Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 95: Ladies of Nevarra

The men on horseback rode fast, the rugged outline of the Vimmarks shrinking and fading into the southeast. Two of the riders were engaged in hot debate.

"I don't believe you."

"But it's true!"

Fenris rolled his eyes at Carver Hawke. "I do not believe that your Queen Bronwyn rode a dragon. According to you, she has slaughtered darkspawn, defeated werewolves, vanquished demons, and slain dragons. She crowned the dwarven king of Orzammar and raised armies of elves and mages. She found the lost Tomb of Andraste and survived incredible dangers to retrieve a pinch of the Prophet's Ashes. Now you wish me to believe that she flew on a dragon's back. My suspension of disbelief has snapped like a rotten slave tether."

"She did so ride a dragon! I saw her! She rode it right in front of everybody. Then she killed it. And it's not the first dragon she killed, either. She's not called the Dragonslayer for nothing! Besides, she's a Grey Warden, and Wardens used ride griffons. It's the same thing!"

"A dragon is not the same thing as a griffon."

"Well, she rode it anyway, and it flew!"

"Jowan," asked Fenris, "did you see this?"

"No..."

"Ha!"

"But I did see her kill a huge High Dragon in the Korcari Wilds. She jumped on its back, and stabbed it at the base of its skull. It couldn't fly because its wing was damaged."

"That's as may be," Fenris said, stubbornly holding fast to reality. "It is not possible to ride on a dragon. And your Queen sounds like an invention. I find it difficult to believe that there is any such person."

"Adam!" whined Carver. "Fenris doesn't believe in Bronwyn!"

Adam had been talking in a low voice to Nathaniel, but that tone and pitch always caught his ear. He gave his arl a rueful smile. Nathaniel, not amused, scowled and looked behind him. He slowed his horse to join the other riders.

"What's this?" he asked sharply. "What do you mean, he doesn't 'believe' in Queen Bronwyn?" He gave Fenris a dark stare. "Her Majesty Queen Bronwyn is the ruler of Ferelden. That is a matter of fact, not belief."

"I do not mean to disparage your Queen. Carver has been abusing my credulity with fantastic tales, in which she is always the heroine. It is clear that you all regard her highly, and that she is a just and virtuous woman. All the more reason not to tell ridiculous stories about her."

"What ridiculous stories?" Adam asked, raising his brows.

"The latest is that she was pursuing a Master Darkspawn into the Deep Roads, and rode a dragon about a vast and palatial cavern."

"Oh, that," Nathaniel agreed, with a shrug. "She did that. I was there. The dragon kept trying to scrape her off against the walls, but she killed it first. It was terrifying. I thought she was going to fall to her death."

"See?" said Carver, smugly triumphant.

"She rode a dragon?" Fenris repeated, somewhat dazed.

"I don't think she meant to," Nathaniel admitted. "She leaped on its back to better dig her dagger into its spine, and it took off. She held on, though, so yes: it definitely counts as flying on the back of a dragon."

"I see."

Carver went on, singing the praises of the Girl Warden, the Dragonslayer, the Red Queen of Ferelden. "Red," not for the color of her hair, but for the color of her dragon armor, which was a deep crimson. Bronwyn was kind and clever; she was brave and just. She was a good friend to dwarves and elves, and hated oppression and slavery. Her brother was a very good man, who had put a stop to the enslavement of elves in the north of Ferelden.

There followed a lengthy story about a band of Tevinter blood mages who had infiltrated under Denerim. They had built their own secret compound, and used it to kidnap and enslave people. Bronwyn had gone in and cleaned them out from end to end. Usually she was merciful, but she had not spared the slaver blood mages. Fenris approved greatly of that.

Carver declared, "She's worth a hundred of Empress Celene, who only knows how to dress up for balls and play politics to gain power. I'd like to see Empress Celene face a dragon!"

Adam overheard and grinned at Nathaniel. "Actually, I really would. I would love to see Empress Celene facing a dragon."

Nathaniel thought that over. "I'd prefer to hear of the Empress facing a dragon. If we were present, it would be our duty as gentlemen to try to rescue her."

Nathaniel had not been prepared for Nevarra. He thought he had. He had lived in Kirkwall and Markham, He had seen lofty Ostwick and sunny, white-cliffed Hercinia. He paid visits to Tantervale, Hasmal, and even Starkhaven, which was a large and rich city indeed. He had read books about foreign lands, and heard detailed descriptions of the magnificence of Val Royeaux and the Grand Cathedral. He was fond of his home city of Amaranthine, and was devoted to Denerim, though anyone who had traveled at all would recognize its limitations. Not one of those things had actually prepared him for the alien grandeur of Nevarra.

Skirting the edge of Wildervale, his party had remarked on the fine inns and the prosperous-looking villages. The growing season was longer this far north, and some fruits could be grown here that were unknown in Ferelden. Of course, it was still winter, but winter here was quite a different matter from the harsh cold of home. Here, summer greens had faded to greys and browns, but the breezes were mild and fresh.

Most startling was just how well-kept everything here was, especially once they crossed the border into Nevarra.

Nevarrans were great lovers of beauty; more obviously, they were great lovers of paint. Houses in the villages were mostly timber and plaster, with the timbers set in elaborate patterns. The plaster parts were whitewashed and in places painted with primrose yellow and that special shade that was justly called Nevarran Blue. It was a product of the root called woad and was widely used. Even the poor wore it, in its unrefined version: their garments like pieces of summer sky.

Every village had a statue of some local hero; every village had its Chantry with fine images of Andraste and her disciples. Rubbish was cleared away into walled middens; one hardly saw a beggar on the street. When innkeepers were queried about such oddities, they were informed that Nevarra had something called the King's Poor Law.

Apparently there were institutions called "workhouses," when the poor could go to live. They were given work to do in exchange for food and shelter, which the Fereldans thought was remarkably generous. These workhouses were paid for by county taxes, for Nevarra was divided into a number of counties, each ruled by a count or countess, and each county had its own workhouse, its own orphanage—allowing children to remain until they were twelve, or otherwise apprenticed— and its own hospice, where the poor went to die. Its own prison, too, for many malefactors were thriftily put to hard labor for a period of time commensurate with their crimes Such a degree of civilization was somewhat awe-inspiring. If there was time, Nathaniel hoped to inspect such institutions.

And the food and drink were very good, if different from anything to which they were accustomed. The wine was delicious, but pale yellow—sometimes almost greenish yellow— rather than red. The kind of grapes grown in this part of the Minanter Valley were called "white" grapes, though it sounded like they were actually pale green. The ale—or rather beer—was very good and very substantial. The food was hearty and not as fussy as Orlesian grande cuisine. The locals made a dark bread of mixed grains that was excellent with their good butter and mild cheeses; they made a tasty pork stew seasoned with red pepper and garlic—the latter was not widely known in Ferelden; and they served all sorts of dumplings: apple dumplings, plum dumplings; dumplings containing potatoes, pureed vegetables, or finely chopped pork. Nathaniel was not tired of them yet, and doubted that he ever would be.

They reached the Imperial Highway and were impressed by its high degree of repair. The road could have been built that very year, for there were no broken stretches, no collapsed pillars, and no crumbling ramps. No one dared to take stone from the road to repair their own homes, for such a crime was harshly punished.

Nathaniel wanted to see the famed necropolis, too, but first he must present himself and his credentials to the Court Seneschal, and apply for an audience with the king. And he really must have a bath.

They rode, they saw the sights, they reached the city gates, and were there directed to a fine and expensive inn, which had a bathroom worthy of the entire journey.

The next day, the letter of introduction was presented to the court seneschal. This was a tricky process that occupied most of the morning for the two knights and half the guard. Nobles could not risk the loss of face that waiting on palace steps would inevitable involve, and so spent the morning cleaning themselves up and having the servants make certain that their best shirts and doublets were fit to be seen.

Carver and Jowan were more forthright in their own mission. The innkeeper of course knew where to find the Nevarran Grey Wardens, and even sent one of his boot boys as a guide. It was something of a walk, and so the two men took their horses from the stable and Carver, not caring what these foreigners thought of him, let the boy ride— behind him—since the puppies were draped over the front of the Wardens' saddles. This generosity paid dividends, since it made the boy all the happier to point out the sights. At the end of a long, tree-lined avenue, they approached a wide plaza, dominated by a magnificent edifice that resembled nothing they had seen before. It was not a fortress, certainly. It was wide and fronted with carved pillars; and a long staircase, as wide as the building, led up to the great bronze doors of the entrance.

Two long buildings, also colonnaded, were on either side of the big plaza. To their astonishment, the building to the left was a stable, but grand enough for a noble's house. The plaza itself was inlaid with a mosaic depicting griffons in flight.

"There!" Their young guide pointed. "Griffon House!"

Carver paid him and let him slide down. The boy dashed away, happy at the prospect of a leisurely stroll through the city, with coin to spend. The two Wardens stared about them in disbelief.

"Well, we've found Grey Wardens," said Jowan, thoroughly intimidated.

Carver felt like a country bumpkin himself, but was greeted in a friendly enough way by a group of Wardens who were lounging on the steps. These men—and one woman— nudged each other and pointed, already aware that the newcomers were Wardens.

"What a darling puppy!" said the woman, who saw Jowan's Lily first. "Oh!" she said noticing Magister, who was struggling to get down. "You have one, too!"

Carver liked her at once. She was not a pretty woman, nor very young, but she had a warm smile and liked dogs. Her long arms and lithe movements suggested that she would be useful in a fight.

"Greetings, brothers!" said a short but muscular fellow with a luxuriant moustache and a Warden tunic of embroidered silk. Carver could barely understand his accent. "Where are you from?"

"Ferelden," Carver declared, and swung off his horse. "We're supposed to deliver a letter to the Warden-Commander."

One of the Wardens whistled for a groom, who hurried from the stable, bowing.

"Your horses will be cared for," said the short Warden. "Ferelden, you say?"

"They have dogs, Borthus," shrugged one of his friends, grinning. "I thought they'd be bigger, though."

"They're puppies, Garamis!" the woman rebuked her comrade. "And they're quite lovely. You want to see the Warden-Commander? I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet brothers from afar—once he's finished with sword practice. I'm Athis. Senior Warden Athis. Come on."

They passed some casual young Warden-recruit guards, who waved them through in friendly fashion; and then were ushered through a pleasant anteroom, where a fountain played. A huge bas-relief of Wardens, twice life-size, was softened by tall green plants. Down a corridor, they heard the distant sound of voices and wood clattering against wood. Another door opened, and they stepped into a huge inner courtyard. Carver was surprised that they could so ignore the winter weather, when he looked up and saw the vast skylight overhead.

It was an immense practice yard, and it was full of Wardens. Carver and Jowan felt a pleasant buzzing under their skin; an embrace by scores of their brothers and sisters. People looked up, interested in the strangers and the inquisitive dogs trailing at their heels.

"There must be over two hundred Wardens here!" Jowan whispered, excited and impressed by the beauty of the Warden headquarters. This was a Warden palace... a Warden temple. In contrast, Soldier's Peak and even the Denerim Compound seemed primitive and shabby.

"Maybe more," Carver agreed, trying to count them. It was difficult. Everyone was in motion. Wardens were practicing archery, fencing with every kind of practice sword. They were dicing and card-playing, and drinking, and talking, and laughing, and flirting, and one appeared to be writing a poem and reciting bits of it as he worked. A more staid group of men and women in robes were listening to one of their number as she displayed a complex diagram of a magical glyph. Jowan had no idea what it was, and longed to eavesdrop.

Along one side of the courtyard were elegant marble statues, and to the Fereldans' astonishment, not one of them was of Andraste. Nor were all of them fully clothed—even the female figures. Jowan found himself blushing. Carver thought it was something Ferelden would do well to emulate.

More and more Wardens were looking their way. Most were human, but there was a sizable minority of dwarves and a smattering of elves—mostly archers.

At last, they were led before a tall man with keen amber eyes and salt-and-pepper hair cut short. The man set aside a practice sword and raised a quizzical brow at the puppies.

"Fereldans, Warden Commander," Athis announced. "Fereldan brothers, come all the way across the sea to deliver a letter."

"Then I suppose I'd better read it." The man put out his hand to Carver and then Jowan. "I'm Hector Pentaghast. Let's go and have a talk. And bring the dogs."

Carver and Jowan left the meeting feeling that they had been wrung out and left to dry... but in a good way. Certainly they had never meant to give the Nevarran Warden-Commander so much information, but it seemed perfectly natural at the time. Hector Pentaghast now knew the names, ranks, and numbers of the entire embassy and the complete history of the Blight in Ferelden. At least Carver was able to include the Bronwyn-riding-the-dragon story. It was his favorite, after all. Pentaghast listened in silence, not betraying how horrified he was by the episode with the Architect, and how even more shocked he was by the knowledge that there was—or had been—however you looked at it—a prison established by Wardens in the Vimmark Mountains, and subsequently deserted, which had contained an ancient magister. It must be true. These two innocent lads simply did not have the wits to make up such stuff.

They were given some wonderful brandy and a delicious snack, while Pentaghast read Bronwyn's letter.

He nodded over it, his face a courteous mask, and then offered the hospitality of Griffon House to his visitors.

Jowan and Carver felt they could not accept it, even though they really wanted to.

"At least not tonight," said Jowan. "Arl Nathaniel and Carver's brother would worry about us. We'd love to come back and see more, though."

"An excellent idea!" Pentaghast approved, encouraging and genial. "Come tomorrow. I think you will find our lodgings more pleasant than any inn. Warden-Queen Bronwyn wishes you to learn all the Warden lore you can during your stay. Our library will be at your disposal, and our scholars will be happy to share their findings with you."

As soon as the Fereldans were gone, Pentaghast called in Senior Warden Athis.

"The Fereldans are part of a larger embassy. Very likely they will return tomorrow. Make friends with them. Get them to talk. Things are happening in Ferelden that we need to know about." He gave his trusted officer a significant look. "The Acting-Warden-Commander... that Girl Warden who wrote a few months ago... she has gone and made herself Queen of Ferelden!"

Athis nearly burst out laughing. "The Empress won't like that!"

"I'm not sure anyone will. Weisshaupt, possibly. The First Warden might approve of it as a precedent. However, it's done. The prior Warden-Commander should have been more careful about recruiting too near the royal line of succession. Between the Orlesians and the Blight, the Theirins have been thinned out." He passed the letter to Athis. "Have a look at it. It's not badly written. Perhaps this young barbarian queen has a good secretary. Perhaps she is a prodigy. Perhaps our understanding of Ferelden is outdated. Her Wardens certainly regard her as a hero. I shall think on it before I answer."

Athis glanced through the letter. "The darkspawn have withdrawn from the southern offensive. She thinks they are inactive in very cold weather. The observation that Taint can be destroyed by freezing is interesting."

"Very. There has never been a Blight so far south, and so we are seeing new phenomena. Sensible of the girl to pass on the information. Freezing spells might not be as destructive as fire, when it comes to clearing Taint. You never know when you might need to know such a thing."

"They do seem to have pushed the darkspawn back."

"Well done, of course. Whether they've defeated an actual offensive or thwarted a mere feint, the girl has been doing her duty. It's a shame we've been forbidden to do ours. However, since the Fereldan Wardens are here, I see no reason why they should not learn all sorts of useful things. No official communications, you understand. Nothing that would outright defy the Orlesians'—I mean to say, the First Warden's orders. No. Just some brother and sister Wardens chatting in a friendly way about common interests."

"I imagine a great deal of information could slip out that way."

"Make sure that it does."

Carver and Jowan did not leave Griffon House immediately. After a whispered word from the Warden-Commander, Garamis used the pretext of some errands to take them on an impromptu tour, passing by the library, the mage's study room, the potions laboratory, Garamis' own pleasant quarters, and the inviting Great Hall. They also stopped for a look at the incredible marble baths, which included a pool large enough for swimming, and which was kept warm enough for the purpose even in the winter. Then they had another snack. The puppies were admired, and the Fereldans were happy to answer endless questions about them. With one thing and another, it was mid-afternoon before they returned to the inn, bickering a little about how to retrace their route.

The innkeeper was waiting for them, and came out to speak to them before they could dismount. With him were four official-looking guardsmen

"You're to go to the Royal Hostel, Wardens. The rest of the party left a little while ago. They took your gear with them. These guards remained here to escort you."

The man was good enough to explain that the Royal Hostel was a residence for distinguished visitors. Their credentials had been examined, and the King had commanded that His Excellency the Fereldan Ambassador Count Nathaniel Howe and his party were to be a royal guests, and under the protection of the Nevarran Crown.

Carver muttered to Jowan. "That means they want to keep an eye on us. I wish we'd stayed with the Wardens!"

"So, Van Antem... what do you think of our Fereldan guests?"

"More civilized than I expected, Sire," the First Minister replied instantly to King Baltus, with a little shrug. In the Privy Chamber, they could speak frankly.

"They are certainly what they claim to be," he continued. "I had an agent identify Count—or rather Arl, as they say in his country— Nathaniel Howe. He was educated in the Free Marches. Very likely he is the most polished they have to offer. Brave, courteous, and not without a certain innate decency. He is a high noble of the kingdom. Ferelden has five counties—or arlings—as well as two principalities, and a number of free lordships. Amaranthine is the richest of the counties. As you know, the town of Amaranthine is a substantial port city, trading extensively with the Free Marches, Rivain, and Antiva. The young noble with him is the lord of that city, and Howe's chief vassal. An attractive and not witless young man, if inexperienced in diplomacy. Howe's principal seat is a castle called Vigil's Keep, and it is quite ancient, even by our standards, though I daresay it is crude and poor enough."

King Baltus smiled. "They brought their dogs."

"They did, Sire, and fine beasts they are. Lord Adam's mature specimen evinces some of the remarkable intelligence rumored of the breed. The two Wardens have puppies, though they are as large already as our gaze-hounds."

"Lord Adam's brother is one of the Wardens, I take it."

"Indeed, and the other is more scholar than warrior. They have gone to meet with Hector. I daresay he will find them refreshing."

"What is it that they want... what is that they really want?"

"I believe it is as straightforward a matter as they say. They wish us to continue to oppose Orlais. For us, it is a matter of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Ferelden is still deeply embittered by decades of harsh occupation. Our sources indicate that Orlais is looking to take advantage of the darkspawn incursion in the far south."

"Our dear Hector insists that it is a Blight."

"He knows best, I suppose." The First Minister shrugged. "Though why the darkspawn would trouble in the savage wildness south of a barbarian land is indeed a puzzlement. At any rate, it is clear that the Fereldans are worried about Orlesian pressure. There was a very flagrant attempt on Queen Anora's life a few months ago: an attempt that killed a number of nobles at a wedding. There have also been attempts on Loghain Mac Tir, and the 'Girl Warden' who is now Queen."

"What does Hector think about that?"

"I think we should summon him and find out. The Fereldans speak of their queen quite freely and favorably. My people have been busy making friends with the servants, who gossip like all servants. They tell some wild tales, and some of the stories are clearly old folk tales refashioned for a new heroine. On the other hand, she is clearly remarkable and charismatic enough for folk like the servants to credit such tales, and what she accomplished in Orzammar is beyond question. A great many people claim—including those two young Wardens—to have seen her kill a High Dragon, though as part of a larger expedition. Loghain was also there, and he appears to have successfully used mobile ballistae against the creature in the course of the fight. Explosive bolts could be useful out west where the dragons are making a comeback."

"Young Cassandra will enjoy hearing about all that."

Van Antem huffed. "That young spitfire may not approve of the Dragonslayer. There are rumors that the Fereldan Queen and her consort Mac Tir—that's an ill-assorted pair I'd pay good coin to see!—are tolerant of mages, and are encouraging them to serve as healers and battlemages in the army. Of course, ages ago during Blights, the Grey Wardens called up on the mages to serve, but under their own aegis. This Bronwyn Cousland has set a dangerous precedent, not just in taking the throne, but in her relationship to the Chantry."

"The Chantry should stay out of international politics!" Baltus said, rather testy about it. "It's well known that the Orlesians used the Chantry in their seizure of Ferelden. They've tried the same rubbish in the western cities we've captured— preaching about the will of the Divine. They'd best not overreach themselves!"

"Our own Grand Cleric Alexandra is loyal, Majesty," soothed Van Antem. "She does not tolerate treasonous talk among her priests. The troublemakers have been sent to cloisters."

"Quite right! So... what can we actually do for Fereldan? Is it worthwhile to do anything for them at all?"

Van Antem rubbed his beard. "Yes. Absolutely. And we must move quickly, since any help must reach the Fereldans before the Orlesians are upon them. We cannot risk that Bannorn of theirs falling to the Orlesians. That would produce grain enough to fuel a renewed assault against our western borders. They are not asking for troops, after all, which would be inconvenient. We can keep the Orlesians occupied for our own sake. Indeed, we have little choice with the chevaliers champing at the bit to regain lost lands. We can give the Fereldans a bit of gold. Really, a trifle will seem a fortune to those southern barbarians. Perhaps some other material assistance, like a ship or two. Some pretty trinkets to keep the Queen and her ferocious spouse happy. And establishing some ties between our two nations is not at all a bad idea. We can spread our culture and influence in the time-honored way: by disposing of some surplus females in marriage."

"What is this Court of Love, anyway?" Adam asked, tugging at his doublet. He took another look at himself in a huge, gilt-framed mirror hanging in the common room of their quarters. Quarters, which were, frankly, more opulent than anything he had ever seen or imagined.

Nathaniel shrugged. "I'm informed that it's the Queen's salon, held at the full moon every month. The important ones are the ones in the spring and summer, but she holds them every month without fail. It's largely a social event, in which noble daughters are put through their paces, and noble ladies display their own accomplishments. Nevarran women are very well-educated. We're mostly accessories. If the ladies want to dance, then we're there to dance with them and pay them compliments."

"I can do that."

In fact, barbarians or not, the foreign count and his vassal lord were looked upon as attractive additions to the rather thinly-attended Wintermarch Court of Love. That they were both good dancers was greatly in their favor. There was a definite shortage of men at this time of year. Most of the ladies present were royal, or their poor relations. Van Markhams, Pentaghasts, Rosenthals, and Van Antems were represented, but not many ladies from the more far-flung fiefdoms.

One dark-haired young girl of about fifteen years scowled at them from the sidelines. She had fine amber eyes and a smooth olive skin, but was coltish and awkward, and snarled at anyone who tired to dance with her. Someone had dressed her in an expensive gown of coppery silk, but she seemed uncomfortable in it, and fidgeted as if encased in scratchy wool.

"Who is that young lady?" Adam asked of his partner.

"Oh, Poor Tragedy!" whispered the girl. "That's Cassandra Pentaghast. Don't trouble yourself about her! She's a ward of the Crown, and pestering the Queen to be permitted to take Chantry orders."

"She wants to become a priest?"

"My lord, she wants to be a Seeker! Or at the very least, a Templar! Yes, she's training to be a warrior... Of course, I understand that's not uncommon in Ferelden. Your own Queen... Forgive me if I offend."

"Not at all. Not all ladies are suited to such a life. Queen Bronwyn manages to be at once a great warrior, a beautiful lady, and a splendid dancer, but she is unique."

"Oh, I'm sure! So many rumors have reached us. She's very tall, I understand. Is she as tall as you?"

Adam grinned charmingly, and cocked his head, thinking it over. "Almost. But my voice is deeper."

His partner trilled a laugh, well pleased with him. "Well, I was talking about little Cassandra. She's only a fourth cousin of the Queen, but still a Pentaghast. Her brother was killed by mages! Isn't that horrible? Anything can happen in the borderlands, I suppose. That's why I prefer the Court."

"I rather like the Court myself," Adam admitted, "though one is just as liable to be killed here— though by a pair of pretty eyes, rather than a mage's spell!"

Nathaniel's dances were carefully arranged by Queen Melantha, who was always interested in young nobles of good estate. Very properly, the foreign count danced first with Princess Sophia, and then with Princess Porphyria—because Melantha was very interested in what her clever Porphyria would make of the young man. His appearance was dark but comely, his manners polished. He really was not at all like a barbarian, which disappointed the girls somewhat. Nor was that Lord—or Bann—what an odd term!—Adam likely to cause a disturbance. Very handsome, very eligible. Her sources told her that there was noble Kirkwaller blood on the mother's side, which explained his civil demeanor. He had brought a very large dog with him, who appeared to understand everything said to him. Queen Melantha wondered if the dog could do tricks.

Porphyria took her seat by her mother, and whispered in her ear. "Very nice. Serious, but quite nice. Not stupid, and brought up to respect women. Very devoted to his Queen Bronwyn. He'd be a nice husband, I think. Can we keep him?"

"Of course not. We want to send him home married—and married to a high-born, well-educated Nevarran lady. No, my dear, not you. A Fereldan count is not sufficiently exalted for a Nevarran princess."

"Pity. I think I should quite like him."

"Now if the heir-presumptive were available, we might arrange something for you with him. I have heard of the Couslands, and the man is a prince, which is far finer than a count. However, Count Nathaniel says that Prince Cousland is already betrothed to Mac Tir's daughter, who was queen to the last king. Not surprising. And he is only an heir-presumptive, after all. Nonetheless, we shall find someone charming for Count Nathaniel. It is an opportunity to build ties with another nation. Of course, the girl we send will likely never return to Nevarra."

"A hard fate. Still, there are those the King might wish were far away."

"Very true, my dear. I already have someone in mind. Your father suggested her. I see you've already guessed the name. An honorable marriage for her, and less friction for us here at home. I shall not send her alone, for all that. We shall find someone for the young lord, too, and then there will be the servants. Tell Callista I wish to speak to her, and then, I think, you must dance with Lord Adam."

"A dangerous business, but someone's got to do it!"

Nathaniel was in due course formally presented to Lady Callista Pentaghast, the Queen's niece, and they danced a slow sarabande together, which permitted them to converse and look each other over thoroughly.

There was nothing for Nathaniel to complain of in the lady. She was much like her Pentaghast cousins: black-haired and fine-boned, with large and expressive amber eyes. The black brows over said eyes met in ironic amusement at the sight of the foreign noble, for she was not a slow-witted girl, and grasped immediately that he was to be her fate. She was dressed to very great advantage in the deep jewel-like colors favored by Nevarrans in the winter months, and on her head was an elaborate circlet of gold, pearls, and amber, the latter of which exactly matched her eyes.

"So, my lord... I hope you have found this city agreeable?"

"Very beautiful, indeed, my lady; and the people most gracious."

"And have you visited the Cathedral?"

"Yes, yesterday."

"And the Royal Armory?"

"The day before yesterday."

"And the Necropolis?"

"That is scheduled for tomorrow."

"Then we are done with the sights and may begin upon the weather, I suppose. Do you think it will rain?"

Nathaniel smiled. "You are very brisk in listing your country's beauties. I believe there must be much more to see."

"Perhaps if I visited Ferelden, I would find much of interest there that the inhabitants take for granted."

"True. I am looking forward to seeing the Necropolis, but I would also like to visit some of your charitable institutions. I might have much to learn there."

He really was very nice, and not at all savage. Perhaps he had taken on the coloration of his company, and would revert to wearing skins and smashing skulls when amongst his own people. He might look rather good in skins, actually. He had the broad shoulders and slim hips to carry them off with a certain style.

"Lord Adam has his great mabari with him, but you do not. I thought all Fereldans had dogs."

"Many of us do. I had the honor of a mabari's companionship when I was a young boy. She died bravely, saving my life from a bear."

"I am sorry. I don't mean to speak lightly of such matters. I once had a hawk of which I was very fond, but one day he flew away and I never saw him again. I should have kept closer watch on him."

"He might not have deserted you. Perhaps he met with a misadventure."

"I would rather he be alive and free, even if he left me, than dead."

Nathaniel looked at her keenly. "Many would choose differently."

The Queen watched the two young people with great complacency. They were talking easily, which was a good sign. The Fereldan knew his dances, and moved well. The two of them made a handsome couple. Their colors should be better coordinated. Queen Melantha liked to see couples dressed to complement each other. She would send the noblemen Nevarran court garments, as a mark of favor. The lace collars would set off their muscular throats. Yes, if they could exile Callista permanently from Nevarra, Baltus might forgive Melantha's brother's treachery, and provide Callista a dowry from the confiscated estate.

Now, who for Lord Adam? An idea came to her. The Fereldans did not wish to prolong their stay. If they left quickly enough, they might never find out about the Aestragon girl's mage brother! Quickly, she spoke to a lady-in-waiting, who passed on the summons to a guard officer. It should not take long for the young lady to make her appearance. Berenice was not as good-looking as Lord Adam, but not many were. Callista was friendly with her, and the Aestragons knew Berenice had few prospects since the scandal. Considering Lord Adam with an artist's eye, she was glad she had commanded the girl to wear green. It might make the girl's unfortunate red hair—very unfashionable among Nevarrans—almost tolerable.

There was a pause in the dancing, and Queen Melantha addressed Lady Callista.

"My dear, it has been long since I heard you sing. I beg you to indulge me. Lord Nathaniel, your charming partner is quite the musician."

"I look forward to hearing her, Your Majesty."

A lute was brought, and Callista sat on a little stool at the Queen's feet. She disguised her nervousness by carefully tuning the instrument, and then sang a song that was a favorite of her late, lamented, beheaded father's.

Callista's Song

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,

Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,

That by and by will make the music mute,

And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute,

Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit,

That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go:

But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.

And trust me not at all or all in all.

She had quite a pretty voice, luscious as ripe plums. Nathaniel had heard many fine musicians, most notably Bronwyn's Warden bard and the Nevarran minstrel who had been summoned to the Palace. Callista Pentaghast was not a professional, but she was very well-trained and talented, and would not be embarrassed to perform anywhere. Clearly, the Queen knew of her talent, and wanted to show it off to Nathaniel.

So, she is to be the one.

He could live with that. He had come here knowing that he would likely leave Nevarra a married man. Callista Pentaghast was attractive, high-born, very well-spoken, a graceful dancer, and now he found she was an excellent musician. She seemed to be capable of real feeling, as far as he could tell on such short notice. No doubt she would be a very good Arlessa. He sighed a little, wishing he had more to offer of himself, but this nice girl would never be Bronwyn Cousland. He could at least, however, treat her better than his father had treated his mother. Come to think of it, his father was a perfect model as a husband, if Nathaniel's behavior was the complete opposite.

What would she think of Ferelden? He would not apologize for his home, but there was no reason that he could not make it more comfortable. She would likely have a very good dowry, and that could go to improving her apartments at Vigil's Keep and upgrading his Denerim townhouse. As far as he could arrange it, she would have a good life in far-away Ferelden.

A large and distinguished party visited the Necropolis, traveling in state carriages. Such visits were not rare, for it was customary for Nevarrans to pay calls on their dead. Queen Melantha enjoyed showing off the grandeur of the royal tombs as much as the First Minister, who had ostensibly been given the duty. A luncheon was served in the state dining room within the palatial tomb of Queen Electra II, which proved to be a miracle of mosaic floors, painted frescoes, and lily-shaped columns. The furniture was carved and gilded, and the tomb's kitchen was equipped with every convenience. To the Fereldans, it was nothing short of bizarre, but the food was good, and they all smiled gamely.

Nathaniel escorted Callista, and Adam escorted Lady Berenice Aestragon, whom the Queen intended he should marry. Adam would have preferred some choice in the matter. He thought Lady Berenice good-looking enough, since Fereldans had no cultural prejudice against red hair. Hers was very red indeed: blazing red and wildly curly. She had the classic redhead's stone-pale complexion, too. She did not have much to say for herself, and seemed not to want to talk about her family. She was perfectly polite to him, and perfectly polite to Carver, once he was introduced as Adam's brother. Her only genuine smiles, however, were for the dogs. It occurred to him suddenly, as he watched her push her meal about her plate, that perhaps she would have liked to have had some choice, too. It was something of an epiphany.

There was nothing wrong with her, of course; and certainly nothing wrong with her dowry, which was simply staggering by Fereldan standards. It was all happening so fast. Rumors had reached him that her wedding dress was nearly ready. Some clauses in the marriage contract were odd, especially the one setting aside a portion of her dowry for construction of her tomb. Lady Callista had such a clause as well. The clauses for dower properties were nothing unusual, but the idea of large sums going for a place to put a rotting dead body struck Adam as rather macabre. The tombs were not intended to be such marvels as the one they were currently dining in. They were more likely to be stylized versions of a Nevarran house, with a vestibule, a reception room, and a bedroom, where the sarcophagus was placed. And there would have to be guards. Yes—there would certainly have to be guards in Ferelden, or squatters would move in and live there.

It was annoying that Carver had taken it into his head to be jealous of the marriage. He was so jealous, in fact, that he was taking the trouble to flirt with Lady Berenice, and worse, he was encouraging Magister to be winsome and cuddly. Adam exchanged a look at Hunter, who rose to his four feet, sighing deeply, and went over to the red-haired female to ingratiate himself.

Carver and Jowan were staying with the Grey Wardens, and had gone on insufferably about the facilities there, until Adam had shut them up with the equal glories of the royal hostel. A plunge bath, large enough for swimming, was a very agreeable thing. Perhaps some of Berenice's dowry could go for that, once they were back in Amaranthine.

Queen Melantha was talking. "Yes, I understand, my dear Count. You must return to Kirkwall for your own ship. That can be arranged very easily. But gently reared young women cannot be expected to gallop through the Vimmarks with their dowry in their saddlebags! Instead, carriages can carry people and their possessions so much more easily and comfortably down the Imperial Highway to Cumberland. A royal transport can convey everyone to Kirkwall, protected by an escort of three warships. The vessels will then sail all the way to Denerim, once your ship joins with the rest. Is that not a good, prudent, sensible plan?"

It really was—and generous, too. Nathaniel thanked her, only suggesting Amaranthine as the ultimate destination. This was immediately agreed to as a tremendous improvement, and the Queen praised Count Nathaniel's good sense. Understandable that he should wish to end the journey swiftly, since those four ships, along with a considerable amount of gold, were being made over to Ferelden as a belated wedding present from King Baltus and Queen Melantha of Nevarra to their respected friends, King Loghain and Queen Bronwyn of Ferelden.

For himself, Adam was relieved at the prospect of not traveling with a new bride on the same ship as Captain Isabela. They must stop at Kirkwall, certainly, and the Siren's Call would carry some of their cargo… but Berenice and Isabela in close proximity? Er…. no. But Queen Melantha's plan involved spending day after day on a ship, and Adam felt rather queasy at the prospect.

He whispered to Nathaniel, "Do you suppose Queen Melantha has even been at sea?"

Nathaniel nearly sighed. "I shouldn't think so." He had reservations about the Queen's plan, but those ships were too valuable to reject.

They walked down wide avenues, admiring the monuments to past heroism or beauty or fantastic wealth. They spent some time at the Pentaghast tombs, which were filled with tributes to the dragon-hunters. Carver and Jowan nudged each other, the reliefs and mosaics filling in what they had been learning from the books in the Wardens' library. Some dragon-hunters relied on missile weapons; some used nets; some lured dragons up to towers or hills; some used a combination of the various tactics.

As for the betrothed couples, there was no opportunity for privacy. They would have to become friends as husbands and wives… if they could.

Another day saw a visit to the Princess Corinna Orphanage, named for a long-ago royal who died in childhood. The orphanage took children of all races, gave them a rudimentary education, and arranged employment for them… usually as servants. They were neat and clean and carefully well-behaved—at least on the day of the royal visit—and were not learning petty crime on the street. The hospice seemed a worthy institution. The workhouse was grimmer than Nathaniel had expected, and he did not approve of the way that the genders were separated, and husbands and wives kept apart—and their children were taken away to the orphanage— but it was certainly better than starvation.

As for the prison, he thought it a far better incentive to honesty than hanging, since the manifest misery of the chained and shaven-headed felons, working on a road gang, struck him as far worse than death. They certainly kept the highways in superb condition.

Other visits were paid to more pleasant establishments: to libraries and schools and the Merchant's Exchange. They paid visits to the headquarters of the Royal Army and saw their drill, which was crisp and admirable, but no more polished than that instilled by Loghain. The days passed quickly, and almost before they knew it, they found themselves in Nevarra Cathedral in front of the Grand Cleric, who performed a ceremony between Nathaniel and Adam on the one hand, and two noble ladies dressed in traditional Nevarran bridal costume on the other.

"Look, Berenice, they are returning. You really should tell him."

Within four days of their weddings, the embassy party was being hosted by Callista's cousin, the Prince of Cumberland, heir to the throne. Everything was being conducted civilly, but with dispatch, for the Fereldan lords were anxious to return home as quickly as possible. The two young Nevarran women stood looking out over Cumberland's harbor, watching the activity below, as the ships were prepared for their departure the next day. The people were hardly bigger than ants, but Arlessa Callista Howe had no trouble making out Nathaniel's long figure.

"It's too late," said Lady Berenice Hawke. "I didn't dare tell him before. If I tell him now, he'll probably kill me, once he gets me back to Ferelden. Or he'll toss me overboard, when we're at sea. If only I were prettier! If only I weren't cursed with this awful hair! Remember the old song about the lady and the knight of the Southland? Once he had her alone by the sea, he made her take off her wedding clothes so he could sell them after he drowned her like his other brides."

"And if you remember, the lady threw the knight in the sea instead, when his back was turned! Lord Adam would never do such a thing. And even if he wanted to, Nathaniel would not permit it."

It was like whistling in the dark. Everything seemed to be going well enough. Nothing, surely, could be as embarrassing and frightening as their weddings nights, each of them put into bed naked in bedchambers at the royal hostel, sheets pulled up to their chins; each with a strange young man—a handsome young man they hardly knew— beside them, equally naked. The Grand Cleric had offered prayers, and the priests had sprinkled them with holy water. Then the guests—including the King and Queen in Callista's case—had departed in formal procession, and the door was shut.

It could have been quite horrible, and had been rather the opposite. Nathaniel was a gentle lover, and Adam's charm was not laid aside in private. Nevertheless, both girls wondered if all this courtesy and consideration were assumed for the benefit of the alliance. They would be alone and unprotected in the wilds of Ferelden. There was no end of stories, like the one Berenice mentioned, telling what happened to such girls. And if Lord Adam were to discover that there was magic in Berenice's family...

True, the Fereldans were all perfectly friendly with Warden Jowan, who was an actual mage himself. Of course, he was a Warden, and this was a Blight; but it was a little frightening to see him performing magic. The King and Queen had Healers among their servants, but they were carefully guarded by Templars, and were never seen in public. Life among the Fereldans was certainly run on very different lines than in Nevarra. After tomorrow, nothing would ever be the same.

Callista and Berenice were glad that the journey to Cumberland had been undertaken under heavy guard. Twice the party had been attacked, the second time by a very strong force. The two girls and their maidservants had clung to each other in their carriage, listening to the clash of swords and the screams and curses of fighting men. Once, someone had rattled the door latch, and then there had been a horrible chopping noise, and a gurgle, and a thud. The elven guardsman, Fenris, spoke to them from outside in his beautiful soothing voice, assuring them that they were perfectly safe. For all that, they noticed the blood on the carriage door when they next stepped out of it.

Nevarran noblewomen knew politics, and they knew that their attackers were no mere bandits. There were Orlesian agents in Nevarra, even though there was currently no Orlesian ambassador, since a state of war existed between the two countries. There might even be ships waiting to attack them at sea. It all depended on how quickly the agents had ridden south, how large a force they could muster, and if they had managed to cross the Waking Sea and persuaded anyone to give them ships.

In case of such pursuit, the story being told was that they were sailing to a Ferelden fortress called West Hill, while actually they were going to Amaranthine. Berenice had heard their husbands talking, and so knew that they had not thought it wise to insult the Queen by refusing her plan to ride to Cumberland. However, sailing from Cumberland meant that Orlais was on the other side of the Narrows of the Waking Sea. They must pass the great port of Jader on their way to Kirkwall, and the voyage would last at least three days. Much could happen, between the weather and hostile warships.

The Prince gave them a festive dinner, and his best wishes. His good humor was no doubt enhanced by the prospect of the daughter of an attainted traitor leaving her homeland forever. Callista smiled dutifully, but something in her face caught Nathaniel's notice, and he took her hand in his.

It was a slight gesture, but at the moment it meant all the world to her. She managed a better smile for her husband, and for the first time believed that a new start in a new country might really be the good thing that Queen Melantha had told her it was.

Berenice was not so hopeful. She did not tell Adam Hawke about her brother that night; nor did she tell him the next night, as Nevarra faded into the horizon behind them.

Thanks to all my reviewers: Girl-chama, sizuka2, almostinsane, anon, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Nemrut, Blinded in a bolthole, NIX"S WARDEN, mille libri, brrt, KrystylSky, Phygmalion, Mike3207, darksky01, Have Socks. Will Travel, JackOfBladesX, KnightOf HolyLight, Robbie the Phoenix, Costin, jnybot, Josie Lange, amanda weber, GLCW2, Chandagnac, Jenna53, anon, Guest, Herebedragons66, and bladerunner12-57.

All right. I have now read Asunder and seen Dawn of the Seeker. I won't get started on their relative merits—except to point out to all those who think my Bronwyn is super-powered that she is absolutely nothing—nothing in comparison with canon goddess Cassandra Pentaghast, who can cut through twenty blood mages, none of which can even get off a spell, and who can kill a half-dozen dragons in a single battle... single-handed. I truly, truly dislike Cassandra as presented, but not as much as I dislike Tallis, another canon goddess blindly worshiped by many. For those of you who like Cassandra, be apprised that Callista, as her cousin, somewhat resembles her—at least as far as the complexion, black hair, and amber eyes.

However, Cassandra's existence calls me to establish some canon dates. My story is now in early Dragon 9:31, in the month of Wintermarch. Based on remarks in Dawn of the Seeker, it is apparent that the final events of Dragon Age II in Kirkwall have already recently occurred before the events of the film (the default outcome is that the Circle of Mages was annulled. I pause in near-silence over the crime against humanity which is the mass murder of every man, woman, and child in the Kirkwall Circle, collectively punished for the crime of a foreign apostate mage who was never a member of said Circle.) and go on to further observe that since the fall of the Kirkwall Circle is dated as 9:37 and the Circles have not been dissolved, I would date Dawn of the Seeker as happening in late 9:37 or early 9:38, since we do not hear of the Orlesian Civil War, which play an important part in Asunder, and which we know begins in 9:38. This is all important because I am attempting to guess the age of Cassandra Pentaghast, who interrogates Varric Tethras in 9:40. She appears to be quite young in Dawn of the Seeker, and so I guess her age in that adventure as no more than 23, tops. That would give her a date of birth of 9:13-14. I am thus putting her age at 15 in my story, which makes her just a bit too young to be interesting to Nathaniel or Adam. Besides, she already ardently wants to join the Chantry in some capacity, in order to fight mages. She would be 25-26 when she meets Varric, which seems about right. Thus, no romance for Cassandra with either Nathaniel or Adam.

The poem is from Merlin and Vivien in Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Berenice references the ballad "May Colvin."