Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 97: The Water is Wide
Three days out of Cumberland, the Nevarran ships were attacked by an Orlesian squadron from Jader.
Three Orlesian agents had ridden hard to Cumberland. One paid a fortune to hire a ship to take him to Val Royeaux to make his report. The second waited in Cumberland, looking for an opportunity to infiltrate. The third bought passage to Jader. It took a combination of honeyed flattery and threats of the Empress' signal displeasure to convince the Marquis to lend his assistance, but by the next day three ships set out to find and destroy the Fereldan embassy.
Even so, the Orlesians could not quite credit that the Fereldans were shrewd enough to make common cause with Orlais' other hostile neighbor. Perhaps if they had, they would have launched an even more formidable force against them.
The opponents crossed ways a little north of the Waking Sea Islands. Taken aback to find themselves outnumbered, the Orlesians relied on their greater size and amount of canvas they could raise to try to run down the Nevarran vessels. The plan was to seize and sink the slow-moving, largely defenseless transport that was thought to be carrying the Fereldans. There was no way that the Nevarrans could make the port of Kirkwall before the enemy was upon them.
The seas were heavy, and there were plenty of those aboard, sailors and passengers alike, who were wretched with sea-sickness. Most of them found that there was nothing like deadly danger to take their mind off their nausea.
"Jowan!" shouted Nathaniel. "Get up here!"
Glad of the splash of the salt spray, Jowan staggered up on deck, clinging to anything in reach: rails, ropes, and cursing sailors.
The Arl of Amaranthine was drenched, and likewise his friends and soldiers. Over the wind, he shouted. "What can you do about that?"
Jowan gulped. Behind them, and a little to starboard, a big Orlesian man-of-war was bearing down on them. Another trailed behind at a short distance, and the third rather farther away. Slowly but inevitably, they was closing the distance. Jowan could see the men on the closest ship crowding forward, preparing to board. Archers were arrayed on the high forecastle, ready to fire down on them.
"Well…" he thought about it. "I suppose I could try a fireball…"
"Good man!" Nathaniel snapped. "You do that!"
"I need to be a little closer," Jowan confessed.
"Don't worry! They're getting closer all the time. Darrow! Keep Warden Jowan covered!"
A big shield covered his face. Jowan gave Darrow a sickly smile, and pushed the shield aside—just a little—to see. More spray smacked him in the face, and he wiped his eyes, sneezing.
"It would be really great," yelled Carver, "if you could do something before we're within crossbow range!"
"Er… right."
Everyone was looking at him. It was worse than his classes at the Circle. Still, he could do this. He focused on long, slow, deep breaths, and gathered his mana…
Meanwhile, it was pandemonium in the luxurious stern cabin, where the women could see their doom approaching through the wide, wide windows.
"Ah, my lady!" wailed a maid. "Must we die?"
"Don't scream," Callista ordered her, forcing her voice down from hysteria. "It doesn't help a bit. Pray to the Maker."
The girl sobbed, "O Maker, I am heartily sorry for having offended you…"
The other maid joined in, her voice high and panicked.
"…and I detest all my sins, because of Your just punishments, but most of all because they offend You, Maker…"
Berenice was red-eyed and trembling. She whispered to Callista, "I've been thinking about what will happen if they break in here."
The maid broke off their prayers, and began screaming.
"Stop it!" Berenice shouted, her hands over her ears. "Stop it!"
Her maid shrieked back at her. "You will be ransomed, but we will be raped and murdered!"
Berenice lost her temper completely, and slapped the girl's face. "Shut up! Shut up! Screaming doesn't help! It just makes men want to kill you!"
Callista grabbed the two maids, an arm around each, and made them sit with her on the bed. "We're going to be quiet," she urged in a low fierce voice. "We're going to be quiet as mice. If we're quiet and dignified, they'll be ashamed to harm us."
Berenice rolled her eyes, and Callista glared at her.
"We're not dead," she insisted, with a semblance of calm, "until we're actually dead. We have brave men on deck who will defend us. If the worst happens," she went on, almost babbling, "we are valuable hostages and will be permitted to have you as our servants. We're going to be fine."
She was relieved when Berenice sat down heavily with them, her head in her hands. Her own assumed calm was on a knife's edge. She was not so much afraid of the Orlesians as she was of sinking. The voyage had been a nightmare for her. She had been seasick, and all of Nathaniel's kindness did not relieve her shame at appearing so ugly and useless and stinking before him. She had leaned over the rail, and seen the sea creatures below as she vomited. How vast the sea was, and how little and insignificant she was herself. The cold, angry waves could sweep her away, and she would go down into the depths, drowning and helpless, scavenged by the vast monsters of the deep. She pressed her lips together, her nausea reawakened at the thought.
If only she could do something to protect herself! She had thought Cassandra ridiculous, but at the moment she infinitely regretted never learning to use any kind of a weapon. She did not have so much as a dagger. Perhaps, if they lived through this, Nathaniel would teach her to shoot with a bow. He was supposed to be a great archer.
Nathaniel! What if he fell, defending her? What if he died in the first sweet glow of their marriage? It struck Callista like a knife to her heart, the realization that she did not want to be without Nathaniel. She wanted him to live, and to live with her. She wanted him to take her to see his castle. The idea that he might be killed, and that the Orlesians might heave his long body into the sea was simply beyond endurance. Tears burst forth, and ran hotly down her cheeks.
Berenice clenched her fists. "If I live through this, I will never again go to sea. Hear me, Maker!" She made herself look out the window, and thus was a witness to a shocking, astonishing sight.
It was a good fireball; a really good one. It was the sort of fireball that not even Enchanter Torrin would have criticized. Even Tara would be impressed.
So bright that it dazzled their eyes, the fireball exploded a little further back than he had aimed. The forecastle dissolved in a roar and a flash, spars and splinters from the shattered timbers as lethal as a thousand arrows. Men were tossed into the air like toys. Many were already dead before they struck the water. The foremast sagged and swayed, and the foresail ignited, tongues of fire licking up and spreading into a sheet of flame.. The entire ship shuddered and wallowed. Tortured screams came to them over the water. Sailors whooped and cheered at the sight. Even the nobles cheered at the impact. Only Fenris watched in silence, inscrutable, as scores of men perished by the power of magic.
"Well!" the Nevarran captain managed, blinking. "That's… very… Do it again. Warden," he added, with careful courtesy. "Aim at the waterline. "
Jowan stared at his handiwork, sickened. This was worse than anything he had done with blood magic. Still, they were the enemy, and would do the same or worse to them if they could. What were his powers good for, if not to protect his friends?
"I need a minute," he said. It took a minute or so to recharge the spell. Everyone was watching breathlessly. The distance to the Orlesian ship had widened. Jowan took another deep breath and cast again, timing the fireball to strike when the ship was at the crest of the next wave and most completely exposed.
It was not perhaps as impressive as his first effort, but it did the job. An Orlesian warship was too solidly timbered for Jowan's fireball to blow a gaping hole in the bow. Not quite gaping, no; but the hull was breached, and the ship juddered violently. The bow dipped lower at every wave; nodding in submission to its fate. The Orlesians were quite past attacking. They were beyond everything but trying to save themselves, and it was quite a desperate business. The Fereldans and their Nevarran seaman watched the spectacle with little sympathy.
Below, four women watched in awe.
"Was that," gasped Callista, "magic?"
The other two Orlesian ships were slowing, their pursuit slackening, as they tried to improvise some new strategy against this overwhelming menace. One Orlesian captain suspected magic; the other, even more horrified, wondered if the Nevarrans somehow had gained access to Qunari gaatlok. That was a terror weapon that no one wanted to confront. The closer ship moved in to start picking up the men in the water.
Grinning triumphantly, the Nevarran captain shouted to the steersman.
"Two points to north east! We make for Kirkwall!"
Behind them, the wounded Orlesian vessel was going down by the bow. Flames had spread to the rest of the sails. Little dark heads bobbed in the water, pleading for help.
Nathaniel watched the disaster unfold, his face stern. A few were saved; more slipped away beneath the waves. He turned aside, and went to reassure Callista, guiltily certain that she must have been terrified. Adam followed him a moment later, grinning. Perhaps their maidens fair would grateful for their salvation from the big, bad Orlesians. Their welcome was better than they could have imagined.
The next day, their little flotilla arrived intact in the City of Chains. The only unfortunate thing about their arrival was the awful truth that they would have yet another voyage. The women did not take it particularly well.
Berenice mustered her courage to face Hawke.
"But why must we go to Kirkwall?"
"Unfinished business, fair lBerenice." He gave her a kiss and a bewitching smile. "We had to meet up with our own ship and retrieve some of our belongings. We'll be on our way tomorrow."
Her expression, poor girl, was indescribable.
"I suppose there's really no way to get to Ferelden just by… walking?"
"No. I'm sorry. But it's a really, really short voyage to Ferelden now. We'll pick up some fresh water, and have a good meal and a good night's sleep before we set out again. All things considered, the Arl and I think it best for you to stay aboard here. Ordinarily, we'd pay a state visit to the Viscount, but things are too unsettled."
Dangerous, he meant.
"But you're going," she said, jealous of the chance to walk on dry land, and worried about his safety.
"Yes, I'm going ashore," he told her, discreetly emphasizing the correct terminology. "I must. We'll be back soon, I promise."
Leaving the ships under heavy guard, Nathaniel and Adam gathered their knights and men-at-arms—and their Wardens— along with them to find the Hanged Man, and Varric Tethras.
And then Isabela arrived.
"Permission to come aboard!"
The Nevarran captain actually knew Isabela. Why was Hawke surprised? Isabela very likely knew everybody.
"Isabela! You're looking..."
"I know. So, where are the—oh, Hawke! How was Nevarra?"
"Splendid," Adam said easily. "It's a wonderful country, and the people were... very friendly. The Arl will be up shortly, and then we're off to meet Varric. Coming with us?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
"My lord?" Berenice heard his voice, talking to someone on deck. Perhaps he had decided not to leave, after all. She climbed the few steps carefully, holding her skirts out of the way.
Her handsome husband was chatting with a woman. An extraordinary-looking woman. Nearby was the elven guardsman, Fenris, and their captain.
And what sort of woman was this? Berenice wondered, with a thrill of delighted horror, if she was seeing... well... a bad woman. She wore very little, despite the brisk weather. But rather than having a painted face, the smooth dark skin was warmed by a great deal of heavy gold jewelry.
And on her back were sheathed a pair of wicked daggers.
"My lord?" she repeated. Hawke's smile grew a little fixed.
"My lady," Adam put out his hand to her. "Lady Berenice Hawke, this is Captain Isabela, skipper of our other ship, the Siren's Call."
Isabela looked like she might burst out laughing. "Lady... Hawke?"
"Yes," Hawke said with perfect ease. "Lady Berenice did me the great honor to consent to be my wife. We were married seven days ago."
"That's... very nice," Isabela said, her eyes wickedly bright. "My sincere congratulations."
"Thank you, captain," Berenice said faintly. There was something there. Adam knew her. Had there been something between them? Surely not. He was a noble, and she was a ship's captain.
"And you seem to have picked up quite the fleet."
Here the discussion turned to the Nevarran's donation, and Isabela, who knew this particular transport, had to stride across the deck and have the warships pointed out to her, while she sized them up with keen dark eyes. She and the men began a brisk technical discussion of their merits, and Berenice felt, once again, completely at sea.
Nathaniel and Callista came up on deck, talking about their plans for tomorrow. Captain Isabela was presented to the new Arlessa, and bowed, giving her felicitations with almost mocking grace.
Callista, like Berenice, was not entirely pleased to be left on the ship herself, but Nathaniel felt strongly that she would be safest there. The guards were enjoined to be particularly watchful, and the Fereldans departed, talking and laughing among themselves in the twilight. They rounded a corner, and the flash of Fenris' white hair was the last they saw of them.
"I suppose it's for the best," Callista sighed. "Everyone knows that Kirkwall is a haunted, corrupt place. We're much safer here. The cook tells me our dinner will be served directly. It is not unpleasant, being on a ship, when it is swaying gently like this."
Berenice stared out into the dockyards. "They weren't worried about that woman's safety. Did you see how she was dressed? I could see..." she sputtered and lowered her voice. "I could see her bottom!"
Callista began giggling. "She must not care what anybody thinks! It's rather admirable, in a way. A ship's captain." She thought about that. "I think she must be incredibly brave, going to sea and ordering the men about."
"I wish I could order Adam about," Berenice agreed, rather grumpily.
Isabela waxed hilarious at Adam's expense. She did not go so far as to tease Arl Nathaniel, but Bann Adam was fair game.
"And now," she nudged him, "we see Adam Hawke, the married man. Looks like they paid a fair price for you! What does a Fereldan bann fetch these days?"
"Isabela!" he muttered, rather chagrined. If only she knew. Yes, you could say that the Nevarrans had bought him. He would have been mad to turn down the dowry, even if there had been no question of the alliance.
"Seven days married," she sighed. "She still has the shine on her, I noticed. You've done very well for yourself."
"Don't."
Carver had overheard only part of the exchange. "Mother and Bethany will like Berenice. A honeymoon at sea is pretty romantic, Even with the part about being attacked by Orlesians."
"Believe it or not," Isabela said, with a curiously hard smile, "I know all about 'honeymoons at sea.' I'd much rather hear about how you dealt with the Orlesians."
So they talked about that, and slapped Jowan on the back. Isabela was intrigued.
"I have totally got to get a mage for myself. You'd think I could find one in Kirkwall, of all places. A good-looking one would be nice."
Fenris spoke into the merriment. "A mage without Warden discipline might be more a danger than a defense!"
They argued the point for most of the walk. Fenris granted that Jowan's skills had been more than welcome during the battle with the Orlesians, but maintained that this was a situation of a mage contained within a command structure—much like mages within a Circle.
Jowan found it impossible to swallow that. "Fenris, the Wardens are nothing like the Circle. And even before I joined the Wardens, I wasn't running rampant, summoning demons. I was out defending people from the darkspawn on my own!"
"That is admirable," Fenris said stiffly, "but the fact is—"
A shout interrupted their debate.
"It's the Fereldans!"
"Get 'em!"
Kirkwall was full of gangs. Varric had warned them, and he should know. The Coterie and the dwarven Carta were the biggest and strongest, but there were dozens more: The Guardsmen Pretenders, the Invisible Sisters, the Redwater Teeth, Sharpe's Highwaymen, the Bloodrangers… New gangs cropped up every month. And if the local gangs weren't bad enough, you had the Tevinter slaver gangs, the Antivan Crows, and incursions of apostate mages. Supposedly, Kirkwall had a City Guard, but their function appeared to be entirely decorative.
Nathaniel had no idea who these people were. They were not Orlesian, but they very likely had been hired by an Orlesian sympathizer. How could such a person know they were in Kirkwall, not three hours after their arrival?
"Don't kill them all!" he shouted, his bow twanging. He brought a man down by an arrow to the back of the knee. Without magical healing, the fellow would be lame for life. Too bloody bad. He was unimpressed by the quality of his attackers. Whoever had sent them must think Fereldan noblemen were as gormless as their Kirkwaller counterparts.
His people were mopping up. Adam and Carver had caught one of the gang between them, and were gleefully going in for the kill. Adam's dog Hunter was worrying a man's throat. Fenris was mowing the fools down like weeds. Captain Isabela appeared to be having a glorious time, performing some sort of throat-cutting dance.
Darrow and Kain had pounced on the wounded man, and dragged him along by his wounded leg, ignoring the screams.
Where were the good people of Kirkwall? Nathaniel glanced about him. Where they always went at the first hint of trouble, evidently. Far away, and behind locked doors, their hands over their ears.
He stalked over to their prisoner.
"Who hired you?"
The man grinned up at him through bloody teeth. Adam grew impatient and kicked him where it would hurt. Nathaniel snarled.
"Who? This can take all night if you want."
"Boss… sent us out. Just the usual. Kill the marks, and loot the bodies."
"You knew we were Fereldan."
"I'm not Fereldan," Isabela declared, eyes sparkling. "I just go to their parties. Such lively occasions! "
Nathaniel gave her a look, and she responded with a saucy wink, but subsided.
"What exactly did your 'boss' say about us? How did you know who we were?"
"Boss told us what you looked like. Said you were a tall sort with black hair and a big nose…"
Nathaniel scowled.
"… and that you had a weird elf with you with white hair, and you let him carry a sword…"
Fenris scowled.
"…And that you had a couple of Wardens with you with a pair of mangy mutts."
Jowan and Carver scowled. Lily and Magister growled.
Nathaniel considered kicking the man himself.
"Where is this boss of yours? I'd like a word with him."
"What?" gawped the thug. "Take you to our secret hideout?"
"Yes."
"I couldn't do that!"
"I think you can."
Carver suggested, "Why don't we start with the small, unnecessary bits, and work our way up? Magister's hungry after that fight."
Magister yelped a quick bark of agreement.
In the end, they got a location, and then dragged the thug along, threatening him horribly. Their path led to a Lowtown hovel, which was briskly cleared of defenders. Sadly, their informer perished in the course of the dispute.
The 'boss' was a broken-nosed bruiser with a lisp from missing teeth, and quite exceptional weapons. He, in turn, had an interesting tale to tell.
Their next stop was a posh Hightown mansion. Nathaniel was quite beyond good manners, so as soon as the butler opened the door, he was shoved aside, and the entire party trooped in to pay a call on the Comte de Launcet.
His lordship, it seemed, was busy. In the study. So the Fereldans walked in and found the nobleman sharing pleasant chat over some fine brandy with an able seaman from their own ship. This able seaman was the third Orlesian agent who had ridden ahead of them out of Nevarra, and who was now deeply regretting his brilliant plan of going to sea with the enemy.
Things, unsurprisingly, went downhill from there. Before the sailor could bolt, he was disarmed, bound, and gagged. Their ship was destined to be short a crewman, but there was important information to be had from the fellow. The Marcher nobleman, who had enjoyed a long-term retainer from the Empress, had all his papers confiscated.
"I shall complain to the Viscount!" he blustered.
"Complain all you like," said Nathaniel. "Complain to the Empress, for all I care. I'm sure your Viscount would be pleased to know how busy you've been, working for Orlais. Your friend here is a spy, and you wasted quite a bit of coin trying to kill us tonight."
Nathaniel thought it impolitic to kill the men outright, since he did not intend to murder de Launcet's family and every servant in the place. Ferelden did not need a major breach with Kirkwall. On the other hand, he did not need to have the pathetic City Guard attempting to impound his ships, so he proposed a middle way. The spy was rolled up in a rug, and slung over Carver's shoulder, looking like nothing so much as a purchased household furnishing. Then Nathaniel turned to the Comte.
"Put on your cloak, your lordship. We're all going to the Hanged Man. You'll be in our company until we set sail tomorrow."
"I shall go nowhere with you, Dog Lord!"
"All right, don't put on your cloak."
They frog-marched the man to the door, pressing a dagger to the small of his back, where they were accosted by his blonde and dim wife, the Comtesse Dulci.
"Guillaume! Where are you going at this hour?" Her eyes widened. "With such people?"
Nathaniel swept her a bow. "Pardon, Comtesse. There is an urgent political matter of great delicacy that only your husband can resolve. Good night."
Guilaume de Launcet was carried off, and the Fereldans gave a series of nods, grins, and little waves to the befuddled Dulci. Isabela crowded close to the Comte, and while he was distracted by the exquisite discomfort of a dagger's questing point, she picked his pocket with practiced skill. Then she faded back to the rear of the party, contemplating her latest acquisitions.
"That's nice." She tossed the ruby from hand to hand and slipped it into the little pocket sown into the top of her heavily-boned corset.
On the way back through Hightown, Fenris paused, gazing up at a tall facade.
"I… shall be along later. I have business here."
"Friend of yours?" asked Adam.
"Not exactly. The house belongs to my… former… master. I wonder if he has arrived in Kirkwall yet."
"You can't go alone," said Carver. "Why don't we call on him, too?"
Guillaume de Launcet's eyes nearly popped. "Messere Danarius is a respected Tevinter noble!" he protested.
"Right," scoffed Nathaniel, "A respected slave-trading Tevinter blood-mage. I am in awe. How could I leave Kirkwall without paying my respects?"
Isabela picked the lock and got them in, unable to stop laughing. De Launcet and the spy were kept under guard by Mapes and Dudgeon, while the rest of the party went to introduce themselves to the man who had enslaved, tormented, and pursued their companion.
Magister Danarius, alas, was not at home. It was an imposing mansion, boasting a labyrinth of large rooms, but it was derelict and abandoned. Danarius had not lived there in a long, long time.
But he had left demons to fight for him. Clearly, he had not expected Fenris to return in the company of a mage, and a strong party of warriors. The demons were nasty, but dealt with.
"He left quite a bit of good stuff here, too," said Kain, poking at a chest with his boot. "I reckon he owes you for services rendered."
"I want nothing of his," snarled Fenris.
Darrow shook his head pityingly. "That's not looking at it the sensible way. Leaving the stuff is high-minded, right enough; but it sort of plays into his hands by not doing him any inconvenience."
"He's got some nice books," remarked Jowan. "He might miss them."
Ashamed to confess that he could not read, Fenris said. "By all means, take anything that you wish."
Darrow picked up a fat-bodied lute. "I've always fancied the idea of learning to play music."
They paused to gather more choice items, though Nathaniel's instructed them to give any coin to Fenris. Before they left, Isabela obligingly sprinkled the fine magisterial robes in the wardrobes with a very nasty and unnoticeable powder. She smirked at Fenris.
"If he puts on any of this lot, he'll flay himself bloody, scratching."
Fenris gave her a long, admiring appraisal.
"That is... a pleasant thought."
They galloped downstairs, retrieved their captives, and marched cheerfully to the Hanged Man.
They took a room, and proceeded to lock Guillaume de Launcet in with his guards, who promptly demanded that he play Wicked Grace with them. Understandably, considering his state of mind, he lost, heavily and repeatedly. The guards checked to see if the spy had suffocated—he had not—and left him on the floor, to be retrieved and taken to the ship later on. The rest of the party went to look for Varric, who greeted them in his expansive way, wanting their stories. That Guillaume de Launcet was being held in the next room until the Fereldans sailed was sufficient for him to stand them all drinks. He was amused and delighted to find that the single noblemen he had bade farewell to so recently were returning as sober married men.
"The classic way to contract an alliance. Practically a living, breathing metaphor," the dwarf chuckled. "I hope, for both your sakes, that they are reasonably good-looking?
"They are lovely ladies," Nathaniel informed him, rather starchily. A true nobleman did not discuss his wife in a tavern.
Adam, not so practiced in the art of nobility, had no such reservations. "She's a redhead. Quite pretty. I like her, thank the Maker."
He did like her. She seemed to fancy him, and was taking to the more intimate aspects of their relationship with pleasant enthusiasm. He had once promised himself that he would marry for love, but he had been given little choice in Nevarra. They could have married him to a prune-faced horror, but they had not. He had got himself a pretty redhead, with plenty of spirit and a fine fortune. His luck had held.
It was not so lucky, true, that they had carried an Orlesian agent on board all the way from Nevarra. Varric found that interesting, too.
"De Launcet can't be the only Orlesian sympathizer in Kirkwall. At that, I think it's only a part-time gig for him, currying favor with the Empress. What the whole chapter shows is that there are also Orlesian agents in Nevarra, which is not exactly shocking. The Empress has people everywhere."
Hawke snorted a laugh. "Well, she won't have this one much longer. We'll have a talk with him once we're at sea tomorrow."
"Serves him right for being caught. I take it, then, that you don't need to have me put you up in the old family mausoleum?"
Nathaniel blinked, having recently come from Nevarra, where, he supposed, someone might actually spend the night quite comfortably in one of the great tombs. In fact, many of the great tombs were far more comfortable than Vigil's Keep. It was an embarrassing realization.
"Er... we are staying on our ship. The Nevarrans gave us a transport and an escort of warships."
"Quite the dowry," Varric approved. "If you don't mind being seasick."
They discussed the political situation as freely they could with someone who was not Ferelden. Carver and Jowan mentioned that they had learned a great deal from the Nevarran Wardens, but were not at liberty to reveal details.
"Nobody wants the Blight to spread," Varric snorted. "Nobody sane, anyway. Bad for business. My brother Bartrand wants it to be over as soon as possible, so he can go on a scavenger hunt in the Deep Roads."
That was interesting. Varric explained that there was a short window of opportunity at the end of a Blight, before the darkspawn retreated underground to breed again. During that time, ancient thaigs could be rediscovered, and their treasuries plundered. Jowan and Carver glanced at each other, wondering if anything had been found in Kal'Hirol or Amgarrak Thaig.
Their party had long ago created the story they would tell everyone but the King and Queen of Ferelden about their curious adventure in the Vimmark Pass.
"There is an abandoned fortress in the Vimmark Mountains," Nathaniel told Varric, his tone elaborately casual. "The Grey Wardens used it, long ago, but no one even remembers it. The Nevarran Warden-Commander had never heard of it. Quite the fortress in its time, but empty now. No doubt some robber band will move in and make use of it."
Varric spread out his map, and the place was duly marked. The dwarf shook his head.
"Strange. It's not supposed to be there."
Jowan swallowed, and said, "There might have been magical protections that finally wore off. It's there, all right."
Caver added, "It's got a big tower. With griffons on it."
Nathaniel made arrangements to contact Varric for information on a regular basis, using the cover of more lumber shipments. Varric could offer them a proper Merchant Guild contract, which was then signed by himself, the Arl of Amaranthine, and witnessed by the Bann of the city.
"And next," said Nathaniel, "we leave on the dawn tide."
It was dark and late by the time they returned to their ships with their prisoners. The spy was chained up in the brig. The Comte was held in polite captivity on one of the warships, to be released when they weighed anchor. Isabela gave them all a wink, and went off to the Siren's Call, to make ready for the voyage.
Fenris watched his companions, irresolute, and then followed them on board. In the men-at-arms quarters in the forecastle, he set about collecting his belongings. They amounted to a great deal more than they ever had before. The others watched him as they began settling into their hammocks, and then Darrow grabbed Mapes.
"Fetch the bann," he growled. He approached Fenris, and asked, "Pushing off, are you? Why?"
"You are returning to Ferelden," Fenris said quietly. "You can have no further use for my services."
Kain rolled his eyes at his friends. "We reckoned you were going back home with us."
"It is not my home."
Adam came down the ladder and squinted at them, puzzled. "What's going on?"
Darrow jerked his thumb at Fenris. "He reckons you don't need him any more."
Adam, tired and wrong-footed, gaped briefly. Then he said, "Fenris, could we talk?"
"Of course, Lord Hawke."
The men-at-arms leaned in, listening breathlessly. Adam grimaced at them.
"Alone?"
He must tend to Berenice, who had not gone to bed, but had waited up for them with Callista. Still, this man was a veritable jewel in the dust, and must not be made to feel superfluous. Adam liked him, too, and had his own ideas about what would be best for an escaped Tevinter slave who was also a prodigy with a greatsword.
They climbed up on deck and Adam shepherded the tall elf forward, away from the stern cabins. Hunter saw them, and trotted in their direction. Maker curse it, Nathaniel had already vanished, gone to join his Arlessa.
"Fenris..." he began. "I thought you did not dislike our company. We certain have come to respect and value you."
The elf was taken aback in his turn.
"You and the Arl have been most... generous. It has been a most interesting adventure. You, however, are going home to Ferelden across the sea, and I still have accounts to settle with my former master."
"Oh, to the void with Danarius!" Hawke burst out. Hunter whuffed, a bit startled. "Sorry, boy," muttered Hawke. "Look here, Fenris, why waste you life and your skill waiting for someone who may never come? And if he came, and you succeeded in killing him, what then?"
Fenris looked away, out into the harbor toward the darkly glimmering shapes of the colossal Twins; eternal slaves wracked with eternal anguish.
"If I live long enough to kill him, then I have lived long enough."
Hawke wondered what he could say to someone who had suffered so much. "We have a saying in Ferelden: 'The best revenge is living well.' Do you understand what we mean by that?"
"I am not sure. In Tevinter, we say: 'Revenge is a dish best served cold.'"
Hawke found himself laughing. "Well, yes. We say that, too. Everybody says that, and it's true. But you can be more than Danarius meant for you to be. Your whole being at the moment is focused on Danarius; I think it's very likely that he doesn't think much about you at all. He sent some mercenaries, yes; but hasn't come himself. Why let him rule your life, however far away he is? Come with us to Ferelden. Make a new life for yourself. I know for a fact that Arl Nathaniel looks upon you with great favor. You'd be a free man-at-arms, with good wages. With talent like yours, you might even rise higher. If the Queen met you, she'd probably want you to Join the Grey Wardens. She certainly has plenty of elven friends in it!"
Fenris, at least, was listening, his silvery head bent. Hawke caught at a flicker of memory, and went with it.
"You heard about how Queen Bronwyn cleared out those Tevinter slavers. She's furious with the Tevinters, and believe me, they're no match for her. Carver tells me she and the King have put a watch on the coast for Tevinter vessels. They know that there's a regular ship that comes in to relieve the slavers every six months or so. Queen Bronwyn's planned an ambush. Unlike Kirkwall— this overpriced snakepit— we don't tolerate slavers and Tevinter magisters in Ferelden. I've got people watching the harbor in Amaranthine, too. Instead of facing magisters alone, why not come to Ferelden, where we stand ready to give them a short, sharp lesson? Your knowledge could be crucial." He leaned forward, a smile playing across his handsome face. "Imagine the looks on their faces. That would be a cold, cold revenge indeed."
Fenris was tempted. "It would be interesting to see Queen Bronwyn the Dragonslayer with my own eyes, " admitted Fenris. "Though I have no great desire to be a Warden. I do not share your brother's enthusiasm... well... for anything."
"No one says you have to. You'll always have a place in my guard, as long as you like. Or the Arl's, which is grander. Look here: why don't you sleep on it? I have got to see to my wife, poor girl—"
"I apologize," said Fenris, deeply embarrassed. "I did not mean to keep you from your lady."
"No, I'm glad we talked. I'm just a bit tired. I promise we won't let you oversleep and carry you off with the dawn tide. That would be cheating. None of us want to force you to do anything you don't want to do. We haven't the right anyway. You're a free man. It's just that you owe it to yourself to do the best for yourself that you can. Marchers and Orlesians—and Tevinters—might call us barbarians and Dog Lords, but Fereldans love freedom. You'd have a good life with us. Sleep on it. Don't let Danarius—or his memory— tell you what to do."
"You've been fighting," Callista said to Nathaniel. She was not accusing, but merely observing. At the moment she was already warming their narrow bed. The slow sway of the ship was quite relaxing. Quite seductive… She was so glad she had pretty nightwear among her trousseau.
"Kirkwall's certainly the place for it," Nathaniel agreed. "We found out we had a spy on board. He ran off and told his employer, but we've dealt with it—and him." His armor was laid aside, and he scrubbed off with a basin of lukewarm water. Callista admired the lean body, wishing she had the nerve to offer to help him. Even in the best cabin the ship had to offer, it was rather close quarters. Once they were settled on land, however, perhaps it would be easier.
"Did that woman captain fight, too?"
"Captain Isabela?" Nathaniel chuckled a little. "That she did. She's very impressive."
"I feel so useless," she blurted out. "I can't do anything like that."
"Nobody expects you to."
"Would you teach me to shoot a bow?"
He paused, and then smiled. "If you like."
He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and slipped into bed with her, dousing the lantern. Moonlight flooded in, casting shadows on the planked floor. He gathered her up in his arms, and she smiled as she nestled close, listening to his heart quicken.
Someone was strumming a lute on one of the other ships. The music drifted over the harbor, sweet and sleepy.
"The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I.
A ship there is, and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I'm in
I know not if I sink or swim..."
The sun rose, pink and fresh. It was a fine day for a new adventure. With the dawn, the tide turned, and Nathaniel and Adam were up early, giving orders.
Heavy-eyed and sulking, the Comte de Launcet was set ashore. He had the nerve to complain about the lack of breakfast, and was handed a mug of small beer by a sailor.
"You can keep the mug, too," called out Carver, with a mocking salute.
Fenris came out on deck and watched the sailors make ready. Signals flickered among the ships. The elf gazed out to sea, and then back to the towers of Kirkwall, and out to sea again, struggling. At length he went down below to join the others for a quick meal, and made no move to leave when they cast off. Hawke gave him a smile, and whispered a word to Nathaniel, who nodded, very pleased. Slowly, they moved out of the harbor, those on deck shivering a bit in a cold wind, while the seabirds wheeled and shrilled overhead.
Carver joined his brother, looking eagerly ahead for the first glimpse of open sea beyond the long chasm-like passage out of the harbor.
"So," said Adam, looking back at the docks. "That's Kirkwall. Maker's Breath, I'm glad Mother didn't talk us into immigrating."
"As I recall," Carver said, with a snort. "Mother did talk us into immigrating. Or at least you. I was already a Grey Warden, lucky for me. If Charade and Uncle Gamlen hadn't shown up, you would have turned up on the docks with no home and no prospects. I think I would call the current situation a big giant escape."
Hawke laughed. "So do it. I think is also calls for a drink, early morning or not."
Carver leaned in, and murmured, "You need to tell Berenice about Bethany. Let her get used to the idea."
Adam grimaced. He knew he should. He should tell her before she was miserable with seasickness, too.
"I'll go find her."
Nathaniel had overheard. He needed to talk to Callista about the Howes and their current political status, including his father's shocking crimes. Someone was bound to say something cruel, and she needed to be prepared.
Callista said to Berenice, "You need to tell Adam about your brother. Let him get used to the idea."
"I know I should. I should tell him before I start throwing up." She blushed, rather nervous about facing the men on deck. "I hope," she ventured, "that I did not... wake you up last night."
Callista turned pink with laughter, remembering the cries of rapture that had penetrated the thin walls of their cabin. "I wasn't asleep at the time. You sounded very happy."
"I was. That's all going very well. I mean," she added in a rush, "it's very different than I expected. It's quite fun, really."
"Yes, it is. And it shows that Adam is unlikely to throw you over the side. So go to him now, when he's in a good mood."
They went out on deck together, determined to enjoy feeling comfortable, clean, and well fed before the inevitable nausea. A few pleasant words were exchanged, ad then Berenice said, "My lord? May I speak to you privately?"
They went off to the port side, talking in low voices. Nathaniel gave Callista a quizzical look.
"Berenice needed to tell Lord Hawke more about her family. We ought not to keep foolish secrets from one another."
"You're right," he sighed. "I should tell you more about Ferelden, for that matter."
He gave her the awful story of Rendon Howe. How he was enthralled by blood mages. How he murdered his liege lord and the man's family. How he had engaged in slavery. It was an ugly story, but Callista listened, not horrified or disgusted. She knew none of the people involved, and Nathaniel was not his father. If the Queen and her brother the Prince could make that distinction, so too could Nathaniel's own wife. Yes, there would be enemies, and it was good that Nathaniel told her who they were, so she would not make foolish mistakes.
"After all," she said softly, "my own father was killed as a traitor. My mother died of grief soon after. Yet I am no traitor. Your Queen is wise to make the distinction between the innocent and the guilty. I wish my own aunt and uncle could have been so fair-minded."
"No one is nobler than Bronwyn," Nathaniel agreed. "You'll understand how we feel about her when you meet her yourself."
Now that the worst was past, Nathaniel could tell her more about the nobility of Ferelden itself, and coach her in the first things she must learn.
"After the King and Queen, the teyrns are the premier nobles of Ferelden. The Teyrn of Highever is first: Fergus Cousland. The King is also the Teyrn of Gwaren. After the teyrns come the arls. The Arl of Amaranthine is first in precedence, and then Denerim, Redcliffe, South Reach, and West Hills. That means that only the Queen and the Queen-Dowager take precedence over you in Ferelden. The last I heard, the Queen-Dowager was likely to marry Fergus Cousland, which would make her the Teyrna of Highever. After you in precedence is the Arlessa of Denerim, Habren Bryland. She won't like you taking precedence of her, but don't let her bully you. Originally the Arl of Denerim was first, but there are historical reasons why that changed. Habren is definitely after you."
Callista laughed lightly, "No woman is going to 'bully' me out of my proper place, I assure you. Who are some of the other Court ladies?"
"Arlessa Kaitlyn of Redcliffe is next: a very sweet young girl. Arlessa Leandra of South Reach is Adam and Carver's mother. She and Arl were recently married. Arl Wulffe is a widower, and it's likely that Adam's cousin Charade will marry the heir. And there's something about Adam's family you should know. Er... he has a sister..."
"Your sister is a mage?"
"You brother is a mage?"
A moment of consternation, and then Adam Hawke burst out laughing: rich, musical laughter. He flung his head back, unable to stop. Berenice had clapped her hand over her mouth, and then she too began laughing helplessly. It was awful; it was embarrassing; it was likely to cause all sorts of messy complications in the future.
"And the Queen allows her at Court?" gasped Berenice. "She is not locked up in the Circle?"
"Bethany has never lived in a Circle. We kept her free, but she's a trained mage. The Queen proclaimed her free after Bethany saved a lot of lives during an Orlesian assassination attempt. The Chantry isn't happy with Ferelden at the moment because we're being reasonable about individual mages, and because we've made use of the ancient Grey Warden treaties to bring mages into the fight against the darkspawn."
"But of course mages must help! You cannot tell the Grey Wardens how to the fight the darkspawn!"
Pleased with her, Adam said, "The Orlesians think they can. We've said no. So yes, Bethany is free. She's a sweet girl and a wonderful sister. She's also a brilliant Healer, and she feels it's important to use her talents to help people."
Berenice was torn with any number of conflicting feelings. Mages were to be dreaded and quarantined; other people feared and hated them. Her own brother's high birth had not saved him when he was discovered. Instead, the Templars had come and dragged Troilus through the streets from their mansion to the Circle of Magi. Since then, they had not been permitted to know if he was even alive. For a moment, she longed to beg Hawke to turn the ships around and save him; to storm the Circle and free her brother, as his sister was free.
Obviously, that was impossible. The ships must go to Amaranthine, and Ferelden could not afford to so grossly offend Nevarra. She was silent a moment, collecting her thoughts.
Finally, she said, "What if we have a child who is a mage?"
He took her hands, and gave her a crooked, endearing smile. "Then we will love that child, and no one will take him—or her—away."
In his heart, of course, he decided simply to trust to his luck, which had not yet failed him.
As the sun rose, the Twins were passed, and then left behind. The waves grew choppy, and the ladies retired below. Through grey sea and under greying skies they sailed, the weather worsening. It grew colder.
The spy had to be dealt with. After questioning, it was clear that he was a low-level but long-time agent of Orlais. Some names were extracted, and the Nevarrans would be informed eventually. The man knew more names; obviously of contacts in Kirkwall, but also in a few other cities in the Free Marches. He had the name of a contact in Denerim, too; a woman named Marjolaine.
Afterwards, there was nothing to be done but to drop his body over the side after dark. A disagreeable business, but necessary. While the man had offered to turn his coat and serve him, Nathaniel saw no reason to trust him. Yes, having an agent of his own would be useful, but not a man like this. In a sense, Varric was their agent in Kirkwall, and a better man they could not find.
A fierce squall sprang up out of nowhere, and they were harried by high seas and foul winds. Those prone to seasickness hoped only for death. Those who were not were rather more concerned about the ship sinking. From arl to servant, every capable person was pressed into service, manning the pumps. Their escort was scattered out of sight. Hawke hoped that some higher power was not trying to teach him a lesson about pressing his luck too far.
Berenice had sunk into unconsciousness the night before, hardly expecting to awaken in the world of the living. Her eyes opened to sunlight, and hardly any rocking at all. To her surprise, Adam's dog was sleeping peacefully on his blanket by their bed. Berenice stretched awkwardly to avoid stepping on him as she eased out of bed. Adam was nowhere to be seen, and her maid was either in her little bunk nearby, or dead. Rather than start pounding on doors, she set about trying to dress herself. Her hair she would simply comb through, and leave down.
The dog awakened and looked up at her, giving himself a slight shake.
"I see that you're alive," muttered Berenice. "Since you're not howling, I presume Adam made it, too."
The dog responded with a low 'whuff," entirely at his ease. Berenice found it very odd to share a room with a dog, especially a dog who appeared to understand everything said to him. Hunter rose and padded to the door, looking back at Berenice.
"Yes, yes, we'll go find him. Just let me tie my belt..." She took another look at the dog. "I suppose you don't mind sharing him with a wife?"
Hunter stared at her. Why would he object to Adam having a mate? Mating was a very pleasant thing. Hunter himself mated whenever the opportunity arose. If his person liked the red-haired bitch, than that was all to the good. Hunter himself was training her in the arts of ear-scratching and treat-giving. She seemed to be not without a certain aptitude.
They stepped out of the cabin, and once on deck, found themselves surrounded by a sea as smooth as glass, the countless little waves reflecting back brilliant sunshine. Adam was on deck, talking with Nathaniel and Callista. To port was a long, gray haze.
"Good morning!" she greeted them, and then pointed to the horizon. "Is that Ferelden?"
"More or less," Nathaniel answered. "It's Fair Isle, a large island north of Amaranthine. All we have to do is follow its coast to the south. The storm hurried us along last night, though we were lucky that it calmed when it did. The Amaranthine Archipelago is lined with reefs and filled with bandits and wreckers."
Seeing her frown of incomprehension, he explained. "Wreckers are bandits who prey on beached vessels and castaways."
"Well!" Berenice managed. "I'm glad we won't be meeting them, especially before breakfast!"
Adam laughed. His eyes were dark-circled from the night's exertions, but his charm was still in evidence. "You feel up to eating something, then?"
"I'm starving!"
"So am I," agreed Callista. "Let's see if the cook's skill is equal to our appetites!"
They ate, and then watched Fair Isle go by. A speck in the distance grew into a ship, and was the Siren's Call, catching the wind with clever sailing. They slowed to let her catch up, and eventually Isabela herself was seen, waving at them from the bow of her ship. Over time, two of the Nevarran warships joined them. The last of them, a tiny dot, was visible but still distant in the mid-afternoon, when a smudge appeared on the southern horizon, stretching out as far as they could see.
"There now," said Adam. "That's home."
Thanks to my reviewers: Adventfather, Blinded in a bolthole, Tirion I, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Nemrut, Mike3207, EmbertoInferno, KnightOfHolyLight, Trishata96, Have Socks. Will Travel, almostinsane, darksky01, Isala Uthernera, Psyche Sinclair, Phygmalion, JackOfBladesX, brrt, Jenna53, Guest, MsBarrows, reality deviant, dragonmactir, Fastforwarmotion, Tsu Doh Nimh, AD Lewis, jnybot, Robbie the Phoenix, NPC200, mille libri, Girl-chama, RB23G, PsychoLeopard, and Josie Lange.
In later medieval shipbuilding, a ship of war was usually equipped with a tall, multi-deck castle-like structure in the bow of the ship. It served as a platform for archers to shoot down on enemy ships, or as a defensive stronghold if the ship were boarded. A similar but usually much larger structure, called the aftcastle, was at the aft end of the ship, often stretching all the way from the main mast to the stern
Having such tall upper works on the ship was detrimental to sailing performance. As cannons were introduced and gunfire replaced boarding as the primary means of naval combat during the 16th century, the medieval forecastle was no longer needed, and later ships such as the galleon had only a low, one-deck high forecastle.
To RB23G: I appreciated your review, and thought you made some interesting points. I'm glad you like my antihero Hawke. He's not at all interested in being a hero: merely getting ahead and taking care of my family.
The darkspawn don't seem to have much to them, agreed, other than the Taint and sheer numbers. They are called mindless, but that it obviously untrue, or they would not understand how to forge weapons and armor and then use them. They can build and set traps, and lay ambushes. There are darkspawn, like the Architect, who are quite intelligent. Since Bronwyn killed the Architect, there will be no Mother, but the Archdemon has plans for her upcoming offensive.
As to Ostagar: there is plenty of blame to go around. The plan was imbecilic, granted, on a number of counts. According to David Gaider, the head writer, Loghain was not in on the Cousland massacre. My take on it is that once they were gone, Loghain saw no point in further bloodshed over a moot point, and since Howe was as anti-Orlesian as Loghain himself, he looked upon his alliance with Howe as making the best of things.