Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 98: Treason, High and Low
There is unpleasant domestic punishment in this chapter. Some might find it disturbing. And other violence as well.
Loghain's impressions of Paragon Astrid were very different than Alistair's. On his way to Highever, he stopped at Amgarrak thaig, and found the admirable dwarven princess hard at work at creating a self-sustaining, highly defensible fortress. Her people were clearly devoted to her, and her unique take on dwarven customs enabled many casteless to find purpose under her aegis. She seemed to have plenty of gold as well, which roused a bit of curiosity, but which was clearly none of Loghain's business. Just as Loghain was strengthening his own land against attack, she was doing likewise, with impressive single-mindedness.
Alistair, on the other hand, was impressed during his own, separate visit, by how very superfluous he was to Astrid's current agenda. He met her as she was on her way to Kal'Hirol and he coming west from Soldier's Peak. She was friendly, of course, and perfectly happy to see fellow Wardens. She was full of information about the current state of the Deep Roads and the current political situation in Orzammar. She could point out all the little twists and tunnels where darkspawn had been found and killed, and she had her golems repairing and building without rest. That special interest that he had once sensed in her down in Ostagar, however, seemed to have evaporated.
Was it the loss of her poor hand? Alistair's heart clenched at the pain she must have suffered. Her new… tools, he supposed he must call them… well elegant, or useful, or even terrifying. She seemed to have become part-golem herself. She was on her way to oversee some activities in Kal'Hirol, which needed immense work simply to clean it out. She bade them all farewell in a brisk manner, and did not look behind her.
Alistair discussed those changes with Loghain, whom he met east of Amgarrak Thaig. Loghain was on his way from Highever to Amaranthine, and using the Deep Roads to speed his journey. They made camp together and had a long talk. Loghain noticed Leliana among the Wardens. He frowned, and led Alistair far enough away that they could not be overheard.
Their dogs, Scrapper and Amber, renewed their acquaintance: cheerful litter mates, exploring and playing in the deeps underground. Alistair himself had come to be comfortable with Loghain, who spoke his mind and gave clear orders. The only thing he really had against his new king was that he had made Alistair a bann, though some of the blame for that must be the Queen's.
"And how is Bronwyn?" Alistair asked. "For that matter, where is Bronwyn?"
"Hard at work in the west. I left her based at Gherlen's halt. She's scouting out more of the Deep Roads there, trying to sense something from the Archdemon. She's had her share of nightmares, poor girl. What about you?"
Alistair made a face. "Nightmares, of course. Do they mean much? I'm not sure. Recently I saw the Archdemon in the Fade looking smug about something. The horde is certainly gathered, but nobody's sensed a large body of darkspawn anywhere. Maker only knows where they are. One thing I'm positive of. They weren't near Ostagar, and they're not anywhere here in the North. Of course, there are probably tunnels and caverns unknown to us. Maybe deep under the mountains…"
"I suppose that's another reason why Bronwyn's out there in the Frostbacks," Loghain agreed. "Look here, lad, I'll tell you a bit of what's going on, so you won't be surprised. I'm making my way back to Denerim, once I've done inspecting the northern ports. I've called a muster of Fereldan nobles. You're exempt, since you're already heading out on duty. While we're organizing our forces, there will be a trial. There's no harm in telling you, since the man's already in custody. Bann Frandarel's been playing games with the Orlesians and I want him out. The Crown will take West Hill as a royal domain and I've got people working on strengthening the fortress there. When the Orlesians come, we'll be ready."
"Maybe they won't."
Loghain barked a laugh. "And maybe the winter will last forever! They're coming, all right. The Knight-Divine said as much outright. We sent little Brosca into Jader, and she saw where they're building onto the dockyards to accommodate the rest of the invasion fleet. It's an open secret. Bronwyn will likely send more agents into the town, one way or another. They're coming, and it won't do you Wardens any good to try to be neutral. The Orlesians won't let you."
Alistair refrained from saying that the Orlesians weren't the only ones who wouldn't allow anyone to be neutral.
"You'll be wanting to see Bronwyn of course," Loghain went on. "She'll be glad to see you, too. She needs her friends with her. See what she wants of you, and if nothing else, have a look at your bannorn—especially on the western borders. Keep an eye on Jader. They're going to strike just as soon as they can trust the weather. Maybe the darkspawn, too. Bronwyn thinks they're likely to be active as soon as it thaws."
Alistair shuddered, imagining being attacked by Orlesian chevaliers on one side, and savage darkspawn on the other. "It's so wrong in so many ways for the Orlesians to attack us during a Blight! I wish we could just back away and let the two of them fight each other instead."
Loghain's laugh was more genuine. "And so do I! If there's any way I can see my way to manage it, I'll try to arrange just that!"
Some nobles refused outright to attend the muster. Most had the sense to send a representative in their stead to captain the levies they could manage to raise. Loghain noted the uncooperative. Some were old or otherwise unfit, and a proxy leader was simply a good idea. Some were too lazy or too intent on trying to play a double game to want to commit themselves to combat. Everyone was about to have a short, sharp lesson in what it meant to be a traitor.
The trial of Bann Frandarel was to be held in the Landsmeet Chamber, before those nobles who had come to Denerim. The arls would all be present, even Nathaniel Howe, returned from his Nevarran embassy, which had proved something of a triumph.
Bann Adam Hawke, too, brought home a Nevarran wife. The two girls were presented to the king, who thought them quite comely and well-behaved. They seemed taken with their husbands, and the feeling was apparently mutual. Anora was pleased with the new noblewomen, especially with Arlessa Callista, who of course would be in close company with her. Loghain thought pretty girls all very well, but three sound warships and a transport were far, far better. And the chest of Nevarran gold was best of all. Arl Nathaniel brought back a treaty of friendship and mutual assistance with him. Fereldan's obligation was to resist the Orlesians, which Loghain had every intention of doing anyway.
Unsurprisingly, not everyone was pleased with the Nevarrans. That two eligible noblemen should be snapped up by foreigners did not sit well with many. Spiteful remarks were made about accents and fashions. The most vocal of these critics was one who hardly would have been in the running to marry either of the gentlemen.
"What hideous clothes!" sneered Arlessa Habren at a dinner held by Bann Sighard. "I wonder that they have the shamelessness to go out in public with their throats exposed."
Kane thought the two Nevarran girls quite pretty, and he had no problems with fashions that showed a bit of skin. Habren was in a foul mood these days… even more than usual.
While it was hard to put up with her, at least her temper had a reason. She was with child, so all his hard work had paid off. And since she was with child, he need not sleep with her, since he had paid off a Healer to tell her that such things could cause miscarriages and other gruesome outcomes. And she was sick quite a bit, which meant that she stayed a great deal in her luxurious apartments. She had managed to come out tonight, but judging from her expression, the experiment would not be essayed again very soon.
A number of nobles were stirred up about the arrest and upcoming trial of Bann Frandarel, but Kane had no sympathy with that.
"If he didn't want to be arrested," Kane told one grumbler plainly, "then he shouldn't have had dealings with Orlesians. No good ever comes of that. And Orlesians always cheat."
These words were duly reported to Loghain, who was more or less satisfied with them. Arl Kane was not good for much, but at least he had the sense not to make deals behind Loghain's back. He showed up in a very pretty set of armor from the workshop of Master Wade, looking the part of the handsome warrior, though Loghain doubted he knew much more of swordplay than that the pointy end went into the other fellow.
Habren was bored. Her stupid elven maid was huddled in the corner, nursing her slapped face, sniveling.
"Dallena! Stop that noise, or I'll have you whipped bloody! Can't you see that I don't feel well?"
Being pregnant was hideously dull. Some of their vassals —or their women—came to call, but Habren found their insipid talk hard to bear. It was mostly about their own childbeds or their own ugly, useless children. Lady Parna told gruesome stories about children born without legs or arms… or without heads… or about twins born conjoined who died gruesomely within a few days. Or she would talk about labors that had lasted days and had killed the mothers. It was sickening and terrifying, and Habren had finally screamed at her to shut up. The lady had done so, but had not called again.
At least she wouldn't have to see those horrible Nevarrans again very soon. They had called, oh so sympathetic and kind, bringing gifts for the baby… some of which were quite nice. It was a humilitating thought, that now there was someone else she had to give place to: an Arlessa of Amaranthine. The redhead was nobody—the wife of Habren's stepbrother, a mere jumped-up bann—but Arlessa Callista had precedence of Habren herself. How could that be right or fair? Denerim was the most important place in Ferelden. The Arlessa of Denerim should be next to the Queen in importance. Habren had dropped a few hints about what she thought of foreigners getting above themselves. The women hadn't been back since.
There was nothing to do but have shopkeepers come to the estate so Habren could buy their wares. Silks, furs, jewels… it was pleasant to see all her things piling up around her. Kane was giving her odd looks, as if he disapproved. Well, too bad!
Father was coming soon, and he would see that people treated her as they ought. He'd give Kane a talking to about neglecting her. Kane was always going out, either to take his place in the Council, or to take to talk to his captains—though he did look very handsome in his new armor. The captains should come here, so Kane could spend more time with her. There were plenty of things that Kane could do to please her that wouldn't harm the stupid baby. He could use his mouth, his fingers… he could surely ome and talk to her and flatter her!
At least she didn't have to see his horrible little sisters. They were far, far away, upstairs and on the other side of the mansion. They had their meals there, for Habren had got her way about that. They were too young to be permitted to dine with their elders and betters. Father, of course, had allowed Habren to dine with the grownups from the time she was thirteen, but she was a born lady and a special case. Those common brats would not be fit for decent company until they were at least fifteen… er… sixteen or seventeen. Or quite possibly never.
And now that Loghain was back in Denerim, Habren saw even less of Kane. Couldn't that uncouth peasant manage things without bothering them?
"I'm bored!" she shouted at the walls. She stalked over to the cringing maid, and yanked on her arm. "You! Dallena! Get up and help me change. I want to wear the new pink gown."
"My lady," whimpered the maid, "it is not finished."
Of course that was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Habren was not interested in excuses.
"Then you'll just have to finish it right now!" she screamed. "Get those worthless knife-eared wenches here and get to work. If it's not done by dinnertime, I'll throw the lot of you out!"
Dallena fled, shaking. Habren followed her to door, shouting down the hall.
"And I'm hungry! I want honeycakes with almond milk!"
A guard looked her way, irresolute.
"Get them!" Habren snapped.
"My lady," he said, "I'm not permitted to leave my post."
Habren reared back, her mouth working. "I am your Arlessa, and I command you to got to the kitchen and fetch me honeycakes with almond milk, or I will have you hanged for treason!"
The guard winced. He did not believe for a moment that the arl would permit any such thing, but that bitch would keep yammering at him until he did her bidding. He would have to report it to the officer of the day. He might even be flogged, but on the other hand, everybody knew about the arlessa. He gave her the most cursory of bows and turned his back on her, hurrying down the hall. On his way he passed one of his mates.
"You're supposed to be on duty in the family quarters!"
"She—" the guard jerked his head behind him "—said she'd have me hanged if I didn't fetch her honeycakes. She's been screaming all day. Her maid ran out of there, looking like she'd seen a hurlock."
"Don't know how the arl puts up with her," said the other, disgusted. "My woman had a hard time when she was expecting our first, but I've never heard of anyone acting like that."
"The arl's not a bad bloke," agreed the guard. "I've got to get on, before Her High-And-Mightiness pops a vessel."
His friend snorted. "Right. Too bad if she did the world a favor."
Back in her chamber, Habren was lashing herself in a fury, since she had nothing better to do. Pacing back and forth, she admired how the train of her dressing gown whipped around when she turned. She felt powerful, fearsome, in command. Within her own estate, there was no one to keep her from doing whatever she liked.
Her maid Dallena crept through the door, followed by the seamstresses, also all elves. Habren preferred elven servants, since she towered over them. She glared at the girls as they curtseyed.
"What are you waiting for? Get to work!"
"If you please, my lady, we'll take the dress to the sewing room..."
"You will not! You'll work right here where I can see you. I won't have you slacking off!"
So the pieces of the gown were distributed, and the quaking women sewed in dead silence, while Habren hovered over them, criticizing every stitch.
"You have too much thread on the needle! Must your stitches be large enough to span the Drakon River? Do it over!"
The tirade paused when the guard appeared, accompanied by a footman carrying the arlessa's snack. It was beautifully arranged on a tray. Framed by her favorite silver bowl, the honeycakes were plump and round, half submerged in the sweet almond milk. Her special gold spoon lay on a pink silk napkin.
"Put it down on the table and get out," Habren ordered. She seated herself, ready for a treat, and set about greedily devouring the cakes, licking her lips in satisfaction.
The elves kept on with their sewing, desperate to finish the dress before sundown. The youngest of them, only thirteen years old, was still shaking. Tear quivered on her lashes.
An older girl whispered, "Don't cry. You can't cry, no matter what. You mustn't get tears on the silk!"
Habren snarled, "I hear whispering! I'm not paying you to talk!"
Enraged that they would dare talk about her—for what else could vacant-minded elves be gossiping about?—she pushed angrily away from the table and stalked over to oversee the work.
"Your hand is shaking!" she fumed at the young girl. "Are you some sort of cripple? What use is a palsied knife-ears to me? I don't think you know how to sew at all! Let me see what you're doing—
She yanked at the sleeve in the sobbing girl's hands. The needle slipped through the girl's fingers and pricked Habren. With a startled cry of pain, the arlessa flinched away.
"You stupid wench! You stabbed me with that needle!" She put her finger in her mouth, sucking at the pinprick, and then looked at the sleeve, where a tiny drop of blood stood out; red clashing with the pale pink.
"You've ruined it!" she shouted. "You've ruined my dress, you little whore! You stabbed me and then ruined my dress. I'll have your ears for this..."
The sewing maids' cries and pleas rose, counterpoint swelling against Habren's shouts. Most threw themselves on their knees, begging for mercy. Habren clouted the luckless girl over her ear, and then grabbed furiously at her hand. Her rage rising like flames, she fumbled for the needle, still hanging by its thread to the sleeve, and rammed it into the girl's hand.
A shriek, shriller than a bird, cut through the stone walls like a beam of mage fire. The rest of the maids screamed out, wild with terror. The girl struggled helplessly against the bigger, stronger human. Habren twisted the needle, her face contorting with something like ecstasy, a voluptuous sensation warming her belly. She pulled the girl's hand fast against her, and push hard against the needle, forcing it all the way, until the point emerged from the screaming girl's palm.
The guard burst through the door, wondering if the arlessa was being murdered. His first impression was that the arlessa was trying to kill her maid. He did not dare lay hands on a noblewoman, but threw the door wide open, hoping the poor silly girls would have the sense to run. They did: crying, stumbling, half-blind with tears.
Habren shoved the screaming girl at the guard.
"This knife-ears attacked me! I want her whipped!"
"Yes, my lady!"
The guard dragged the elf away, and Habren sat down suddenly on a chair, winded and rather nauseated. The honeycakes, so enticing before, now seemed sickeningly sweet.
"Take this slop away!" she ordered, and then realized that she was alone.
Where had they all gone? Where was Dallena?
She felt dizzy again, and threw herself onto her bed, watching the ceiling spin above her until she dropped off to sleep.
Outside in the corridor, the guard, unable to stand all the hysteria, tried to calm the girl, and then, when he saw what was hurting her, took the trouble to wrench the needle out of her hand.
"It wasn't my fault," the girl sobbed. "The arlessa grabbed up the dress and pricked herself with the needle!"
"That's as may be," the guard replied, not doubting her for a second. "But she's still the arlessa. Here, bind that up with your kerchief." Once that was done, he grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled her along to the upper dungeon.
There, the portly, unshaven jailor was unsure what to do with her.
"Wants her whipped?" the man asked. "With what? The cane, the quirt, the horsewhip, the knout, the scourge? How many lashes? And where on the body? This is all very irregular!"
"Dunno. She just said, 'I want her whipped!' Just like that. Pricked herself on a pin—"
"—a needle," whimpered the girl.
"And flew into a passion about it. Ran the needle through the girl's hand, but I pulled it out."
"Does she want her locked up, too?"
"Didn't say anything about locking her up…"
The girl began crying again.
"Stop that sniveling, or I'll give you something to cry about!" The jailor turned a professional eye on the hapless girl. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. Twelve to the bottom with the cane for a simple domestic offense, and it's into the cells for you, my girl."
The guard hesitated, "You could let her go after," he suggested mildly.
The jailor scoffed at that. "If her ladyship's in a temper, she'll want to make sure this knife-ears learned her lesson. You, wench, strip down and bend over that bench there. Get on with you! Strip down, or I'll rip your dress off myself. I'm doing you a favor, using the cane. If her ladyship had said 'flogged' I'd have to use the scourge, and that would," he chuckled, "mark you."
Sick with fear, the sewing maids huddled into the little cubbyhole they shared. Habren's maid Dallena huddled with them, dismally aware that she would have to return to the arlessa's apartments and her own dark little closet there. One girl had crept out to hear the news, and slipped back in noiselessly.
"They've taken Tessa to be whipped. She's in the dungeons."
One girl muttered. "That's where we'll all end up someday. I hate that shem bitch! I wish I could kill her!"
"Don't say that!" Dallena hissed. "They could hang you for those words!"
A dull, miserable silence followed.
"I've got to go," Dallena groaned. "If she can't find me, Maker knows what she'll do to me!"
Another girl whispered, "Better you than me! I hope she dies in childbirth!"
Dallena hissed again, terrified. You never knew who might be listening. For that matter, it was far from unlikely that one of the maids might tattle on the rest, hoping for favor or at least milder punishment. She glided down the halls, trying to make herself invisible. No guard stood in the corridor. She pushed at the arlessa's door with trembling hands.
The inner door to the private bedchamber was open, just as they had left it when they ran. Dallena peeked into the room, and glimpsed Habren sprawled out on her bed. She came closer, hoping that the arlessa would not wake anytime soon. On the table by the bed was the silver pitcher of pale, cool wine that the arlessa demanded be kept filled. A half-filled goblet was near at hand. Dallena wondered what she ought to do. Surely anything was better than this. It was useless to go to the Alienage. Her people were gone; sold to the Tevinters. Her cousin, though...
Yes, her cousin liked her work at the Wardens' place. Dallena would go there, and even if they wouldn't take her on, it was a place to hide. Dallena darted into her poky, windowless cell, and threw together her few belongings. Before leaving the arlessa's apartments, she paused, and then spat, full and heavy, into Habren's silver goblet.
Leonas and Leandra Bryland, Arl and Arlessa of South Reach, called at the Arl of Denerim's estate just as soon as they arrived in the city and could wash off the travel stains. They had had a wonderful time in the south. Bethany and Charade were in cheerful spirits and very good looks. The two young boys were markedly less pleased about visiting their sister the arlessa, and trailed after the others as if going to their doom.
Kane, of course, greeted them politely, and said and did all that was proper. Habren was pleased to be the center of attention, once her announcement was made.
"What wonderful news!" Leandra said kindly.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" Leonas asked his daughter.
She shrugged, a little sulky. "Mostly terrible. Nobody understands what I'm going through."
Leandra smiled. "Well, I certainly do! I'll be happy to help you in any way I can."
Habren glared at her, and did not bother to respond.
Charade, sensing trouble on the way, asked, "Have you picked out any names?"
Habren rolled her eyes. Kane answered for her. "I was thinking about Annawyn for a girl; but Habren likes—"
"It's going to be a boy," Habren said. "I don't want to waste my time on girls. It's going to be a boy and I'm going to name him Rupert."
Kane smiled suavely, determined not to saddle any child of his with such an awful name. Still, there was no reason to pick a fight in front of Habren's father. Things had been tense here at the estate. Habren was having trouble keeping a maid. One had run off, and Habren had told him that the elf had robbed her of some jewelry and coin. At the moment the City Guard was looking for the girl on the charge of petty treason, and Habren would insist on Kane hanging her when she was taken.
He had not missed the looks of terror cast in Habren's direction by the remaining elves. Something was wrong there, but no elf was worth Kane's domestic peace. Habren was going to give him an heir, after all. Habren disliked human maids, but would have to make do with them. Likely they wouldn't let her bully them as she'd want. Kane had no illusions about Habren's temper. Her father was an important man and Kane's ally, and must be kept on his side.
And the arlessa was a good sort, who asked after the girls. Kane had them sent for directly. The girls and their governess entered, pretty and well-mannered as ever.
"The last time I saw you," Leonas teased, "you were trying for a puppy. Did you imprint?"
"No, my lord," said Faline. "There were only two puppies that time, and they were darling, but they liked other people. But another litter was whelped not long ago, and we're going to try again."
"Well, good luck to you!"
"I hope you get a mabari," said Corbus. "Look how big Killer's grown. If you had a mabari, it could be friends with mine!"
Kane glanced at Habren, willing her to do the polite thing and invite them to dinner. That was hopeless, so he issued the invitation himself, and they agreed on the next evening.
"We'll be busy all day at Council," said Leonas. "The King wants Frandarel's trial to start as soon as possible. I'll be interested in looking over the evidence."
Kane knew something about that. "Cousland thinks the evidence is pretty clear. Frandarel has more coin than he ought to and he's been corresponding with the Orlesians. The King was furious when he discovered that the bann had a golem in his treasure vault. It's been confiscated."
"Any word about the Queen?" asked Leandra.
Habren huffed a quick, rude noise. Her father could not ignore that and gave her a level look.
"No," said Kane, who could and did ignore Habren. "She's still in the west, shoring up the defenses in the mountain passes. Adam and Carver are in town, though, back with Howe from his trip to Nevarra."
Leandra stared at him. "Nevarra?" she gasped. "Nevarra? They went to Nevarra?"
Leonas Bryland winced. With an attempt to be debonair, he merely asked. "And was it successful?"
Kane began to grin. "So it seems. Howe and Adam brought home a pretty pair of Nevarran wives."
He was unsurprised when visit ended abruptly. Leandra was desperate to track down her errant sons and see them—and Adam's new wife—for herself.
"Did you know about this?" she asked Leonas.
"My dear, it was a state secret."
"And Adam is married!" Bethany cried, thrilled at the idea.
"You won't like her," Habren scoffed unhelpfully. "She's perfectly hideous, and you can barely understand a word she says."
"I think she's a charming girl," countered Kane. "Do bring them all to dinner tomorrow, won't you?"
Jowan and Carver returned to a nearly empty Wardens' Compound. It made for sleeping late and no trouble using the bathing facilities, but after a few days they were growing restless.
Ketil and Idunn were living there quite happily, more or less playing house. Ketil's usual grumpiness had dissipated. Idunn, whom Carver had always thought of as the usual plain-faced dwarven woman, looked much prettier, now that she and Ketil had come to an understanding.
"The Senior Warden left us here to keep the place running," Idunn told them. "He took the rest and went north to see Soldier's Peak. I don't know what he intended past that, though I think he might mean to go west and find the Commander."
"Sounds good," Carver said, joining them at the long table in the Hall for the midday meal. "I want to go too, but I can't, not right away." He gave Jowan a gloomy look. "I've got to see my mother and the rest when they get back into town. She'll rake me over the coals for going overseas without telling her."
"We were under orders," Jowan comforted him. He sat down himself, and reached for the bread basket. "We had to go. I do think we should leave to find Bronwyn fairly soon, though."
Cups of mulled cider were served, and a pitcher put on the table. Carver looked up to thank a pretty elven girl with a honey-colored ponytail. She bobbed a timid curtsey and hurried away, eyes averted.
"She new?" Carver asked.
"Niniel's cousin," Idunn told them, munching contentedly. "Good girl. Quiet. Never goes out. Didn't notice her myself until a few days ago."
"So what were those foreign Wardens like?" Ketil rumbled.
That was a rather exciting topic of conversation. Carver described the magnificent Nevarran digs in detail, with Jowan adding his own observations.
"I guess you could say," Carver concluded. "That they're rich. Really rich. They don't get down the Deep Roads a lot. They spar and train and swagger around the city. It's a good life. They've got a lot of traditions. Their commander is a decent sort. Very aristocratic."
"Don't say it like that," Jowan rebuked him. "Bronwyn's very aristocratic, too."
"Yes, but—"
Mistress Rannelly bustled in.
"You've a visitor, Wardens!"
Fenris was once again at loose ends when they arrived in Denerim. Up to that time, he had been part of a small, elite team that had pulled together and become close. He had been accepted among the Fereldans as one of them—as a friend, even. It had been a unique, and uniquely wonderful experience. The noblemen and the knights had treated him with courtesy and respect; the men-at-arms and servants with good-humored camaraderie.
However, here in Denerim, it had all changed. The men of the embassy had been chosen by the King, and were not the arl's men. Arl Nathaniel resumed his place as a great noble, busy with great affairs. Lord—no, Bann Adam Hawke—he must accustom himself to these Fereldan terms— had his own life and a new wife. Fenris' comrades, like Darrow and Kain, had returned to their barracks at Fort Drakon, since they were soldiers of Maric's Shield, the best of the king's army. The knights had gone to visit their families, and the rest back to their duties at the Palace. Fenris could claim a place among the arl's guard, but he was unknown to the men here, who looked askance at a foreigner and an armed elf. A few remarks had been made, though the sergeant had come down on the troublemakers.
"If he did the arl good service, that's good enough for me!"
"But he's an elf!" protested a guardsman. "Nobody's saying he shouldn't have a place, but let him stay where he belongs, in the servants' quarters with the elves!"
In truth, Fenris had expected no better, and had feared a great deal worse. Sleeping in the barracks... feeling so much an intruder... was thoroughly uncomfortable. In time it might become dangerous.
He had been assigned no duties, and therefore his time was his own. Hawke had counseled him to buy a money belt, back in Amaranthine. Fenris had done so, and so his small fortune was on his person at all times. Leaving his little chest with his personal items at the barracks, he decided to go out and see this strange southern city for himself.
The other things he had purchased in Amaranthine had been a warm hooded cloak and a pair of stout fur-lined boots. Fenris had never worn such things before, and found the sensation odd. The sensation of ice and snow on bare feet, however, was worse.
To one who had seen the wonders of Minrathous, greatest and wickedest of cities, who had traveled among the Qunari, who had seen Antiva, the Free Marches, and the splendors of Nevarra and Cumberland... well, to speak plainly, Denerim was a poor and squalid place. The kingdom of Ferelden itself was poor, and thus had been the victim of constant attacks by its rich and powerful neighbor. Such was the world: the powerful preyed on the weak; and the weak must defend themselves or submit and be made slaves. Fenris granted that the Fereldans were determined on the former. He respected that.
Where could he go? He could fight for a place in the arl's guard. He could return to Amaranthine, where the captain had been told about Fenris at length. Neither prospect was particularly appealing. He was a warrior, and would go where the war was. It was clearly not in Denerim. There was another option, however...
Everyone knew how to find the Wardens—even rather confused people who insisted on also telling him how to find the Alienage. Fenris had not the least interest in the Alienage. He had never lived in an Alienage, and had felt no connection to the city elves he had come across. The Wardens, however... Carver and Jowan had been friendly, and did not seem to think themselves above his company. Yes, Jowan was a mage, but he was first a Grey Warden, and had shown no signs of any craving for power or any need to inflict suffering for its own sake.
Fenris knocked at the thick, rugged door. It opened, and he was greeted by a pretty elven maid and a friendly, middle-aged human woman. Neither woman blinked an eye at him; they were supremely unsurprised to see an armed elf at their door. He was immediately admitted to the Wardens' Compound. This was a good sign...
"You've a visitor, Wardens!" called the woman.
"Fenris!" called Carver. "Come on in!" He turned to the other Wardens. "Hey, everybody! This is Fenris! He met up with the Arl's party in Kirkwall, and he's amazing with a greatsword."
The two dogs, knowing Fenris well, did not bark, but trotted over to renew his acquaintance.
"Hello, Fenris!" waved Jowan. "Come and have a bite with us."
Idunn narrowed her eyes, considering. "You're not a Warden."
"No, he's not a Warden," said Carver, a little sarcastically. "He's a friend... like Zevran or Sten." He explained to Fenris. "They fight with us, but they're not Wardens."
"Ah," replied Fenris, for lack of anything better to say. He sat down and directly found a cup of mulled cider and a bowl of savory stew set before him by a shy young elf girl. Still, this was interesting... and rather promising. One could fight alongside the Wardens without actually joining the mysterious Order. Fenris wanted to belong to no one but himself.
"Would you like to stay with us?" asked Jowan. "I know that the Arl and Carver's brother must have made you offers, but I think, since this place is so empty, that we could actually give you a room of your own. Isn't that right?" He appealed to Rannelly. "Isn't there a room for Fenris?"
"Of course, Warden dear," soothed the housekeeper. "We always have a place for friends of the Wardens. Just give your things to Niniel or Dallena, Master Fenris, and we'll get you settled in a wink."
"I left my trunk at the Arl's," said Fenris, "but I can retrieve it..."
"We'll go with you!" said Carver. "I should find out if my Mother's come back to town yet."
"I need to pick up some things at the Wonders of Thedas," said Jowan. "A shop," he explained to Fenris. "It's the nicest shop in Denerim."
"Actually," Carver contradicted. "That would be Master Wade's. He's the best armorer in Fereldan. Really talented."
"We can go there, too," Jowan compromised.
"After we eat!"
Fenris hesitated, and then dug into his stew. Where everything else had changed, these Wardens still treated him the same as ever.
It was pleasant to be staying together at the Howe mansion in Denerim. Callista and Berenice still felt very odd and out-of-place here, and the companionship of a familiar face was very welcome.
Berenice sighed, as they sat and sewed together in the privacy of a little parlor that Callista had claimed for her own. Sewing might ordinarily be a mere pastime for ladies, but today they were sewing with definite goals in mind. Something must be done to make this place liveable. The walls were rough-cut stone, softened only by a few threadbare hangings depicting dogs. The chairs were plain and uncushioned, and the windows small, grudging any passage of light into the room. The fireplace was crude, a mere recess in the wall with a earthenware flue. Most of the smoke scorned to travel up it, rendering the room unpleasantly hazy. Unappealing as the place was, it was the best prospect for a sitting room in the entire house. The lack of luxuries the young women could accept; they had not quite expected the lack of comfort and even sometimes what they regarded as basic necessities. Did Fereldans really not understand how to build a working fireplace or to construct decent furniture? The women had each brought a few pieces, but those had been left in Amaranthine.
"It's not as if we weren't warned that Ferelden is a rude and barbarous country."
Callista gave her a look. "Are you saying, rude and barbarous or not, that you would prefer to be an outcast in Nevarra?"
"No," Berenice said, very decisively, stitching on a cushion cover. "I'm not saying that at all. I adore Adam, and it's all a great adventure. However... oh, Callista really! It is fairly barbarous. Or poor. What have you. I didn't mind Amaranthine. It's not a bad little provincial town, taken all together. The view of the sea is magnificent. It's much smaller than I pictured, but it's not bad, and Adam likes my ideas for making something of his keep..." She gave Callista a significant look.
Callista clicked her tongue, annoyed. "Yes, I know. Vigil's Keep really is quite primitive. The Great Hall is handsome, but the rest needs work. Nathaniel knows that, my dear. He traveled for many years in the Free Marches, after all. He's going to live in a very different style than his late, unlamented father. No... no don't quote me. Nathaniel really does mourn his father. While no one else has much good to say about the man, Nathaniel seems to have loved him. Setting that aside, however, Nathaniel has seen the world and has broader views than the other nobles we've met. His housekeeper Adria is a sweet woman, and understands what I want for my own apartments. One room at a time, I shall set in order our bedchamber, a family parlor, a dining room, the solar, and a few rooms for guests. And... a nursery, of course. I see little point in complaining about the rest. After all, Berenice, Vigil's Keep is above all a fortress."
Berenice thought that over. "You could say the same about Denerim! It looks shabby and mean, but I can see that whatever coin the kings have had has gone into the military. Not surprising, after being conquered by Orlais. King Loghain clearly care only about the army. I suppose nothing here makes sense without the Orlesians."
"That's very true," Callista agreed. "Compare the magnificence of Fort Drakon with that dismal little 'cathedral' of theirs! It's no better than a village chantry at home! Or compare it even with the Palace, such as it is. Nathaniel is hoping to open Ferelden up to the world and make it more civilized, but of course that cannot happen until the darkspawn are destroyed and the Orlesians thwarted." She glanced about her, at the unlovely little room with the smoky little fire. "And as for this place..."
A short time later, a maid told them their presence was requested downstairs, for the Arl and Arlesa of South Reach had come to call. Berenice looked and Callista and swallowed nervously.
Introductions were made. Both Nevarrans instantly recognized the Arlessa of South Reach as a fellow civilized woman. Better yet, she was warm and kind, and eager to make them feel welcome. The presence of the Arl's two little sons, children from his earlier marriage, made everything cheerful and easy. There was a half-grown mabari who seemed to know Adam and Carver and their dogs as well.
For Carver was present, too. He had come to visit his brother and was in time to see the rest of his family. He looked rather exasperated at his mother's remonstrances about going on long, dangerous journeys without telling anyone. Arl Nathaniel was faintly amused.
The little boys made their bows like proper gentlemen, first to the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and then to their stepsister-in-law, Lady Berenice Hawke.
Berenice was pleased to be able to recognize everyone from Adam's excellent descriptions. That pretty dark-haired girl was Bethany, the mage. The other, with the cloud of brown hair, was the cousin, Charade, who had grown up in Kirkwall.
"What beautiful hair!" Bethany burst out, admiring Berenice's flaming locks. Berenice blushed, but heard no mockery in the girl's words. Adam liked her hair, too. Fereldans did not share Nevarra's view on red hair and its possessors.
"We just called on Arl Kane and Arlessa Habren," Leandra told them. "The Arlessa is expecting! Such exciting news."
"Yes," Callista said politely, with a carefully pleasant smile. "We have met Arlessa Habren."
The two boys, knowing the real Habren better than anyone, immediately caught the undertones of the arlessa's reply. They nudged each other.
Adam glanced at Nathaniel, who kept his face blank. Both of them had had an earful from their wives about the shocking rudeness of the Arlessa of Denerim. To avoid that particular topic of conversation, Adam launched into a recounting of the Nevarran adventure, beginning with their journey to Kirkwall, since the information about traveling the Deep Roads was to be kept as quiet as possible.
Leandra was horrified and indignant to hear about the current tenants of her family estate. Adam did not mention that they had actually slaughtered the slavers: he simply produced some family souvenirs he was able to lay his hands on. Arl Leonas filled in the blanks for himself. As far as he was concerned, slavers deserved everything they got.
Adam excused himself briefly, and brought back the little portrait of Leandra they had liberated.
"What a lovely picture, my dear," Leonas approved. "We'll have to display that next to the new portrait of the two of us."
Carver glanced anxiously at his brother, but Adam skipped over the Warden prison. That would unnecessarily frighten their mother, and did not need to be made public. Most of the time was spent on their time in Nevarra. Nathaniel and Carver added some remarks about the beauty and grandeur of the city, and the new brides happily contributed their own stories about meeting their dashing husbands for the first time.
The skirmishes on the road and the final battle at sea were done full justice. Nathaniel smiled grimly, remembering it all.
"Warden Jowan proved himself that day, if he hadn't before!"
Leonas listened, and smiled his assent, but tucked the information away to discuss it further with Loghain. He must have already taken the young men's report. Had he heard this part? The use of mages at sea would be innovative and shocking to some, but if the Orlesians were building an invasion fleet, this would put paid to it, and be great fun to watch in the bargain.
The treason trial of Bann Frandarel was quite the social event. Seats were provided in the Landsmeet, and everyone appeared, dressed in richest raiment to witness the ritual disgrace and condemnation of one of their own.
Some nobles were rather nervous about Loghain's assault on the nobility— and the accompanying attainder and confiscation of wealth—and whispered that it smacked of tyranny. Still, the evidence against Frandarel appeared genuine, and the growing fear of an Orlesian attack earned Frandarel no friends.
Loghain, however, had won a few. In her search of the treasury Cauthrien had found a remarkable holy relic, a vial containing the reputed Tears of Andraste. These Loghain had tendered to the Chantry. They had no known powers, but were still a rarity. The Grand Cleric had been very grateful. It had given Loghain's prestige a boost.
And so had the Nevarran embassy. The gift of four ships and substantial financial support had bolstered the newly-made king's reputation. The alliance reassured many who were apprehensive about the future.
There were those who were not particularly happy about the current situation, however, and some of them were unhappy because they regarded themselves more as partisans of the Queen. Where was she? Why was she sidelined in the wilds of the Frostback Mountains, while Loghain laid down the law in Denerim? Quite a few nobles had been deeply impressed by the revelation of her special relationship to the Prophet herself. Then, too, there were those conservatives who regarded her as the true monarch by blood, and Loghain only as her consort. Bann Alfstanna was the most vocal of this group, which included most of the northern banns. Nathaniel Howe himself had tenuous ties to the faction.
Fergus Cousland was not exactly of that party, but he understood that those individuals considered him his sister's proxy at the current time. Petitions were being addressed to him in his sister's place, most notably by the city elves, who looked to Bronwyn as their patron and protector. Some ugly things had occurred at the Arl of Denerim's estate, and while a nobleman had special authority over his domestic staff, Fergus was looking for a favorable moment to take Kane aside and tell him the harm that Habren was doing to his public image.
But that whole family party was together and looking quite happy. Arl Leonas looked as content as an father of a fine family should be. The boys were with him, their growing puppy well-behaved. Corbus was growing, too; in no time he'd be a man. Perhaps everyone was looking happy because Habren had to stay home due to ill-health. That aside, word was that Arlessa Leandra was delighted with the young noblewoman her son Adam had brought home from Nevarra. She certainly looked it today, leaning past her son to converse with her daughter-in-law, both of them smiling. Rumor was that the dowry had been splendid, though it probably did not compare with the princely sum that Arlessa Callista had brought to her marriage with Nathaniel.
Nate was looking happy, too. You had to know him to see it clearly, since he was one who had always kept his deepest feelings to himself. He was not grinning toothily like that ponce Kane, but his face was relaxed, his posture comfortable, and he was sitting as close to his bride as good manners allowed. Fergus admired Callista: a pretty girl, her exotic coloring distinguishing her from the other ladies; her manners proper and her demeanor sweet and pleasant. Anora had taken a liking to her, which was a good thing, since they would be seeing a great deal of one another.
It was interesting to see her, anyway, since if Fergus had not been committed elsewhere., he likely would have found himself married to her himself. The Queen of Nevarra's niece was certainly well born enough for the Teyrn of Highever and the heir-presumptive of Ferelden.
A fanfare rang out: the crowd quieted, voice hushing to murmurs as Loghain stalked in, wearing his armor and followed by his daughter, the Queen-Dowager. Anora looked for Fergus and gave him a quick smile all his own. She, worse luck, was being worked to the breaking point. hardly given time to help plan their own little wedding.
Only three more days. The wedding, perforce, would be very small and private. Quite a few people were scandalized that a full year of mourning was not being observed. Too bad for them. Only the high nobles and their families were invited, since obviously such an important dynastic union must be witnessed. At least their relations with the Chantry had thawed sufficiently for the wedding itself to be held in the Cathedral.
Some might consider an event with only twenty-five celebrants a small matter, but to Fergus and Anora is was crucial to their happiness. They had debated whether the children should be invited or not, but Fergus carried the day there. The children were uniformly good people; better than some of the adults. Anora, with a sigh, had agreed that it was so. If it came down to it, she would rather see Faline Kendalls at her table than Arlessa Habren. That the adult children should be invited was simply good manners. Bann Adam Hawke and his new bride were not invited for their own sakes, but because Bann Adam was the son of the Arlessa of South Reach.
Loghain was enthroned; Anora took her smaller chair a step down on the dais. The Queen's throne stood empty, but Fergus knew that she was hardly forgotten. And stepping out from behind a hanging was the golem that Loghain had claimed from Frandarel's treasury. It was a formidable-looking guard.
The king made a peremptory gesture to the herald, who called for order. Fergus fixed his attention on the proceedings.
"All here attend to the King's Justice! Bring in the accused, Frandarel Holcombe, Bann of West Hill!"
Fergus spared a shard of pity for the man, who looked quite undone. Loghain must not be holding him in comfortable confinement. He was escorted to the open center of the Landsmeet floor, and given a three-legged stool to sit upon. A good idea, for the bann appeared close to collapse.
Loghain spoke, his dark glare focused on the wretched man opposite him.
"Read the charges."
The herald held up a scroll and declared: "Let it be known that Frandarel Holcombe, Bann of West Hill, is accused of various crimes against the Crown and Kingdom of Ferelden; to wit: that he has corresponded secretly with foreign powers, offering aid and comfort to the same; that under pretense of loyalty and honor, has laid his demesne open to plunder and decay, and has thus undermined the security of the kingdom; that he has falsely and dishonorably used his subject, impoverishing and evicting him to their ruin for his own enrichment and for the purpose of further unpeopling and unguarding his demesne from our enemies. For these reasons and under proof before the Maker and His Prophet Andraste, let it be known that Bann Frandarel is to be tried for the crime of high treason and for the lesser cause of malfeasance in office."
Loghain let the words sink in, and then abruptly addressed the defendant.
"Bann Frandarel Holcombe, how do you plead?"
Another pause, as the man stared at Loghain, panicking. Finally, he cried out, "I am innocent!"
Whispers rustled from stone wall to stone wall. Loghain's voice rang out above them. "We shall see.'
It was a long morning. Clerks read out the appropriate statutes, and the confiscated letters were presented as evidence. Frandarel did not deny writing the letters, but claimed that they were being taken out of context; that they were being deliberately misunderstood; that he was misunderstood. Bann Cauthrien testified about her findings at Frandarel's estate, her testimony clear and soldierly.
The bannorn accounts were presented, and people yawned at the sums from the wool trade, and the wheat trade, and the charcoal trade. They yawned yet the more at the evidence that freeholders' taxes had been inflated and the people evicted in a pattern that suggested that Frandarel wanted certain areas open and unwatched. Loghain sensed that most of the nobles cared nothing for the fate of the freeholders, and were not pleased at the idea of any restrictions on a nobleman. Fergus had warned him that this was not a popular cause, and would get them no sympathy, but Loghain had hoped for better. Seeing that Fergus, irritatingly, was right, Loghain returned to the treason evidence, and presented his own assessment of the deterioration of West Hill; of its scandalous lack of preparation in the face of the Orlesian threat that the entire Landsmeet had heard only a few months before.
This point carried more weight, since it involved the security and well-being of the nobles themselves. Besides, Loghain clearly wanted the man dead, and very few were willing to risk anything for the sake of Frandarel, who would not have risked anything for them.
The children were not the only ones growing restless. Anora whispered something to her father. Loghain snorted and gave her a nod. He immediately opened the case to the Landsmeet for questions and debate.
This was more agreeable and interesting, to the adults as least. Grudges and feuds decades old were brought up; like opening musty trunks of moth-eaten garments. Fergus was called on to speak, and had no trouble giving witness to the fact that this vassal of Highever had given no assistance after the massacre, in itself construable as a form of treason.
Corbus whispered to his father, "Are they going to kill him?"
Leonas frowned, but did not want to lie. "Yes. In the end. He has failed to do his duty, and chosen to be greedy and selfish instead of brave and loyal."
Frandarel tried to save himself, but he had few options. He might demand a trial by combat, but he had the loyalty of no one who would dare lift a sword against Loghain, whom everyone assumed would act as his own champion. He could request a trial by ordeal, but apparently did not consider himself sufficiently pure in heart to hold red-hot metal in his hands and be unscorched. His only other option was to plead guilty and throw himself on Loghain's limited capacity for mercy.
"Maybe that's why this is happening when the Queen is on the other side of the kingdom, eh? wondered Bann Sighard to his son Oswyn. "She might show the man a little forgiveness, and at least allow him to take orders as a holy brother in a cloister. Loghain won't, though."
So it proved. The Landsmeet judged the attainted bann guilty. As to his punishment—mercy had no great part in Loghain's character. The farthest he would go—when urged by his daughter—was to condemn the bann to beheading, rather than the statutory punishment for high treason of hanging, drawing, and quartering.
And it was not mercy that persuaded him, for that matter. Loghain knew that while the nobility might submit to the execution to a wayward member of their own caste, they would be roused to rebellion by his lingering public torture. With a show of magnaminity, Loghain agreed to the lesser punishment.
"Frandarel Holcombe, in consideration of your noble birth, you are to be taken from this place, and at dawn on the morrow are to have your head struck off. May the Maker turn His gaze on you."
The condemned man, senseless with terror, was carried away, and the Landsmeet rose, ready for its dinner. There was a general feeling that they had done a good day's work, coupled with a minority view that Loghain had no right to tell a Fereldan noble what to do on his own land.
"But it wasn't simply limited to his own land!" argued Bann Alfstanna. "By plotting with the Orlesians, he was harming us all. I would think that that would be obvious to the meanest intelligence!"
Leandra whispered to Leonas, "Surely you won't take the boys to the execution!" A horrible thought occurred to her. "Surely you don't expect me to attend?"
"No, no, of course not, my dear..."
Leonas had wondered what to do about the boys, and was of two minds. It was not as if his sons had not witnessed violent death. The Orlesians had done them harm, and Frandarel, by plotting with them, might as well have done the deed himself. Lothar was perhaps too young to witness a beheading, but he would not understand if Corbus went and he did not.
His son-in-law solved the problem for him.
"I was thinking of asking the boys over tomorrow. Faline and Jancey would like to see them. Maybe a few other children could come..."
"What a wonderful idea!" Leandra exclaimed, with a grateful look at Kane. "That will take the children's mind off this dreadful affair. I know you will have to go, and poor Habren needs her rest, but I could stay with the children and keep them entertained."
Kane blinked, not realizing until that moment that he would be expected to go to the execution. Not that idea bothered him in the least, but it seemed the waste of a perfectly good morning when he could be having fun with the girls. Another stupid ceremonial performance.
"That's very nice of you," he answered. "I'll make the arrangements. Maybe Teagan's little brother-in-law would like to come, too."
Habren would not have missed the beheading of Bann Frandarel for the world.
She did not feel so ill this morning. The event gave her the opportunity to wear her gorgeous ermine cloak. With it was a matching muff and a little hat, ermine trimmed with a kind of coronet of gold filigree set into the crown. It was very becoming. The event would be comparatively short—not like the trial which Kane had told her was hours of boring legal precedents and speeches about duty and honor and country. Kane said he'd had a long talk with Teyrn Fergus, but he wouldn't say what it was about. Sometimes he gave Habren odd looks, but if he wasn't going to tell her, Habren wasn't going to worry her head about it. It was likely just dull politics. Today was too enjoyable an outing to waste. Not many ladies were here, so Habren stood out in her finery in contrast with the men's somber appearance.
Best of all, the dreadful children were locked up in the nursery with her horrible stepmother and the other poor relations, and Habren was here, beside her gorgeous husband. They were the handsomest couple in Denerim—in all Ferelden. On a day like today, she did not even resent his chestnut-coated mabari bitch, standing up so proudly on his other side. The mabari avoided Habren, which was offensive, but even Habren knew better than to try to come between a man and his dog. Today the dog made them look even more striking. If Habren could just imprint a dog of her own, it would be perfectly symmetrical.
Such a grim affair. Too bad they couldn't put off the execution for a month or two when the weather was better. People talked about how gorgeous Anora was, but Habren could see that the cold had rendered the Dowager's nose unattractively red. How awful if she should come down with a cold only two days before her wedding. Habren bit back a grin, and pitied poor Fergus Cousland even more.
The King made a long, boring speech, and then Bann Frandarel made a speech too, though it was hard to understand him because he would burst out in tears, now and then. Really, how ridiculous. They should just kill him and get it over with. And then the crowds in the Landsmeet courtyard were so loud and smelly. At least Bronwyn wasn't here. For that matter, Habren was a bit surprised that Loghain wasn't wielding the axe himself. He must have learned how, back in the days when he was a farm boy, slaughtering pigs.
Finally, they had come to the entire point of the event. The Grand Cleric made everyone pray, and said a blessing; Frandarel knelt down, trembling, at the block, and the headsman raised the great double-axe, up, higher... higher... My, this was thrilling! Habren clutched excitedly at Kane's arm, eyes sparkling.
The axe thudded down, well-struck. The head bounced away and rolled, and jets of blood pumped from the neck. The crowd screamed in unison; women fainted. Habren herself cried out at the sight, unable to take her eyes away. The headsman held up the dripping, severed head and declared:
"Behold the head of a traitor!"
A hearty roar of approval echoed from the walls. After that, it was rather anticlimactic: some holy brothers put the body in a wagon to take it away to be burned, and the head was taken up to be displayed above the door of the Landsmeet. Habren craned around to see the head better. At the moment, Bann Frandarel looked quite horrified. It would be interesting to see how his face changed, over time.
Her good mood lasted until she returned home, and learned that the children had gone out to the kennels in her absence. Her stepmother happily informed everyone that Faline had imprinted on a mabari puppy.
Anora studied herself in the mirror for a long time. With what different feelings she had gone to her first wedding. It had been a fairy-tale wedding—of a sort—shadowed by the disappearance of King Maric and the Landsmeet's decision that he must be deemed dead.
But she was young and beautiful and about to marry a handsome prince who—in his own way—was in love with her. Their wedding night was all a girl could wish. But after the fairytale wedding came the real work of living together, and that had not gone very well in the long run.
She would make the most of this second chance. Fergus, for one thing, was far more intelligent than Cailan, and he respected her without resentment. He found her beautiful, too; but did not desire her only for her beauty. Their marriage would be a partnership; a true team of equals. Anora had seen that kind of marriage before in the union of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. Fergus had grown up with that, and that was his expectation of a wife.
There would be great changes after today. She was moving out of the Palace and into Highever House. Fergus had showed her the charming rooms that were to be hers. There was little she wished to see changed, for Eleanor's taste was exquisite. She had asked to go to the rooftop garden, where she had many memories of private chats and heart-to-heart confidences. The garden was deep in its winter sleep, but Anora still smiled, anticipating the spring, when the roses and lilies would burst forth into new life. Her things had already been transported by wagon to her new home. It would be strange, finally not to be living under the same roof as her father.
Her dark blue gown became her. The hood of the fox-trimmed cloak framed her face and would keep her warm. After the ceremony in Cathedral, they would go to Highever House for a dinner. Fergus was disappointed that his sister would not be here to see him married, but everyone had to make sacrifices at this time. Truth to tell, Anora was a bit disappointed herself.
Her maid sighed, "Oh, Your Majesty! You are beautiful!"
Anora laughed and thanked her. After today, she had decided to set aside the style of "Majesty," and be satisfied with the title of Teyrna of Highever. "Your Grace" did not sound like a woman desperately clinging to lost opportunities. Besides, she hated being a "Dowager" anything. The very word brought to mind ferocious old hags with more jewels than sense.
Father arrived to escort her to the Cathedral, and not in armor, as she had requested. This was not a day for warlike posturing. An honor guard would ride with them, and wait outside, since the ceremony would not last long. Smiles and bows met her everywhere, accompanied by the kind wishes of staff and soldiers. Outside, crowds were gathering; eager for a spectacle despite the weather.
It was a cold, cold ride through the streets. Anora was glad of her cloak and boots. A few snowflakes drifted down from a pearly sky. At her side, Father was silent, apparently sunk in thought; but Anora saw his eyes shift watchfully.
Poor Father. So suspicious of everything and everyone.
He must be missing Bronwyn, too, though he had said nothing about it. But when did Father ever discuss his personal feelings, unless they were personal feelings of hatred toward Orlais?
In fact, Loghain was indeed thinking of Bronwyn at that very moment, and his thoughts were fairly unhappy. They each had their duties, but it seemed that for all Bronwyn was giving, she was getting precious little in return. While the ladies of Ferelden—and their lords—played politics and slept in soft beds, Bronwyn was out at Gherlen's Halt, sifting through the Deep Roads, and eating the slop fed to the rest of the garrison. For that matter, he was living in luxury himself.
That would change, of course. He comforted himself with the fact that with the completion of the muster, he would return to the west and rejoin his young Queen. His plan was detailed and exacting, and he had shared some of it with the Council. Cousland would go north to Highever; Howe would bring his people to West Hill, while his young bann defended the city of Amaranthine. Loghain was most concerned with the far west. The Orlesians would want their force at sea for as short a time as possible; sea voyages were notoriously hard on horses. That was why they were staging in Jader, after all. Were he the Orlesian commander, he would strike at West Hill, so close to the North Road. With an attack through Gherlen's Pass and another at West Hill, the Orlesians might believe they could roll up Ferelden, from west to east, with terrifying speed.
Those ships—those wonderful Nevarran ships—would be sent to patrol the Narrows. Leonas Bryland had been struck by the tale of how Warden Jowan had sunk an Orlesian vessel single-handed. Loghain had taken it to heart as well. He had given orders to Uldred to find a mage for each of the new warships. Two, if they were available. Captain Isabela, who had proved reliable, had been given her letters of marque, but would also be ordered west. Perhaps they should find a mage for her, as well.
Fergus was already at the Cathedral, talking over strategy with the noblemen. Bryland's two boys insisted on standing with their father, intent on seeming manly and well-versed in military matters. Loghain's elaborate plan was a sound one. It was certainly far more detailed than the one presented against the darkspawn last year. Cailan's strategy had largely been, "Ride like the wind, confront the uttermost evil of our time, then destroy it in a single glorious battle that will echo down the ages."
Without the input of a young and wayward king, Loghain's plans contained no uplifting appeals to heroism and deathless fame. They were based in exacting logistics and made use of the remarkable weapons developed by his dwarven engineers. Loghain, as far as Fergus could see, planned to defeat the Orlesians by sheer attention to detail.
Teagan would hold the west shore of the lake, watching the Sulcher Pass, while Wulffe and Bryland would bring their men up to the Neck and support Maric's Shield. Kane—with the guidance of some of Loghain's reliable officers—would garrison Denerim.
"You'd think, Fergus," Bryland laughed, "that in consideration for his daughter's marriage, he'd leave you in Denerim!"
Fergus smiled and shook his head. "I'm needed in the Coastlands. If anything, I'll try to persuade Anora to join me. If we bring a wagonful of clerks, we can run the kingdom from Highever as easily as from Denerim!"
Kane arrived, accompanied by his pretty little sisters.
"Habren's sick this morning," he told them, not expecting any disappointment, especially after hearing from Cousland about Habren's goings-on with the elves.
"Where's your puppy, Faline?" Bryland asked kindly. "Little... Jewel, was it?
"Home, my lord. It's too cold for her today. She was having a nap by the fire when I left."
Kane gestured to the group of ladies not far away. "Look, girls, there's Arlessa Leandra. You go visit with her."
Corbus stood puffed up importantly by his father. Faline tossed her head and skipped off, dragging Jancey along with her. How silly boys were, she thought. The big ones, too.
Without Habren, the ladies were having a very pleasant time while they awaited the arrival of the bride and her father. It was warm in the Cathedral, and the air was perfumed with incense. Callista and Berenice exchanged looks as they once again took in the inelegant interior, but they could not complain of the company. Berenice had found Adam's mother to be everything she could hope for in a mother-in-law. Callista thought Arlessa Leandra cultivated and gracious. Leandra's motherly charm had quite won over Kaitlyn Guerrin, too, and the young girl loved to hear the Nevarran ladies talk about their strange, distant homeland. Altogether the two Nevarrans felt quite accepted in this rarified circle, though Berenice still gaped occasionally at Bethany Hawke: so pretty, so sweet-natured, so normal. Why had the Templars been so harsh with her own brother, when Bethany was proof that a mage could live in the world and do no harm?
The noise at the doors of the cathedral heralded King Loghain and the Dowager Queen Anora. The Grand Cleric welcomed them, and without delay they were before the holy fire and the vows were being exchanged.
There were nudges and discreet smiles from the witnesses, as they saw how Fergus and Anora looked at each other; so happy—so seriously happy—and so earnest. Loghain did not smile, though he entrusted his daughter and her happiness to Cousland with far more sanguine hopes than he had to Cailan. Anora was no doubt glad to catch the greatest man in the kingdom after himself. Now if Cousland could do his duty and get Anora with child, Loghain would like him better yet.
The vows were spoken, a hymn was sung, a prayer recited, and the blessing given. The bridal party fell into a procession, and moved out the doors into full winter. The Grand Cleric was coming with them to dinner, and a priest arranged a heavy cloak over the old woman's shoulders. The snow was coming down heavily. Despite it, there was a mob at the front of the Cathedral, shouting and cheering, pushing and shoving to see the bride and groom. Bunches of fragrant evergreen were thrown. One struck Anora in the face. She smiled graciously, brushing away pine needles.
"Guards!" shouted Loghain, "keep those people back!"
There were more bouquets: of snowdrops and holly, of wintersweet and balsam. A young woman broke through the cordon of guards and pressed one into Anora's hands, as she walked to her horse. Before she could be caught, the girl gave another to Callista Howe, startling her. Nathaniel scowled, and instinctively pushed Callista behind him.
A man dashed out of the crowd, his hands full of flowers, his face wreathed in smiles. He rushed up to Leandra Hawke, beaming, and with his left hand thrust a handful of holly at her, pricking her fingers though her gloves.
"Oh!" she cried. "Thank you, but—"
Still smiling, the man, with his right hand, buried a dagger to the hilt in Leonas Bryland's heart.
"Magic exists to serve man!" declared the assassin, his face radiant, "and never to rule over him!"
Thanks to my reviewers: Phygmalion, Chandagnac, Tirion I, Blinded in a bolthole, Enaid Aderyn, anon, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, dragonblade3200, Girl-chama, KnightOfHolyLight, EpitomyofShyness, darksky01, Robbie the Phoenix, Rexiselic, Mike3207, JackOfBladesX, Nemrut, Jenna53, Verpine, dragonmactir, Have Sock. Will Travel, jnybot, Adventfather, Josie Lange, and patchworker.
Dallena is the slumped, wretched elf girl seen with Habren in the Denerim market in canon.
Rexiselic suggested that I post a chapter-by-chapter summary of this monster story. That will take a bit of time, but once it's done, I suppose the only useful place to put it would be on my profile.