Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 90: Sunless Journeys
While the wind blew sharp and the snow drifted high, the party composed of King, Queen, Ambassadors, Wardens, and the Legion of the dead sped along underground in comparative comfort.
Two mages were always in the vanguard, burning away clumps of Taint, while scouts and archers looked for enemies. There were none. What was before them, instead, was a long, rambling labyrinth of tunnels leading to the vast and majestic Deep Roads.
When he had made the journey underground from Vigil's Keep to the mine, Nathaniel had been too fixed on a goal to take in much of his surroundings. Now, making, the same journey in reverse, he was astonished by all he saw. When they finally moved into the Deep Roads proper, he admitted to himself that he not really imagined their scope. Aside from some rockfalls and the remains of darkspawn vandalism, they truly were broad, smooth roads: easily traveled, well-marked, and engineered with unmatched genius.
Loghain accepted his return to the Deep Roads without complaint. At that, they were not the horror he had experienced so long ago. Parts of them were clean now, and the once shrouded glory was on full display. Ferelden had treated with Orzammar as an ally throughout Maric's reign. Only now, during the Blight, had Loghain come to see the full potential of that alliance. In its own way, it was just as valuable as a possible alliance with the Nevarrans.
The Chantry might control the lyrium trade, but the dwarves controlled the lyrium. If the Orlesian Chantry declared an official Exalted March, the first thing they would do would be to force the Templars to choose a side. Those in opposition to the Divine would have their regular supply of lyrium cut off, eventually making them mad and useless. However, it was just possible that a secret deal could be cut with King Bhelen, and the traffic conducted underground and out of sight. He did not expect the Templars to support him in large numbers, but some very well might. Even if they could remain neutral but sane, that would be a gain.
Access to the Deep Roads was a tactical advantage beyond his wildest dreams. He was keeping detailed notes on his maps of roadblocks and bottlenecks. For the most part, the Roads were in a condition to allow a large force to travel along them fairly quickly. The lack of beasts of burden was a logistical problem, but it might be solved by human laborers pulling supply wagons. Perhaps sure-footed mules could manage the stone steps from the surface. Furthermore, traveling the Deep Roads simply did not require the same amount of equipment that the surface world did. Tents were optional; blankets largely unnecessary. There was no challenge from the environment, other than possible attackers that would be dealt with by the use of weapons, which he and his soldiers carried anyway. There was water in plenty, marked on the map; and where it burst out in springs filtered through rock, it was pure, even in places the darkspawn had traveled.
Food was the one thing they must carry. A large human army could not live off lichen and deepstalkers. Provisions would be the largest item they need carry, but not needing tents, blankets or heavy clothing already reduced the wagon train of his imagination to comparatively modest proportions. How deep did the Deep Roads run under Gherlen's Pass? Would it be feasible to dig into them from the surface directly to the stronghold?
Or—he pulled out his maps once more, and began studying the other side of the border. Where was the nearest access point in Orlais? He knew quite a bit about Roc du Chevalier from various agents. Their main defenses faced east, of course, into Ferelden. Did they even guard the western approach? He smiled, happily and very unpleasantly. Then he noticed a pair of his old soldiers gazing reverentially at Bronwyn, and he scowled again. People were taking the whole issue of "Andraste's True Champion" entirely too seriously.
They stopped briefly to leave Varel—now Bann Varel—in charge at Vigil's Keep, pick up yet more supplies, and for Nathaniel to apprise Adria of what was going on. She, of course, could be trusted.
"All the way to Nevarra!" she gasped, her warm dark eyes scanning his face with anxious affection. "You've hardly been home at all, and now you must travel to foreign parts again!"
"I've been entrusted with a great responsibility, Adraia," he told her, kissing her lined forehead. "It's an honor. I'll try to be back by the end of Wintermarch, but we'll see how it goes. I'll bring you back a present."
Topaz, Adria's wise and faithful mabari, gave Nathaniel a whine and a wag. He patted the dog, smiling.
"And now, I'm off! I can't keep the Queen waiting!"
They moved swiftly and slept securely in the sunless gloom of the underworld. The wonders of Kal'Hirol were revealed, and there they camped for a few days, while Bronwyn led her Wardens on a journey north to Soldier's Peak. Loghain insisted on going along, and at length they burst out into the piercing cold light of winter from beneath Drake's Fall.
It was just as well that they had left the wagons behind in the Deep Roads, for the going was hard on the surface. Snow had drifted high, obscuring the landmarks. Bronwyn studied her map anxiously. Once into the tunnels leading up to the fortress they were somewhat sheltered from the wind, but it was a profound relief to climb the rest of the way up to the rambling, soaring stones of the ancient Warden fortress.
The wind drove tiny grains of ice into their faces. Bronwyn gestured at the massive structure, a looming grey shadow in the swirling whiteness. Loghain peered at it, proud that Ferelden possessed a fortress so imposing, and displeased that it belonged to what was essentially a foreign military order. No Orlesian must ever be permitted to command here.
A voice called to them above the scream of the wind.
"My lady! Is that you?"
"It is indeed!" She peered at the tall, lean shape bundled in furs. "Dirk!" She told Loghain. "This is Dirk Wolf." She shouted at the former werewolf. "Is everyone all right!"
"All is well, Lady. All but those on watch are safe behind stout walls. Let me lead you to the Keep."
The broad double doors opened, and the wild noise faded to a dull roar. Bronwyn wiped her eyes with the back of her gauntlet, leaving a faint pink smear on it. The storm was fierce. The next door led them into the Hall proper, alight with a cheerful fire in the big hearth. Wolf surged ahead of their party, heralding their arrival with a triumphant shout.
"It is the Lady of the Wardens. She comes, with her companions!"
More shouts, cries, scrambling feet, doors slamming; and Leliana ran in from the door on the far wall, her arms out.
"Oh, Bronwyn!"
Hakan and Soren came in through a side door, pleased and grinning, happy to have company other than their own, especially happy that some of the dwarven company was female.
Leliana was enchanted to have company, herself. She recognized Loghain, and started; then curtsied graciously.
"My lord! What an honor! Thank the Maker we have a decent quarters for you! Really! We've accomplished so much! I want you to see everything! But you must have had a terrible journey."
"Not so bad, really," Bronwyn said, "We traveled by the Deep Roads much of the way. The darkspawn have withdrawn elsewhere for the moment."
"How strange!" Leliana wondered. Then her mind turned to her large party of guest and how to care for them. "We always have soup on the simmer. We can give you a hot meal directly! Here—yes—Rizpah, take the Teyrn and Teyna's cloaks and packs to the Commander's quarters."
"—the King and Queen!" Tara corrected her, smirking.
"Oh, yes! How exciting!—Hello, Tara, I'm still so surprised—Rizpah, take Their Majesties' cloaks and packs upstairs. We have not yet had a chance to furnish it as I would like, but it will be at least warm and comfortable."
The news that they were entertaining the King and Queen of Ferelden sped rapidly through the castle, and mobs of red-haired and black-haired Drydens and yellow-eyed Wolfs crowded close, eager to meet, greet, and help.
"—And this is Levi Dryden," Bronwyn said, introducing him to Loghain, "Patriarch of Clan Dryden, and descendant of Commander Sophia—"
"What an honor, Your Majesty!"
A child pointed at Loghain. "Is that Teyrn Loghain?"
"He's the King now, darling," her mother murmured.
"Hello, King Teyrnloghain," the child sang out.
General laughter and good feeling. Those who had not seen the place before marveled at it.
"This is all ours?" asked Catriona. "It's immense!"
"This is great!" Brosca yelled. "By the Stone! This is huge!"
"It was nearly a ruin," Leliana told them, showing them around the downstairs proudly. "But now it has had a good cleaning. I have all the plans made out as to plastering and masonry, but those must wait for the spring. I am so glad we have enough bedding…"
Bronwyn looked about, amazed at how much had been done. Simply clearing away bones and cobwebs had made a tremendous difference. The demon-haunted ruin was now a shabby but functioning castle. The Great Hall was warm and welcoming, its long table polished to a mellow shine. The kitchen was clean and full of inviting smells. At the end of the corridor stood Andraste, shelves of votive candles on either side. She looked pleased, too, Bronwyn thought.
Leliana showed them the library, which was rather dark.
"I cannot open the shutters until the glazier can come, and that will not be for months. Still, we organized the books and used the hopelessly broken shelves for fuel. It is a pleasant place to read on clear days. Oh, and let me show you the salle d'armes."
The big chamber on the other side of the Great Hall had been made into a very nice practice room, complete with weapons racks and archery targets. The long gallery running the length of the room and up a few steps had been cleared of its bunk beds and was now a place to meet and talk and oversee training.
"And we can use it as a ballroom, someday," Leliana said, dimpling. "With its own minstrel's gallery!"
Their supper was put on the table, and they ate hungrily before the tour resumed. Part of the way through the meal Jowan appeared, looking a bit harassed, but bowing dutifully.
"How is Warden Avernus?' Bronwyn asked him quietly.
Hakan and Soren snorted. "Couldn't kill him with an axe!"
"He's fine, Bronwyn—er, Your Majesty. His mind is razor-sharp."
Loghain scowled, wondering of whom they were speaking. He was eager to see every corner of this structure, and to analyze it for weaknesses—which were few from his cursory examination. There was a great deal of talking, drinking, and laughing, but Loghain spent most of his time in thinking.
Soon they were on the move again: the Wardens were shown their quarters, and Bronwyn and Loghain were given the tour of the offices and storerooms. Bronwyn told Jowan that she wanted to meet with him, Anders, and Tara in the "workroom" later, and he nodded, understanding her.
The next floor was in confusion, future rooms marked out in detail on the stone floor. Only the little mezzanine was still fairly intact, though Hakan had decided that the staircase from it to the upper floor must be moved, and the new one be made of stone.
"This will be six private rooms," Leliana informed them. "As you see, the space was entirely wasted before… And upstairs…"
Andraste's former location was filled with a large table surrounded by chairs. The far wall was warmed by an old wall hanging embroidered with griffons.
"I have commissioned a round table for this space," Leliana went on. "It will be such an excellent council chamber, and very quiet for meetings. And here, of course, are your quarters."
Ah, the wonders of soap and water. Bronwyn had felt some trepidation at the idea of sleeping in the room so long occupied by the demon possessing Sophia Dryden's decrepit corpse. Good work had been done here: the reek of decay was gone, as were the... er... remains. The room was scrubbed out and mildewed books removed. It was furnished with a wash stand, a tub, chests and armor stands, a writing table, and a pair of chairs . A servant had made up the fire while they sat at supper. The bed was actually two single beds, pushed together, with feather beds heaped high across them. It was crude and ungraceful, but looked invitingly soft for all that.
"You've worked wonders, Leliana," Bronwyn said, "Thank you."
"It was my great pleasure. Will you be staying long?"
"Alas, no. We're in the midst of a mission. We'll be off tomorrow, and we'll need to steal Jowan for awhile." Seeing Leliana's disappointment, she added. "Now that we have a way to avoid the worst of the weather, I'll be sending more people here to help. Alistair is back from Ostagar with his people, and they would love to visit."
"How delightful! It does get a little lonely here."
"I'll see that we do it soon."
Loghain was looking a bit impatient. The maids were bringing up some hot water, and were filling the bath.
"I have to meet with some of my Wardens, Loghain. I'll bathe after you."
He frowned at her in suspicion. Bronwyn smirked. The snow had reduced their visibility so greatly that Loghain had not even seen the free-standing Mages' Tower. Leliana's strategically placed wall hanging had concealed the door to the high stone bridge connecting the tower with the rest of the castle. Bronwyn hoped Loghain enjoyed a nice, long bath. There were secrets she did not wish to share, nor did she want to discuss Avernus with him.
"Where is the treasure chest?" she whispered to Leliana.
"In the Mages' Tower," Leliana whispered back. "No one will dare trouble it there."
Her meeting with the mages was interesting but contentious. Bronwyn told them about the embassy to Nevarra, and told Jowan to be ready to move out the next day. The diffident young mage had clearly learned a very great deal from Avernus, but not everyone approved of the new battlemagics he described.
"It's still Blood Magic," Anders grumbled. "I don't like it."
"Well, the Joining is Blood Magic," Tara said, "so some kinds of Blood Magic are necessary. And if you need to put a powerful opponent down really quick—"
Bronwyn saw Avernus' eyes glint with malicious amusement, and wanted to head everyone off the path to loud, pointless arguments.
"I agree that Blood Magic is wrong, up until one reaches the point at which one is going to die without it," she said, her face hard. "If that is what it takes to keep you all alive and killing darkspawn, I'm all for it."
"Bronwyn!" Anders threw up his hands in disgust.
"I'm serious," she insisted. "Your lives are more precious to me than your principles. I don't want anyone dying a noble, preventable death. I also don't want other people dying if they can be protected. Certain forms of Blood Magic have always been accepted. No one's proposing that you keep phylacteries of your enemies and try to enthrall them the way those vile Tevinters did."
Avernus nodded sagely. He had wheedled and manipulated every single detail of the story about the Tevinter hideout from the Wardens. Those were forms of attack that also needed countermeasures. He had done his bit of enthralling... or at least nudging... in his day. That Wardens would be controlled in such a way was unacceptable.
Bronwyn could see that he was not particularly pleased to be losing his new acolyte, but he accepted it as necessary, holding out for another Warden mage to train up his way. Tara did not seem unwilling, which was a good thing, since Anders and Avernus seemed likely to butt heads. It was unfortunate that Morrigan was not a Warden, for Avernus had met Morrigan and thought well of her mind— aside from her failure to take the Joining. He refused on principle, however to teach her spells that he considered Warden secrets.
But Tara would get on with him. After they completed their journey to West Hill—or a bit farther—perhaps they would return and let Tara spend some time here. Zevran, too. He was always worried that someone was about to assassinate Bronwyn, but with the Landsmeet over and won, and no Orlesians likely to fall upon them until spring, surely he could enjoy a well-deserved holiday, complete with winter sports, here in the Wardens' Keep. It was a better place to train and spar than the more cramped training room at the Compound.
Jowan looked a bit hunted and harassed at the orders to pack up and go on a long, dangerous mission across the Waking Sea. He clutched his mabari puppy closer. He was, Bronwyn decided, getting just a little too comfortable here.
"I know it's sudden, Jowan," she said gently, "but you're the closest thing we have to an expert on Nevarra, and the party really needs a mage."
"And no phylactery in sight, on that side of the Waking Sea!" Anders pointed out.
"Actually..." Jowan looked around from habit, and then confessed. "You don't really have phylacteries anymore either."
Tara stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Jowan fidgeted, rubbing Lily's ears. "I tampered with them. I already told Anders and Morrigan about this, but you wouldn't know. When I was searching the Cathedral with the soldiers. I found the phylacteries. I injected them all with sheep's blood. They're all useless-at least the ones placed there before the tenth of Harvestmere."
A silence and then a burst of wild laughter. Lily was startled and woke up from her doze with a yip. She jumped from Jowan's lap and trotted over to Scout.
Anders, who generally disliked Jowan, actually slapped him on the back. "It's still the best thing I ever heard."
Tara frowned. "You didn't just smash them?"
"Of course not," Jowan said, irritated. "They would have just cut everyone again. They're no good, but the priests won't ever know it."
"Well reasoned, acolyte!" Avernus praised him. "An admirable ploy."
They went around the room, reporting more of their various discoveries. Bronwyn found some of the talk boringly technical, but their results were not. New barrier spells, improved Joining potions, greater skill with shape-shifting and battlemagic like the Arcane Warrior ability... her mages were proving their worth, over and over.
"Did I tell you guys about how I found the Aeonar Prison?" Tara asked. Jowan fell silent. Tara, remembering Jowan's escape from the Circle, as well as its cause, said, "No, I didn't go in, but I found the place. It looks like a ruin, and there's a little stone cottage nearby, with a squad of Templars keeping watch... in disguise. Templars pretending to be honest countryfolk are pretty funny."
Avernus was interested, and asked her to show him the location on a map. Considering it, he remarked, "It is well known that the Tevinters conducted experiments there. I think it very likely that the Chantry has followed suit. Though it is a prison, it is not precisely a mage's prison."
Anders agreed. "Nobody ever suggested sending me there. I think it's more for cleansing anyone who's had contact with Blood Magic."
Tara got up and prowled around the room. "Someone who's not a mage! Nobody said a word about sending me there, either! I'd like to sneak in and find out what's going on."
Bronwyn was not thrilled at the idea. "I think I've kicked the hornet's nest quite enough for one year, thank you. The Chantry's already threatening an Exalted March."
"Then what have you got to lose?" Jowan asked. "If they do declare an Exalted March, then the Aeonar Prison would be an enemy stronghold!"
They set off moderately early the next morning. Snow was falling again, turning the air dense and white. They were in the rugged hills of Drake's Fall as soon as they could manage it, and then glad to be underground for the long slog back to Kal'Hirol. Jowan carried Lily in a sling similar to Loghain's and Carver's. The puppies were growing rapidly, but the snow was too deep for them to manage in comfort.
Bronwyn brooded over the Aeonar issue, not willing to mention it to Loghain at the moment. If it was not used to incarcerate mages, what was it used for? What did the Chantry need a remote location for, when they had a vast complex in Val Royeaux. The only reasons she could come up with were not very savory ones. The Chantry had secrets, yes; she knew that. The location of the Aeonar suggested they had secrets they did not even want their own people to know about.
Just like the Grey Wardens, she thought wryly. Imagine a Thedas in which everyone told the truth and shared important information!
Actually, she could not. Was Aeonar a threat? Why did they not keep the phylacteries there? Was it a training facility? Tara had reminded Bronwyn—in discreet whispers—of the reason she had been locked up at the Circle. Jowan had tried to run away with a Chantry initiate. Tara had helped them, and Jowan had panicked, used Blood Magic, and had fled, leaving Lily and Tara behind. Tara had been imprisoned in the Circle Tower's dungeons. LIly had been shipped off... to the Aeonar. So the place was a prison for failed priests? Perhaps for failed Templars, also?
Loghain roused her from her thoughts.
"Can you see the Waking sea from that castle of yours in good weather?"
"I don't know," Bronwyn admitted. "I've never been able to spend much time there, and it didn't occur to me to look. The topmost tower is pretty high, but as you saw, they had the shutters closed. That's something to look into, certainly. If not, I'm sure we can find a good site for a watchtower right on the coast. Of course," she added glumly, "if the Orlesian fleet is already that close, we're in serious trouble."
Loghain grunted. That was too true for argument. Ferelden had hundreds of miles of coastline. If Ferelden still had a proper fleet, it would be better to bottle up the Orlesians further west, where the sea narrowed at the Virgin Rocks by the Kirkwall Passage. That Rivainni woman Fergus recommended was supposedly a skilled captain. If they could find a few more like her, they might be able to eke out an effective tactical fleet, supplemented by what remained of Maric's shipbuilding. The Glavonaks' machines might well work at sea. They had another device, too, that the mad brother seemed excited about: it was a sort of pump with a metal hose, and it squirted fire. While the effects resembled a mage's spell, it would be far more powerful. More like a dragon's breath, the dwarves told him. They were building him a prototype. Dragon's Breath. That was a good name for it.
Happy to be back in mild climate of the Deep Roads, Amber began squirming. Loghain let her walk, watching her trot along with her littermate Magister, the two of the following Scout like obedient little soldiers. Loghain had visited the royal kennels before he left. The kennelmasters were working hard there, making good the losses from the Bloomingtide battle. Cailan had launched the dog's charge far too early. The archers should have got off at least three more volleys before the young king released the hounds. Typical of him, of course: impulsive and slovenly. Dogs were as precious as any other soldier. How would the mabaris fare against the chevaliers? The ineffectual Brandel had made little use of them, and had fled Denerim leaving the kennels behind. The kennelmasters had for the most part set the dogs loose rather than hand them over to the Orlesians. Loghain's own childhood friend, Adalla, had probably been a descendant of those escaped hounds. How to make good use of the mabaris? They were effective, properly managed, against darksapwn. Against armored warhorses? Perhaps not— or not effective in a grand but idiotic frontal assault.
After long hours, they saw the campfires ahead, and the guards recognized them. Nathaniel came to greet them, relieved to see them again.
"It felt like you've been gone forever, but the dwarves say not. It's hard to gauge time, without sun or moon."
Everyone at Kal'Hirol was in good spirits. Hawk's dog, Hunter, came to visit the other mabaris, and they appeared to be playing some sort of bizarre game of tag.
The dwarves, they learned, had enjoyed seeking out the mysteries of the ancient thaig. More books and inscriptions had been discovered, and some smithing workshops examined for their secrets. Once arrived, Brosca, Sigrun, and Jukka gave Tara a wink, and strolled off, suspiciously innocent. They had whispered a promise to go shares with the "old crowd." The treasury of Kal'Hirol was skimmed judiciously, yet again.
Carver, fresh from hot meals and a soft bed at Soldier's Peak, felt superior to Adam for once. Or at least cleaner. They were getting on better than they usually did. It helped that Arl Nathaniel was a good fellow: a little stuffy, a little formal and a little old-fashioned, but really decent. The others in the party actually looked up to Carver as a Warden.
He introduced Jowan to them, and found out that most of them knew that Jowan was the mage who had brought the Sacred Ashes to Queen Anora. That disposed them to think well of him from the first. The fact that Jowan wore light armor and carried a sword made him less a mage in their eyes than some sort of bookish gentleman Warden who knew healing.
The reading Jowan had done about Nevarra stood him in good stead. The embassy gathered together when they camped. Sometimes they walked together. Jowan told them lore he had gathered about Nevarran customs and the history of the dragon-hunters. Nathaniel told those who had not heard it the Nevarran story of the clever thief. Adam had unearthed an old copy of Brother Genetivi's Travels of a Chantry Scholar for the bits about Kirkwall and Nevarra. Of course, Genetivi had just been a wanderer, not an envoy to the Court. He had not represented the nation of Ferelden. Nathaniel knew that far more would be expected of an ambassador.
After a long march, they camped, ate, posted guards, and settled down to sleep, though the light was just the same as it always was. Nathaniel found that rather disorienting, and brooded quietly by his campfire. Not far away, Bronwyn was sleeping in her cloak beside Loghain. She slept very decorously, her hands crossed under her heart like a queen on a monument.
Nathaniel watched her, thinking of the imponderable twists of fate. How had it happened, that he was in the Deep Roads, going on a desperate mission to find friends for his country? How had it happened that Bronwyn Cousland should be married to Loghain Mac Tir, rather than himself? That Bronwyn should be a Grey Warden, commanding a rowdy company of misfits and castoffs? Was it the doing of the mad being called the Architect, who had caused a Blight to occur in their lifetimes? Was it the fault of those vile Tevinter mages, perverting Father's mind for who knew how many years?
Perhaps it was they who had turned Father against him. It was the shock of his life when Father had exiled him to the Free Marches. There was no apparent reason; nothing that Nathaniel had done to disgrace himself or his family. One day, Father had coldly declared his will, and nothing could sway him. While other heirs remained at their father's sides, learning the art of ruling, Nathaniel found himself squiring a succession of arrogant Marcher nobles. He had not even been given the chance to bid farewell to his friends. In the long run, it had not been to Father's advantage. Bryce and Eleanor had liked him, Nathaniel knew. If he had offered for Bronwyn, they would not have refused him.
And what of Bronwyn? Nathaniel could not believe that given time and effort, he could not have won her, if only because he saw little in the way of competition among the great nobles who would have been the only possible claimants for the hand of the noblest maiden in the land. Loghain had seemed disinclined to remarry, as did Arl Wulffe. For that matter, the Couslands might not have wanted to send their daughter to the south. Vaughan Kendalls was too unsavory to consider, and Bryland's boys were too young. No. He, Nathaniel would have been the logical, proper choice; the choice that would have bid fair to be a happy one for both of them. Father's intrigues had done nothing but destroy him, and nearly destroy the Howes altogether.
Actually, shortly sending Nathaniel away, Father's greatest fear was that Bronwyn would be wed either to Cailan or to King Maric himself. The King was a healthy, vigorous man, and much of the Landsmeet felt he was failing in his duty by not remarrying and begetting more Theirins. He should have lived far longer, and Bronwyn might well have been his Queen. Nathaniel found that idea rather distasteful. King Maric had been a great man, but he had not been a great man where women were concerned. His conduct toward Alistair, for example, was deplorable. There might even be other bastards. For that matter, some Landsmeet gossip had noted that Warden Anders resembled the late king.
Bronwyn stirred in her sleep, frowning. She must be dreaming of unhappy things. Nathaniel grew anxious, wishing he could help her. As far as he could tell, Loghain cared little for her, using her bloodright to advance his own ambitions. Nathaniel had not missed the look on Bronwyn's face when Loghain turned to his own daughter for counsel, ignoring his young Queen. Nathaniel greatly respected Loghain, and felt he was the best man to rule Ferelden at this dark time; but that it had to be at the cost of Bronwyn sacrificing herself was a bitter thing to him. And who was fit for her anyway? The Prophet had shown her favor... the Maker had turned his gaze her way. Perhaps it was impious for any mere man to claim her. Marriage had not worked very well for Andraste and Maferath, after all.
A soft moan caught his attention. Grey Wardens were unquiet sleepers, Nathaniel had discovered. He was tempted to go over and awaken her from her nightmare, but Loghain, sleeping beside her, put out his own big hand. He laid it gently on Bronwyn's forehead, calming her. It was the first sign of tenderness for his queen that Nathaniel had seen, and the young arl was not sure whether to be relieved or repulsed. Bronwyn woke a little, her eyes opening slowly. She saw Nathaniel, watchful and anxious, and gave him a sweet, sleepy smile before falling back into slumber.
He must stop thinking of what might have been, or it would drive him mad. The embassy to Nevarra had seemed to him important to protect Ferelden's independence; not it had become imperative, if he were to keep his honor.
At the end of the next march, they reached Amgarrak Thaig. The dwarves left there were overjoyed to be relieved, and even more overjoyed to be assured that they had not be left inside a dead thaig while all the rest of the Legion was slaughtered. Seeing everyone well and safe was cause for celebration. Shale pulled the supply wagon into the thaig with a certain careless panache, proud of its immense strength as a golem.
"I, over course," Shale pointed out. "Need no supplies, being self-sufficient in all things."
"That's nice for you," Tara agreed, munching on a spicy sausage. "But maybe a bit dull."
The Legion moved into the thaig as if into their own home. Loghain and Bronwyn were taken on an official tour and were impressed by the general shininess. Catriona was the supplemental guide, giving them details of the fight with the flesh-golem. The bloodstains were barely visible.
"But other working golems were discovered here?" asked Loghain.
"Five, in fact," Shale put in. "Not as independent as I am, of course, but quite serviceable, especially the one named Rune. Most impressive in the art of squishing darkspawn."
Loghain wondered if one of them might have been the golem owned by the mage Wilhelm during the Rebellion. The mage had done good service, and his golem had been useful in a fight. It had never spoken, unlike the extraordinary creature named Shale—who had an opinion about nearly everything—but it had understood speech and could follow orders. Loghain coveted a golem. The immense strength would be invaluable in building defensive works. Yes, he coveted any golem other than Shale. The endless snark palled a bit after a few days.
Half a day out of Amgarrak Thaig they actually encountered darkspawn.
The scouts heard the scrabbling beyond the stone walls of the Deep Roads, and alerted the rest of the party. Bronwyn sensed the creatures first, and then the more experienced of the Wardens did too. Loghain immediately organized their defenses, and they were well-prepared by the time the wall collapsed, revealing a band of darkspawn pouring out of a crude tunnel, rumbling like bees bursting from the cells of a hive.
"Loose!" roared Loghain.
A wall of arrows arced to meet the charging genlocks. Sizzling spellfire shot out like fireworks. Hurlocks flung out their arms to summon their battle rage and were knocked flying. Brosca and Jukka threw acid bombs into the tunnel mouth. Darkspawn screamed in a murderous green haze.
Some of the creatures scrambled over their fellows' corpses and leaped forward. Shale trundled out, grabbed a pair of them and smashed them together. The oozing bodies were thrown in the faces of more darkspawn, which struggled to push past the piling bodies. Shale picked up a huge building stone and tossed it into the tunnel. It tumbled, end over end, crushing more of the monsters.
"Shale! Out of the way!" ordered Loghain. At his signal, another volley was launched: arrows, spellfire, and bombs in a fury of destruction.
Scout tensed impatiently next to Bronwyn, annoyed that he had not had the chance to tear at one of the Tainted things. Hunter bayed, ready to do his part.
That changed with another charge. The darkspawn did not intend to retreat. The survivors sensed their ancient enemy and attacked again. A handful reached the defensive line of Wardens and were cut down and mauled by the dogs. Bronwyn quietly ordered her people to collect some darkspawn blood. One never knew when more Wardens would be needed.
The looting by Wardens and Legion alike was a matter-of-fact business. Loghain frowned, watching it, not because of the looting itself—all soldiers did that—but because it occurred to him that there might be a great deal of treasure in the Deep Roads. He asked Bronwyn as much.
"Yes. I daresay they found quite a bit in the thaigs," she agreed. "No one's talking about it, but that's only to be expected. What? Are you considering a treasure-hunting expedition?"
"It's not a bad idea," he said, his voice low. "Down in some of the empty Roads there must be other lost thaigs. If the dwarves have done without the treasure for ages, I see no reason for us to hesitate to go after it. Let's look at that Deep Roads map again when we get to West Hill."
Bronwyn remembered that there were certainly some old thaigs marked on the map. One was a little south of the access point at Lake Belennas; another was east of Ostagar. There were some other, smaller ones as well. Unquestionably, they needed coin for the kind of defenses Loghain wanted to build. The Deep Roads were a possible option, though she felt a bit torn, wondering if any treasure found with the aid of Grey Warden ought to go directly to the Wardens. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She was already keeping a fortune in gold secret from Loghain. If he ever heard about the hidden chest at Soldier's Peak, he would not soon forgive her.
But he would not know The Wardens and their friends had no reason to blab to him, and Bronwyn was not going to betray that particular Warden secret, either. That gold made them independent; no longer hostage to the petty moods of Crown and Landsmeet. With the land she had wrung from the Council, they could be self-sustaining as to food. They might even make coin from the surplus. She had a real responsibility to the Wardens, and did not want to sacrifice them to the convenience of Ferelden. So far, she had seen little evidence that Ferelden's gratitude would outlive the Blight. Well... not more than a year or two, at any rate.
"I thought the idea of the letter of marque was a good one, too," she said. "Privateers are an inexpensive alternative to building ships."
He was still studying the map. "As long as they attack our enemies, and don't bring down the wrath of everyone else upon us. Your brother's Captain Isabela sounds like a dodgy little adventuress to me."
"Well," Bronwyn said, a little annoyed. "We'll see how dodgy she is when the time comes for the embassy to cross the sea. If she can dodge the Orlesians, then good on her."
They discovered later that they emerged from the Deep Roads on the twenty-first. The snow was thick on the ground, and heavy. Spoiled by days in the weatherless Deep Roads, soldiers bitched and complained about the effort involved in taking apart their supply wagon and hoisting it to the surface. Then they complained about marching through the snow.
Shale did not complain, but waded through the drifts with undaunted aplomb. It only paused when a hawk and a raven rose up from the ranks and winged swiftly toward the jagged rise of West Hill. This feat roused murmurs of awe and admiration from the rest of the column. Shale did not seemed inclined toward either emotion.
"Yes," Tara admitted meekly. "Morrigan and Anders can turn into birds."
"Indeed." Shale's voice was as frosty as the ice coating the top of its head. "I suggest they be careful about their foul and bird-like functions, less I squish their fragile bird-like heads."
Loghain snorted. Personally, he was pleased that they had scouts who could alert the fortress of their arrival. For that matter, the mages were scouts who could take a quick look at the place... just in case unfriendly forces held it. Who knew what was going on in this part of the country? Frandarel was an incompetent fool. It was hard to access the fortress' condition at this distance and in this weather, but Loghain noted that the outer works at the base of the hill were badly eroded. Not a promising beginning.
"I'm glad you're with us!" Brosca told him in her frank way, trudging along beside Bronwyn. "The fellow in charge here nearly refused to let us in. Made Astrid sign some sort of paper, promising to pay for food and lodging. As if! Place is falling apart, too."
Loghain's lips thinned. His inspection here would be very thorough.
The reception accorded to Loghain was considerable more friendly—or at least more subservient— than the one earlier given to the Wardens. The news from Denerim was greeted with wonder, and the seneschal made bold to open one of the 'good' guestrooms for the King and Queen... and then another for the Arl of Amaranthine... and then another for the Bann of Amaranthine City.
"And his brother!" said Carver. "In fact, I think you should open them all up and give us the best lodging available."
Tara muttered, "They stuck us in a dusty old courtyard before. The barracks hadn't been cleaned in ages," She felt rather put upon. What did Wardens have to do to get some respect?
Apparently, wear the crown of Ferelden. The people of West Hill had heard of the Girl Warden, and were thrilled to acclaim her as Queen.
"Tall and human," Brosca comforted Tara. "That counts for a lot in these parts. Of course the Boss deserves it. She's first rate."
Loghain made good use of his authority at King to pry into the bannorn's finances and records. From what he could tell, Frandarel had done nothing whatever to repair or restore this fortress since Loghain had been here in 9:22. In fact, its condition was no better than it had been during the Rebellion, when the Orlesians had crushed the Fereldan army here and set Maric, Rowan, and Loghain fleeing for the dubious safety of the Deep Roads. The fortress was old, rambling, and dilapidated. The nearby village was crumbling, and half the houses were vacant.
Nathaniel had no luck finding a boat to take his people to Kilda here, for the little harbor was fairly shallow and thus mostly iced in. All the fishing boats were in dry dock. The slack-jawed yokels informed them that there might be boats at Dane Sound or Tidewaters, but no one knew for certain.
At any rate, a cold snap forced them to stay indoors the next day... a tense, rather unpleasant day, during which Loghain terrorized the seneschal and the slack and portly guard captain.
"This place is hopeless," Loghain snarled to Bronwyn in the musty privacy of their bedchamber. "I could knock the walls down with a carpenter's maul single-handed. Frandarel has let the place slide, while he spends his coin on his collection of rarities. And where is his coin coming from, anyway?"
It was a rhetorical question, but Bronwyn answered it anyway. "Smuggling?"
"Of course, smuggling!" Loghain grunted in disgust. "The coin goes in his pocket and he sees that precious little of the lawful ship taxes and luxury taxes make their way to the royal coffers! I swear, I wonder how the nation has lasted this long, with nobles picking away at it like vultures. If the Orlesians invaded, they'd walk right into this place."
"If it had a good ditch," Bronwyn ventured, "and some ballistae with explosive bolts..."
Loghain rubbed his hand over his eyes. Amber thought he looked tired, and whimpered in sympathy. Loghain picked up the puppy and soothed her and himself. When he spoke, he sounded calmer. "Someone would have to dig the bloody ditch! I'll order Frandarel to have it done, and then I'll have to come back and see that it's actually been done. And I'm not entrusting first-rate weapons to these puppet-show soldiers. I'm surprised they haven't sold the steel of their blades for wine!"
Hopeless or not, the local militia made a real attempt to smarten their drill under the gimlet eye of their new King. Loghain made exhaustive lists of the stores and supplies stowed away throughout the castle. They were plentiful, and much of them were clearly smuggled goods. When he returned to Denerim, Loghain decided that he would call Frandarel to account and make an example of him. On Bronwyn's urging, he unleashed Brosca and Sigrun, who found a secret cache of coin and papers. Out here in the remote reaches of the west, Bann Frandarel had been doing a tidy business in helping people and information enter and leave Ferelden.
They had to get the embassy to Kilda, so as soon as the cold eased, a party was on the march to Dane Sound in search of a boat. The tides there kept the cove ice-free, and they found a good-sized vessel and a fisherman who liked the look of gold in his palm. It took two attempts, but at length, on the twenty-fourth, the twelve members of the Nevarran embassy made their farewells. The embassy had the appropriate diplomatic letters to present, and sufficient gold for their comfort. Each one, beginning with Arl Nathaniel, reverently kissed their Queen's hand, bowed to their King, and were soon on board and headed north to the little island of Kilda, there to await the arrival of Captain Isabela and the Siren's Call.
Bronwyn stood beside Loghain on the little pier, surrounded by her Wardens, hoping that nothing horrible happened to Nathaniel; hoping that nothing horrible happened to the Hawke brothers, whose mother would certainly never forgive her; hoping that none of the party were captured by pirates or infected by some ghastly foreign disease; hoping that they would get something worth the effort from the Nevarrans. Once again, she wished she were going on the embassy herself, so she would have a measure of control over its fate. As it was, she could do nothing but leave it to the mercy of the Maker.
"Can we go check out the Aeonar?" Tara pressed Bronwyn. "Can we? I'd love to give the Templars there a hard time."
Loghain chuckled, amused by the little mage. She was perhaps his favorite of all Bronwyn's Wardens. Bronwyn had told him about Tara's discovery of the Aeonar. He would have to confirm that for himself, of course. The fact that mages were not sent there for punishment suggested that its purpose was quite different than the one he had imagined. A training facility? Why was it not in Val Royeaux, in the vast Chantry labyrinth surrounding the Grand Cathedral? Bronwyn had a theory that they were doing something there that sensitive souls might object to.
"We'll have a look at your Templars in due course," he said. "First I want to find out if Warden Astrid has won her way to Orzammar. We won't enter the city, of course. It wouldn't do for foreign monarchs to pop up there uninvited. I'd like to know how close we can get to Gherlen's Pass without anyone seeing us."
Thanks to my reviewers: Phygmalion, KnightOfHolyLight, Girl-chama, EpitomyofShyness, Zute, Kyren, JackOfBladesX, Mike3207, MsBarrows, Anon, DjinniGenie, Trishata96, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, timunderwood9, Robbie, the Phoenix, Tirion, EmbertoInferno, Blinded in a bolthole, Nemrut, Koden21, Jenna53, jnybot, Griffon Rider, Have Socks. Will Travel, Notnahtanha, dragonmactir, TSLi, reignlief, Josie Lange, Gene Dark, and lemonjay.
Yes, Dragon's Breath is much like medieval Greek Fire. It was a very scary weapon at sea. And for those not expecting it, it will be even scarier.
In canon, while Frandarel owns the half-empty and decaying fortress of West Hill, he also owns a huge and sumptuous estate in Denerim, filled with rare and precious collectibles. Since he doesn't seem to have a sufficient population to make a lot money in agriculture, and since we hear nothing about extensive mining in West Hill (unlike, say, Amaranthine), I presume that his riches are ill-gotten. He's on the coast, so smuggling is a real possibility.
The next chapter will be all Nathaniel & Co. I've been looking forward to it.