering Charade's imitation of an Orlesian accent.
"I zhall tell Hair Perfection of wat I haf zeen—and haird—in zees countree!"
But there was only a moment for laughter. The Knight-Divine was working himself into a state of righteous fury. He spurned his gift from the footman, knocking it to the floor.
"Even the Grand Cleric joins with you in your mockery of the Maker's laws! She gives me papers making absurd, blasphemous claims; she tells me untruths to my face—"
Gasps, rising voices, cries of shock and alarm followed this declaration. Thunderstorms began gathering in the faces of the King and Queen. Duke Prosper was actually startled into showing surprise and a certain alarm. The Grand Cleric shut her eyes and slumped wearily, knowing that this was the crisis she had foreseen.
"The Grand Cleric," Knight-Divine shouted above the noise in the chamber "—the Grand Cleric has presented me with documents purporting to substantiate a miracle performed by Queen Bronwyn! She has dared to impute to her powers of healing derived from the Prophet Andraste herself! This lying testimony—signed by many in high positions in the Fereldan Chantry— states that the Queen obtained a pinch of the Prophet's Ashes, by which she healed Queen Anora and a child close to death!"
"She did, you fool!" shouted Knight-Commander Harrith, offering his arm to the trembling Grand Cleric. "I saw it for myself!"
The noise only grew greater. Duke Prosper's brows rose. This piece of news was extremely interesting, and he wanted to see the papers for himself, if he was not summarily executed in the next few minutes. The herald shouted uselessly for silence. Loghain lost patience with it all.
"Enough!"
The bellow silenced the room. Excited gossip died away into frightened squawks.
"Knight-Divine," said Loghain. "You have overstayed your welcome."
Ser Chrysagon seemed to have completely lost his head. "I have stayed long enough to see this barbarous land for what it is! I hereby arrest the Grand Cleric Muirin for heresy! She will travel with us to Val Royeaux to face the judgment of the Divine and the Holy Office of the Grand Cathedral!"
Thanks to my reviewers: Reyvatiel Songtress, TSLi, Sash'Rahaal, Blinded in a bolthole, Guest, anon, reality deviant, KnightOfHolyLight, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Rexiselic, Kyren, Robbie the Phoenix, Mike3207, Girl-chama, Tirion, JackOfBladesX,Phygmalion, Jenna53, Gene Dark, Have Socks. Will Travel, Halm Vendrella, sizuka2, jnybot, mille libri, rhcpftw, dragonmactir, and Josie Lange.
Letters of marque and reprisal—these early licenses were granted to specific individuals to seize the king's enemies at sea in return for splitting the proceeds between the privateers and the crown.
I've been hurrying to finish this chapter, since I wanted to spend the weekend goofing off at Windycon in Chicago (Lombard, really). The theme this year is zombies.
The title is from Henry IV, Part II, Act III, scene 1.
For Loghain fans: you should have a look at dragonmactir's story, The Return.