Victory at Ostagar

Chapter 106: Vive la Reine Rouge

There was a distinct lack of light in the Aeonar. The rooms occupied by Wardens were very dark indeed, and devoid of comfort. They reminded Tara of another place she had disliked: the Circle Tower. They were worse, really, for at least there were some windows at the Circle, even those were very high up on the wall and filled with colored glass, so one could never see outside. At least some light had come in... pretty colored light. The Aeonar was lit by a combination of dwarven crystals and candles. It was smoky and mysterious in a rather threatening way, and it made getting a good look at anything something of a problem. Tara had plenty she wanted to study in detail here, and holding a candle close to time-worn symbols and markings seemed less likely to reveal secrets of the past than to set her hair on fire.

She stood back, gazing at the magnificent mirror. The frame, incised with arcane signs, was not mere gilded wood or plaster, but mostly gold, hence the weight of the object. It was far taller than she, and hinted at possibilities beyond imagination.

"It's an eluvian," Tara decided, studying the elaborate object

Brosca was briefly distracted from munching sausages. "A what?"

"A magical elven mirror."

"Neat." Brosca paused. "What kind of magic? What does it do?"

"Nothing, yet. Give me time. I've only now figured out what it is."

Tara hoped they would leave the Aeonar soon. Loghain had disposed of the worst offenders, and had set up a garrison to protect this place. The Wardens had moved all their loot to the rooms they occupied. At the moment, the Aeonar was not good for much of anything other than as an observation post for watching the sea and for providing shelter for transient troops. Tara wanted to move on and see what was being done about the darkspawn, but there had been delays due to supply problems and heavy rains. While they waited, Tara examined and catalogued the magical objects they had found stored here, and she carefully protected her own finds from Uldred's grasping hands.

She had gone on an Elven Heritage spree a few years before, and read everything in the Circle Library about Her Elven Ancestors. There was even a book on the elven language, though it was not a complete grammar, but more a word list. For that matter, it had not helped her much with the Dalish, since it seemed that their pronunciation had diverged from whatever source the book's writer had used. There were lots of languages in Thedas, after all, and why shouldn't there be variations in the elven tongue? And they had used more than one kind of writing. The symbols in the ancient elven temple were unknown to her. There had been quite a few ancient texts there, too, and perhaps some of them might hold a key to deciphering some of the symbols. However, at the Circle, the books about the elves were written in standard letters, and the words could be sounded out.

One book about elven culture she had particularly enjoyed was entitled A Catalog of Elven Relics. It was filled with fascinating lore about some of the objects, some magical, some not, that a scholar of ancient history had found or heard about. The scholar himself seemed to be human, based on the tone of the the text: a little breathless, a bit patronizing, and unnecessarily mysterious.

She had found the information on eluvians quite impressive. After destroying Arlathan and enslaving elvenkind, the Tevinter magisters had plundered the magical treasures of the elven empire, and a number of eluvians had fallen into their hands. The one in front of her—it must be thousands of years old— must be one of them.

The magisters had never unlocked all the secrets of the eluvians. They had used them to communicate with one another. Perhaps they still did. Perhaps the Tevinters still had working eluvians. It might be another reason why, even though diminished, they had never fallen: not to the Qunari, not to the Exalted Marches.

According to her book, however, the elves had been able to do other things with their eluvians, most specifically, they had been able to use them as portals. Tara was not sure if that meant that they traveled from eluvian to eluvian or to some magically-designated place. Magical travel would be marvelous.

For now, she wrapped up the elaborate mirror and kept it in the room she slept in with the female Wardens. She had told all her people to say nothing about it.

She next asked Darach in private if he knew anything about eluvians, but he did not recognize even the name, and referred her to Marethari.

"Or Merrill," he said, after a while, considering it further. "Merrill is very interested in the old days of Arlathan. The clan has a few books that the Keeper takes care of. I know nothing more."

Footsore and done in, Siofranni found Keeper Marethari and her clan on the first of Drakonis. Merrill joined them, wide-eyed, wanting to hear the news. Siofranni sat wearily on a mossy stone bench and tried to put her thoughts in order.

"At first we feared that the Orlesians would invade. Danith wished to inform you and to ask the elves to come to their aid. Now, however, it seems unlikely that the Orlesians will come, for the darkspawn have risen. I think it was in Orlais, for their words sounded like Leliana's. At any rate, the darkspawn destroyed a great city, and slaughtered many elves. It was dreadful, Keeper."

Marethari gave her some strengthening herb tea, and soon a roasted partridge, so tender that the meat slipped from the bones. Siofranni ate and drank gratefully while Marethari and Merrill pondered her words.

"We must send a runner to Lanaya, and to the other clans who have come to Arladahlen."

Siofranni caught the unfamiliar name. From the context, it was what they had decided to name the elven homeland centering around the ancient temple. "Home in the Forest" seemed appropriate.

Merrill said, "I think we should go. We have given our word to Bronwyn. We pledged our help to the Wardens, long ago."

Marethari was not so sure. "Will elves die to defend the Orlesians who drove us from the Dales? Will they die for city elves? It cannot be decided by one or two."

Merrill waited until Siofranni had finished her meal, and then touched her arm.

"Come, lethallan. We shall find you shelter for the night, while the others gather."

"Ma serranas."

As they walked, Siofranni was astonished at the changes taking place. She had seen the ancient temple only once, and briefly. It looked very different now. Orderly settlements radiated out from it, in rings of aravels. Within the temple itself, rubble had been cleared, and paving replaced. New rooms had been found, opened up, and cleaned. Some had held great and ancient treasures. Some had been the abode of giant spiders.

The temple had been of great service to Marethari's clan during the hard winter that was now transforming into spring. It was not common for elves to live indoors, but not unheard of, when ruins or abandoned huts could be found. The clan had adapted happily to the security and comfort of a sound roof overhead.

Merrill said, "We lost no little ones over the winter. It is a great blessing."

"What of the barrier to protect us from the shemlen?"

Merrill was pensive and a little sad. "It is a difficult matter. It seems we must have two barriers: an inner one, to protect the temple and the settlement itself, and then a looser, outer one. We wish to keep out enemies, but we wish for other elves to be able to find us. We wish not be troubled, but we must also respect the migration paths of birds and beast and insects. If we girdle our Arladahlen too tightly, we will strangle it." She gave herself a little shake. "But it is a great blessing, nonetheless, and we are learning so much all the time!"

"But you will come to help us fight the darkspawn?"

"I shall come, and other friends. Perhaps not so many this time."

Astrid swept into Orzammar on the first of Drakonis, and summoned the deshyrs to the Assembly, informing them that the darkspawn had made a major assault on the surface.

"Val Royeaux?" asked Lady Dace. "Isn't that the largest surface city, Paragon?"

Astrid did not believe that it was. Probably Minrathous was larger, but she let the mistake pass. Val Royeaux was far closer to Orzammar than Minrathous was, and would thus stir up the Assembly more.

With a decent, utterly false pretense of brotherly cooperation, King Bhelen pointed out that Orzammar's army had already been put under the command of his good friend, Queen Bronwyn.

"True," his sister the Paragon said, smiling sweetly. "And they've done good service. We need more troops, however, to turn west. I'll make a sweep of Dust Town, and see what I can round up there."

"You can take all the filthy Dusters," gibed Lord Wodrak. "Every one of them! Another service to Orzammar."

There was some laughter, but not, to Bhelen's disappointment, the mocking sort. His sister accepted the jest with good humor.

"And so I shall. Every one of them fit to bear arms. However, we must also consider the defense of Orzammar itself. I'll be making an inspection of the new barrier doors. It's vital that we keep the Amgarrak Road open. We need another set as well, to close off the Kadash Road at the Forks. The Wardens have explored part of the Kadash Road—at least the part that leads under Gherlen's Pass, but further expeditions will have to wait until the end of the Blight."

"Any sign of the Archdemon?"

"It led the assault on Val Royeaux. The darkspawn are nesting there. We'll want to put a stop to that, but it will take time to go west. We're summoning everyone, including the various units of the Legion of the Dead."

"Did you find any more golems?"

"Not functional ones. King Loghain found one in Denerim, and someone got it to work. He's keeping it, unsurprisingly. Queen Bronwyn has one with her as well. Our people are keeping their eyes out. There were quite a few in Kal'Hirol, but they were badly damaged. Smiths are seeing what they can do with them."

She and Bhelen strolled about, inspecting, chatting amiably. Only the most perspicacious and cunning of nobles could divine the underlying tension. All seemed perfect harmony. The Paragon admired her growing nephew, gave him a gold goblet of antique date, and was informed that another Aeducan was on the way.

"Excellent news!" she approved, quite sincerely. "I'll be sure to find an equally fine gift for him... or her. I should like to have a niece."

That remark caused quite a bit of embarrassment. Another son would take his father's caste. A daughter, of course, would take her mother's. Rica Brosca had been admitted into the Aeducan clan, but as a concubine. Her child would technically have no caste at all. Astrid only smiled at Bhelen's expression.

"Don't worry about it!" she cooed at her little brother. "If it's a girl, I'll adopt her. Such a convenient way to have an heir."

Bhelen eyed her speculatively, and gave a nod. "That might... be a solution."

In the end, she was able to round up a few hundred recruits, and put them under her lieutenants for some short, sharp training. Once she had them in order, she really ought to find Bronwyn and see what she was doing about the darkspawn in Orlais. Probably doing a victory dance. Once she finished that, Astrid had some ideas about how they should move on the horde in the west.

"Silas!"

"Leliana!"

Leliana had only a few moments to catch up with her old comrade Silas before he was led into the Queen's presence. He seemed—aside from some distinguished gray in his beard— much the same as he had three years before, when they had escaped Marjolaine's vicious trap. Mother Dorothea had saved them both, and saved more than their lives. Meeting her had changed them and given them purpose. Leliana had gone to the bucolic peace of the Lothering Chantry, to take stock of her life and choices. Silas had taken vows as a Templar, wanting to make a difference for the better. It was good to see him again.

"You're a Warden?" he asked, astonished.

"And you're a Templar!" she teased. "We are both very important people!" She grew grave. "You know about the darkspawn, of course."

"I know there is a Blight," he said, uncertain what she meant. He had ridden far and fast, and talked little with anyone, even at the Templar posts. "The darkspawn appear to be quiet for now."

"Oh..." she said, hating to tell him. "You do not know the latest news. Did you not come across the Wardens of Jader when you were coming east?"

"No." He chuckled ruefully. "I was doing my best not to be noticed. I am on a mission from a mutual friend."

"Mother Dorothea!" Leliana sighed. "I hope she is well..."

"She was when I last saw her," Silas replied. "Why? What has happened?"

"My friend," she said, her hand on his arm. "The darkspawn have risen. They have attacked Val Royeaux."

He was thunderstruck. At first, he could not believe his ears.

"How is this possible? How can you have heard this? I was in Val Royeaux only eight days ago."

"The darkspawn attacked in the early morning of the twenty-sixth. I am not permitted to tell you how I know, but it is true. It was a terrible attack. Many are dead, and many are fleeing for their lives."

"The Divine? The Revered Mother?"

"We do not know. Come. Speak to Her Majesty. She is planning to fight the darkspawn, once she need not fear daggers in her back."

Silas found himself quite impressed by the young Queen of Ferelden. He had heard of the Couslands, of course. A very great family, overlords of the Howes, who ruled Amaranthine, where Silas was from originally. In his youth, he had often seen Bann Esmerelle at a distance, haughty and exacting. Word had come that she had left Ferelden after the fall of Rendon Howe. Silas had seen Arl Rendon Howe on occasion, and once the Teyrn, Bryce Cousland. Those two were dead, of course. Old Rendon's elder son was arl now. Nathaniel... that was the name. Silas had seen him too on occasion, years before. Some new fellow was ruling the city, and Silas knew nothing about him. He had never expected to see Ferelden again. After what he had suffered from Harwen Raleigh and his Orlesian doxy, Marjolaine, Silas was not sure he wanted to.

That did not mean of course, that he wished his native country ill. If it had meant riding all the way to Denerim to do his duty, he would, of course. But perhaps he might not have to.

The tall and comely queen greeted him affably, less because he was a Templar than because he was vouched for by Leliana. Silas studied her. Why not? She was, at the moment, perhaps the most remarkable person living in Thedas, and looked it. Her eyes, while large and beautifully shaped, were not of a green seen anywhere but in a cup of poison. Silas found them rather alarming. Her armor was likewise notable, and according to gossip, was made from the bones and scales of a dragon killed by the queen herself. Perhaps she had killed a dragon, and perhaps she had not, but the armor was clearly from that rare substance, the remains of a High Dragon. Leaning on the chair was a big longsword in an antique scabbard. Something about the weapon was odd, and Silas' senses, attuned to the arcane and magical, flared briefly at it.

Queen Bronwyn's mabari watched him with narrowed eyes, apparently sizing him up. Silas, knowing something of the breed, wisely did not get into a staring contest with him. Leliana seemed quite at her ease, and that boded well.

"Your Majesty. This is my friend, Ser Silas Corthwaite," she said, with an elaborate curtsey. "We had many adventures together a few years ago. He is a brave man and fine swordsman."

Silas bowed, and the queen inclined her head graciously.

"Ser Silas. Any friend of Warden Leliana's is welcome." She looked a question at Leliana.

"No, Majesty," said Leliana. "He did not know about the attack. He left Val Royeaux on the..."

"...the twenty-third," Silas interjected.

"Ah." Bronwyn looked upon him with a hint of compassion. "The darkspawn rose in the early morning of the twenty-sixth. You have outridden the news."

"But you are aware of it, Your Majesty," Silas pointed out warily, wondering just how she could know.

"Yes, we are. All the Wardens are. The Wardens of Jader left the city on the twenty-seventh, heading west. Surely you must have seen them."

"I did my best not to be seen by anyone, Your Majesty. Had I noted their camp, I would have avoided them. I stayed at Templar barracks along the way. I do not recall seeing Warden armor. Somehow, our paths did not cross."

"And you did not wish to be seen..." Her green eyes turned thoughtful. "Now why is that?"

He knew most of the gossip in Val Royeaux. He had also seen a certain report. "I was entrusted with a message to the Grand Cleric Muirin."

"Indeed. And what message was that?"

There seemed little reason for secrecy. And offending this lady would be very unwise.

"Not to come to Val Royeaux under any circumstances, Your Majesty." He lowered his voice. "Certain events took place before I left. The climate was perhaps too hot for someone of her years..."

Bronwyn sat back in her favored chair, considering. She seemed to understand that he wished to tell her more in private. "Indeed. We shall speak more of this later. For now, take your ease. Leliana will help you find comfortable quarters. Do not wander far, since you are not known to my people."

Silas bowed out, along with Leliana, and she tugged on his arm, leading him upstairs.

"No mere barracks for you, my friend!" she declared. "Friends of Wardens stay among the Wardens. We have taken some choice rooms here. I shall introduce you to my companions."

"Wait!" Silas slowed and urged her to a corner, out of the way of busy soldiers and servants.

"Is it true?" he whispered. "About the Ashes?"

She dimpled, and then patted his arm. "All true. I wish you had been there. So beautiful. So glorious. And then," she shrugged ruefully. "And then there was a dragon to fight. We could have used your sword. We lost a good friend."

"I saw the report of the conclave. It was... amazing. The Revered Mother Dorothea believed it. It made many very angry."

"Our Lady Andraste made many angry, too. But that did not stop her from telling the truth. Let us get you settled. After supper tonight, I shall take you to speak to the Queen in private."

He was ushered into a room that seemed filled to bursting with exuberant warriors.

"My friend Ser Silas!" Leliana shouted into the pandemonium. "He's staying with us!"

A dwarf smirked. "Is he staying with us, or staying with you, Red?"

They were certainly a motley crew. Silas realized that he had been rather sequestered in the past years, living with clergy, dining with clergy, working with clergy. As he had been an aide to Revered Mother Dorothea in the Grand Cathedral, he had almost never seen an elf or a dwarf in that time. He never met a Dalish elf in his life. Nor were they the most exotic of all the company.

In the common room was… a golem. Silas remembered hearing a reference to such creatures many years ago in a story or legend. He had believed them to be fantasy, but there was not only a golem in the common room, but the golem could speak and had a name.

"Another squishy human. Charming. Do make yourself at home. Hang your cloak on me to dry. Don't stand on ceremony."

Aside from the snark, he could tell that his Templar armor did him no favor with the elves or the mages. One of the mages, in fact, was an apostate. Silas blinked at the sight of the beautiful Morrigan, and he had a wild impulse to arrest her on the spot. Probably a mistake, as another mage, obviously her lover, hung about her, hand on his staff, glaring blackly at Silas' Templar regalia, and Silas in it. The woman was the most outragesously apostatish aposate Silas had even met. His thoughts raced.

"'Apostatish?' Is that a word? No, but it describes her."

She was not even a Warden! A number of people here were not, but were fighting with them as auxiliaries: a golden-skinned elf with a permanently amused expression, a tall elf with the strangest tattoos, and an enormous Qunari who watched everything, but said little.

The actual Wardens were likewise diverse: dwarves and humans and Dalish elves. A city elf, too: a delicate, pretty creature with soulful black eyes and silky blond hair. Even among the humans were men and women, tall and short, with a range of accents.

Everyone was eating, though it was only mid-afternoon. Silas was invited to join them, and set to gratefully, since his last good meal had been in Halamshiral, three days before. Leliana was on one side of him, apparently having a second breakfast. Across from him was a pleasant young fellow named Carver. On his other side was a handsome red-haired woman, who did not seem hostile. She was tall and strong, and clearly a warrior.

"Aveline," she introduced herself. "Welcome to the madhouse, Ser Silas."

Over sausages, eggs, and cold pigeon pie, he was given the tale of Solidor's precipitous surrender. It was really almost funny. Clearly, the Fereldan Wardens intended to pursue the campaign against the darkspawn, but wished to protect their rear. Silas assumed that Jader would be next. The rest of the Ferelden army was on its way.

They talked cheerfully, in a kind of code that escaped Silas; the kind of code used by friends who have seen things no one else would understand. There were oblique references to Orzammar, and a place called Dust Town; to people called Merrill and Lanaya; to other Wardens named Tara and Brosca. To Silas' dismay, Leliana slipped away and left him here among these peculiar strangers.

"She'll be back," predicted the half-drunken dwarf, whom Carver had addressed as Oghren. "Got to nurse and change the little princesses."

Silas must have looked quite blank, because Aveline then kindly explained that the Empress' cousins—young ladies, and certainly not infants— had been prisoners here, and that Leliana had made friends with them.

There was a spare bed in one of the rooms, and Silas put his gear by it. He hoped the next bed over was not Oghren's. He would bet serious money that Oghren snored like a bear.

A few more Wardens made their appearance, and Silas listened to more of their stories, feeling that he needed more context to make sense of them. He had stories of his own, but thought it best to share them with the Queen first.

It was nearly sunset by the time Leliana returned, and then they went to a different room—one with guards at the door, that must be the Queen's private apartments.

Silas made his bows again, and was told to sit. Then it was time to tell her the whole ugly tale.

"The Divine had me burned in effigy?" Bronwyn was shocked. Whatever she had expected, it was not that. The idea was grotesque, vindictive, absurd.

"And the Grand Cleric Muirin as well. It was done with the full ceremony of anathema, in front of the Grand Cathedral. With a choir." He shrugged an apology at a white-faced Leliana.

"They were cast out?" she gasped. "That is… monstrous!"

"The burning did not come off quite as they intended," said Silas. "A storm came up quite suddenly. The Grand Cathedral was struck by lightning and the north tower was seriously damaged. A number of people were hurt... and many were killed. Then came the rain. The effigies were drenched." He cleared his throat. "The worst thing was the panic. Dozens more were killed as they tried to flee."

Bronwyn frowned, not picturing it. Silas explained.

"The cathedral complex is surrounded by a wall, which has only a few openings. Most people fled south and the crowd panicked, and trampled the weaker underfoot."

"Maker's Breath!" Bronwyn exclaimed. "What madness! Those poor people! Was the Divine really so offended by the conclave's report?"

Silas grimaced. "It was not what the Reclamationist party would wish to hear. And really, you must understand, the claims made in the report were such… anyone ill-disposed to you would dismiss it out of hand. To be fair, I do not think the Divine understood much of it. She has been unwell, and suffers much from the debilitation of old age."

Bronwyn blinked, still trying to take it all in. "I was declared anathema? Am I even an Andrastean anymore?"

This was very bad news. If this got out, her right to rule as Queen as Ferelden could challenged... even her right to live.

"You are an Andrastean if you say you are," Leliana said fiercely. "They do not have that sort of power over you, Bronwyn!"

For that matter, Mother Dorothea had had a great deal to say in private about such an obviously political abuse of Chantry ritual. Whether it was binding according to canon law was another matter. It would be a question for the next Divine to resolve. Silas decided not to express an opinion.

The Queen spoke. "I shall send a letter to the Grand Cleric, telling her of this. Of course, the point is now moot. Even if she were so foolish as to present herself before the Divine, she would be hard put to find her. As for you, Ser Silas, what will you do? You may certainly travel on to Denerim, and I daresay the Grand Cleric will find work for you, but perhaps you might wish to stay with us."

Silas very much felt he ought to stay and fight, when the entire world was in danger. "If it would not be too much trouble, Your Majesty."

"No trouble at all."

It was one thing to fight darkspawn, to slay dragons, to thwart assassins. Bronwyn knew she had many enemies. Somehow, learning that the world leader of the religion she professed thought she was so evil that she had to be burned in effigy and publicly made excommunicate was painfully depressing. Had the clergy applauded? Had the Templars' hearts swelled with pride at the celebration? Had the people cheered her defamation? She had been fighting the Blight, protecting the unhelpful world from the darkspawn, and those ingrates in Val Royeaux had made her anathema?

People often claimed that life was unfair. Of course it was. Bronwyn tried not to whine. Compared to others, she had won life's lottery as the strong and healthy daughter of a great nobleman. It was the nature of darkspawn to massacre, of dragons to ravage, of assassins to murder. None of them claimed to speak for the righteous. For the Divine and her clerics, however, to denounce her in such a way seemed so perverse and hypocritical that Bronwyn felt an intense, spiteful satisfaction that most of them were probably horribly dead or driven into exile. It really, really did serve them right.

As for the Empress, Bronwyn would not shed a tear for her. The Empress had compassed Bronwyn's death while Bronwyn was defending Thedas from monsters. That was greedy, selfish, and vile on a cosmic level. The world was better off without such a person ruling a great empire.

Of course, the Blight itself was horribly unfair to the innocent common folk of Val Royeaux. Thousands must be dead: the old, the sick, expectant mothers, little children; humans, dwarves, and elves alike. The fate of the elves seemed particularly cruel—crammed into that sty of an Alienage, forbidden to learn to defend themselves, disregarded by those who ruled them. How many elven women would be made Broodmothers? The Wardens of Thedas would be fighting sharlocks for many years, most likely. What the abducted women were experiencing at this moment was unbearable to contemplate. Bronwyn decided not to contemplate it, as it would do neither them nor her any good, and turned her mind to the monumental task before her.

One hoped that the rest of the Wardens would be roused to actions by the disaster in Val Royeaux. They had not cared a jot for Ferelden, but perhaps the destruction of a great city known to many of them would shock them into action. As for her, she would not wait to see what they would do. She must act herself. The darkspawn would be marching soon. The Archdemon might well choose to lead them eastwards along the Imperial Highway, where the cities of Orlais were set like a string of pearls. Ultimately, that march would lead to Jader, and then through Gherlen's Pass to Ferelden. Hiding behind stone walls or theoretical borders would not save them.

And then, later that evening, an extraordinary piece of luck came her way. Luck? Perhaps not. Perhaps it was simply human—or elven—nature.

The two city elves from Jader who appeared before her were not very attractive specimens, for they were gaunt and weathered and sly-faced. They had, however, been resourceful enough to sneak out of Jader and present themselves to the Queen of Ferelden. They had come to Solidor, looking for her.

Once led before her, they performed something that looked like cringing rather than bowing. Scout growled at them, perhaps objecting to the smell. Still, the elves regarded her hopefully, thinking that they might get a beating, as usual, but that they also might get a meal and a handful of silver each. The information they brought was actually beyond price.

"The fleet was destroyed?" Bronwyn echoed them, astonished. "Completely destroyed?"

"Maybe not completely, Queen," one elf conditioned. "Word is that a few of the ships ran back to Val Royeaux." He grinned, exposing a few blackened snaggles. "Reckon they won't like what they find there."

"Reckon not," agreed his friend, staring gormlessly at Bronwyn. He touched his forelock, remembering to look at the floor. "If it please your Queenship, we heard a few ships beached a few days away and some of the nobles got away with their horses. In Jader Bay, only a dozen chevaliers and about two dozen soldiers lived to tell the tale. They left the elves to drown." He looked like he was about to spit on the floor, and then thought better of it.

Bronwyn studied the elves briefly, and then spoke to an officer. "Take these men to the kitchen. See that they have a good dinner. Put them to work and see that they are watched." She granted her informants a brief smile. "If their story checks out, they will be rewarded very handsomely indeed."

She glanced at Morrigan and Anders, who drifted away from the crowd, and not too much later, were winging, straight as arrows, to the north.

Before dawn of the next day, Bronwyn discovered that the elves had given her Jader.

Now that the Jader Wardens had left for the west, there was no danger of Bronwyn's people being discovered by them. Anders and Morrigan, of course, could get to Jader the fastest. They could even listen to the desperate, frantic debates going on among the Marquis' deputies in the Palace Emeraude.

Jader was clearly ready to capitulate. The Wardens had told them the darkspawn had risen. and the word had spread through the city. It was obvious that the Imperial army would not be coming to Jader, but would remain in the west to fight. The navy, with its invasion force, would not be docking in Jader Bay. Jader was quite alone, and the Queen of Ferelden had taken the key fortresses of Roc du Chevalier and Chateau Solidor. The survivors of the ship that ran aground on the Horn talked extravagantly of sieges and last stands, while the seneschal and steward clutched their heads in horror.

"And who will withstand this siege, Monsieur?" demanded the steward of the young hot-head who had led the charge up the Horn. "Who? The elves are a finger's-breadth from revolt, the dwarves have left their work and locked themselves in their houses, we have an City Guard adequate only for looking handsome in their armor, and no garrison to speak of! The Marquis did not think it necessary! Who will man the walls, defend the gates? The pampered nobles? The plump, complacent merchants?"

"I shall defend the city!" the boy shouted back. "I and my fellow chevaliers! We will defend this city to the last man and the last breath!"

The steward glared at him in contempt, rubbing his beard. "That sounds very fine, Monsieur. Very fine indeed. And what of the rest of the city, once you have made your beau geste, and lie dead? What of them?"

The young man stared at him blankly, at a loss to imagine anything more important than his own heroism. The thump of the seneschal's fist on the nearby table made him jump.

"My beautiful city will be sacked, you young fool! My people will perish! They may mean nothing to you, but they do to me!" His friend, the seneschal, put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Get out of here," the man finally growled. "We need to think, and you clearly have nothing sensible to offer."

The raven outside the window remained listening, absorbing the older men's subsequent despair. When they were at last silent over some shared brandy, he flew away to report.

In bringing their troops further along the Neck, Arl Wulffe discovered the hunting lodge that Bronwyn had used as an observation post.

At least his scouts did, and they met and talked with the Avvars left there. News was brought to the old arl, and he joined them, bringing Corbus with him. Lord Rothgar was back with his own men, patrolling along the coast.

Corbus was tired, and very glad to drink hot wine under a roof, sitting by a fire, even though it was a small and shabby hut in the hills. Killer curled up by his feet, grateful for the rest. Boy and dog listened to Arl Wulffe question the men as to the Queen's recent activities.

"Heard she took the Rock! Bloody well done, that! What else has she been up to?"

Bronwyn's scouts did not know too much more, though they had heard she had gone a day's journey west to deal with the big castle by the Frostback Gates. Wulffe slapped his knee, chuckling, and then pulled out his shabby map and showed Corbus the lay of the land. The boy nodded, seeing why it was a good idea.

"So if she takes Solidor, then we control the Imperial Highway? What about that?" He pointed to Jader, a dot and a name on the painted seacoast.

"What about it indeed, lad? Finish your drink. We need to go find the Queen. She'd be glad of some reinforcements about now, I daresay."

A messenger was sent to inform Rothgar of their movements. Rather than heading for the Pass, Wulffe decided to go ahead and cross the Neck through the Jader Bay Hills, approaching Roc du Chevalier from the other side. He really must stop there and gloat for a bit. They could rest the men and horses for the night, and then move on and join their intrepid young Queen. If she had her eye on Jader, Wulffe wanted to be in at the kill.

The Imperial Princesses found their new lives as prisoners of Queen Bronwyn pleasantly exciting. For one thing, they were not kept so entirely in ignorance. In a few days they heard more news than they had in years. Some of it was terrifying, but some it was very diverting. There had been a feast, and the princesses had been permitted to join, sitting at the Queen's table. Eglantine and Eponine had been enchanted to find themselves on either side of the handsome Bann Alistair. Celandine had not been so lucky: she had sat between the Queen and Ser Blayne Faraday, an old soldier. Still, neither had spoken unkindly to her, and there had been much to see and hear. Some of the Grey Wardens were quite good-looking. One of them, she was told, had noble blood.

Warden Leliana was a very different sort of gouvernante than the Comtesse. She would tell stories and sing songs, and she was not unwilling for them to learn something of what had been happening outside the walls of Solidor in the past seven years. She told them many of the Queen's adventures: how she had fought darkspawn and explored the caverns of the dwarven realm; how she made friends with the Dalish elves, deep in enchanted forests. The story they liked best was how she had found the Ashes of Andraste, and slain a dragon. If the Prophet had so blessed her, perhaps she could not be so very terrible. And one she washed very thoroughly and her hair was nicely arranged, she seemed more like a real Queen and less like a bandit.

"The Queen will not harm you," Leliana assured them. "Nor will she permit anyone else to harm you. She is a most merciful and chivalrous Princess. Her great goal is to defeat the Blight and to save the people of Thedas. You will be leaving Solidor soon. The Queen wishes you to be taken east, farther from the darkspawn, where you will be safer."

"But what will become of us?" Eponine did not mean to whine, perhaps, but many of her questions came out that way. "Will we remain locked up? Will we be given husbands?" She added, "I should like to have a husband."

The princesses looked at each other. They had whispered their hopes to one another over the years. Celandine was twenty-five now, and really almost too old for marriage, but Eponine at twenty-two was not ready to give up and take orders yet. Eglantine, at eighteen, was still quite eligible. They had often speculated about possible husbands. There was always their cousin, Prince Florestan, but there was only one of him. And their mother had once said that there had been quite enough marrying among the Imperial cousins. But who else was good enough for an Imperial Princess?

"A husband would very nice," Eglantine said, exploring the idea, a particular individual in mind. "Even if he was only a minor noble... as long as he was kind and handsome."

"Be careful what you wish for," murmured Celandine, who remembered the most about the realities of the outside world. "What if she gave you to a savage brute? A Wilder nobleman, wearing stinking skins? That could be worse than anything we have yet endured."

"I should like one all the same, stinking skins or not," Eponine insisted. "And I should like a child of my own. I would not care what I had to endure."

They had actually endured quite a bit, Leliana discovered. They had been fed and clothed and sheltered, but always they had lived in the shadow of the headsman's axe. The Comtesse had hated them, and they had suffered under a thousand petty tyrannies. She had made them feel like nothing: like fools, like traitors, like useless burdens. She had demeaned and denigrated them at every opportunity. She took away books that gave them pleasure or useful information. She had killed their pets once they were thoroughly attached to them. She ordered meals for them entirely composed of foods they disliked. They had never set foot outside the chateau since they arrived years before. Their only sunshine and air were from the tiny garden at the top of the tower. And now, they knew that the Comtesse had always been under orders to kill them, rather than let them fall into other hands. In fact, they nearly had been killed, just like their dear Mamma and Papa, who had suffered so terribly before they died.

Leliana had tried to make Bronwyn understand something of what they had suffered. No they had not fought, or slept on the ground, or been wounded, but their lives had been hard in other ways. Bronwyn granted them some sympathy for the murders of her parents, but tended to think the rest of it was fairly minor, considering how much harder it could have been.

"Not one of those girls knows what it is to starve, or be ravished, or be without a home," she said. "They need to pull themselves together."

"Not everyone is as strong as you, Bronwyn," Leliana said softly. "And the Empress did her best to train them to be as weak as possible."

They certainly were rather weak. When told to start packing, they stood about, looking helpless, not knowing where to start. Determined to begin sensibly with them, Leliana made them sit down and discuss what they might need.

"—Our clothes."

"—Our jewels."

"—Our books."

"Yes," Leliana said, encouragingly. "But don't you think that the first thing you need is something to hold your possessions?"

"A trunk!" cried Eglantine, pleased with herself. "A trunk for each of us!"

"Yes!" Celandine agreed, remembering. "A trunk for our gowns, and then a chest for the books. And my lute must go in its case. If you cram too many things in a trunk, the gowns will wrinkle."

Step by laborious step, Leliana drew the princesses along, helping them grasp a little about how to plan and organize. Soon they each had a trunk and a chest, and they progressed enough to suggest that they would order their maids to pack their gowns. Leliana sighed, but it would have been hopeless to expect them to pack their own clothes. Simply being able to decide on a task and delegate it was a sort of accomplishment.

Then it was necessary to remind them that when they traveled, they would be outside in the cold for some time.

"We need… cloaks?" Eponine ventured. "We have not worn cloaks in a long, long time."

There was obviously no time to fashion elaborate cloaks for them, so the Comtesse's possessions were raided. Her wardrobe was rather heavy on black velvet and sable, but that was not unsuitable for the season, and everything was quite rich. Best of all, they did not have to be altered to fit, since they were simply cloaks. And the Comtesse had many other nice things as well: gloves and muffs and warm fur hats. Her boots did not fit the princesses, so they would have to travel in the covered wagon, shod only in their fragile silk slippers.

The Comtesse Coqueliquot also had a small fortune in gold and lesser coin, locked in a handsome chest. Leliana picked the lock, counted the coin, and brought this to Bronwyn's attention.

"Don't give it to those silly girls. It's really the woman's, after all. No, wait. Look here, take a bit of it and give each of the girls a purse of three sovereigns in all. We'll see how quickly they fritter it away."

The girls accepted the purses gravely and studied the coins with great curiosity. They had never before carried coin themselves. It was not something an Imperial Princess did. Someone else always paid for things, they supposed: a servant, or a seneschal. Leliana sighed, and then explained how common folk earned coin; how hard they must work for even a little, and how much it cost to eat, to warm themselves, to dress in coarse garments.

"That must be very disagreeable," Eglantine agreed solemnly. "If we were not princesses, I am not sure we would be able to live."

Leliana was not a bard for nothing, and so neither laughed or wept for them...at least in their presence.

The Rock would better serve as the base for her advance on Jader, so Bronwyn planned to move back there, leaving Ser Norrel as castellan at Solidor with a decent garrison.

Her plan to release the Orlesian rank and file had hit a snag. All the Orlesians knew about the attack on Val Royeaux and were horrified. Some indeed wished to go home to their families, but quite a few felt they would be safer among their comrades, and under a reliable commander. Their sergeants passed along a plea not to be dispersed, weaponless, to the west, but to serve Queen Bronwyn, instead.

"Ridiculous!" fumed Ser Norrel. "The impudence of those Orlesian swine!"

Bronwyn was no so inclined to dismiss them. In fact, the former captain of Solidor had made a similar plea. His family lived in the Chateau. It was their home. If Val Royeaux had fallen, there was no one to ransom him; and to send his wife and children wandering into a country in chaos was to sentence them to a miserable death. Furthermore, rumor hinted that the Empress was dead. If that was so, Orlais was without a leader to defend it. Until the succession was settled—and who knew when that would be?— it appeared that service with the Queen of Ferelden was their best chance for an organized resistance to the darkspawn.

Rumor was doing its work at the Rock as well. De Guesclin was sick with fear, picturing his own family. Their chateau north of Montsimmard was directly between the Grey Wardens and the darkspawn. He pleaded for an audience with the Queen, and was told she would be returning to the Rock within a day or so.

Before she left Solidor, Bronwyn summoned the Orlesian prisoners to the parade grounds. Ser Norrel, on her instructions, asked all those who wished to be released to go home to come forward. They would be given rations and escorted for half a day along the Imperial Highway. Once they chose to leave, they would not be permitted to turn back, on pain of death.

Over two dozen soldiers stepped out of the ranks, amidst mutterings and hissed disputes.

"Any others?" Ser Norrel shouted. "For the rest, you will remain in custody while the Queen considers your application to serve her. Good behavior is recommended if you wish her favor."

Bronwyn decided to speak. She raised her voice and addressed the Orlesians.

"I know that you are brave men who love your homeland! Some of you have family obligations that cannot be neglected. I understand and respect that. Others wish to remain under arms and fight to defend the helpless victims of the darkspawn. I would like to trust to your honor, though I have suffered numerous attacks and grievous harm from foreign agents since the Blight began. It is possible that among you are some of these Imperial agents, looking for an opportunity to do me injury. Know this: the Empress is dead."

A shocked outcry from some, and some grim, unsurprised looks from others. A few seemed skeptical.

"Yes," Bronwyn declared. "The Empress is dead. Val Royeaux lies in ruins, and the Imperial spymasters are slain or are wretched fugitives. The Archdemon gloats over the treasure chests of the capital. There is now no one to reward a faithful agent for sabotage or espionage. It is a new world, and it would be wise to make a new place in it. While I am away, I trust Ser Norrel Haglin to treat you with justice, and I expect all of you to prove your good faith by obedience, as good soldiers should. That's all I've got to say."

An Orlesian sergeant bawled out, "Vive la Reine Rouge!"

"Vive!"

Bronwyn found the spontaneous demonstration rather moving. Ser Norrel only grunted.

"I can't believe you're even considering trusting this lot."

"It's not so much a matter of trust," she murmured. "It's better to have them under my command, under discipline and the threat of punishment, than fighting against us as bandits or rebels. Be fair to them." She gave him a wry smile. "Be fair. I'm not asking you to be soft."

The move to the Rock involved quite a few wagons. It also involved the appearance of the most ludicrous conveyance Bronwyn had ever set eyes on.

"That's a carriage, that is," breathed Toliver.

"That's a ridiculous carriage," Aveline said curtly.

Leliana tried to be matter-of-fact. "It is the Princesses' carriage; the one in which they journeyed to Solidor." She pointed out the heraldic features, numerous and gilded.

"Here is the Lion of Orlais, and here is the eagle of the princesses' mother, who was a daughter of another Imperial Prince. Here is the princesses' personal crest, and the wolves—here— designate heiresses-presumptive."

Bronwyn thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen since the Paragon Caridin forged King Bhelen's crown. "And the dragons?"

"Oh! They are just for pretty... I think."

Ridiculous as it was, it held three trunks, six chests, three princesses, their maids, and assorted instrument cases. Alistair and Leliana would ride beside the carriage as guard and chaperone. As the girls emerged doubtfully from the door to the outer keep, wrapped up warmly in their borrowed cloaks, they were passed by the guard escorting the soldiers who had asked to leave. Along with them was a wagon carrying the Comtesse Coquelicot, who would be leaving with them.

Bronwyn had not forgiven her for urging the soldiers to shoot at her. She had, as a sop to decency, pointed out to the older woman that the road would likely be unsafe. The Comtesse had demanded that she be released at once; and as she was of no real use, a wagon was made available and loaded with her possessions, other than the cloaks the girls were using and the bit of coin granted them. One of the released soldiers was assigned to her as a driver. The contrast between the rough wagon with its canvas top and the magnificent carriage was striking, and the Comtesse, clutching her horrid little lapdog close, glared at the cringing princesses with unadulterated malice.

The girls were much affected, to Bronwyn's annoyance. After the woman had vanished through the outer gates, she turned to them and remarked, "She has no power over you now. No power at all, really, other than over her dog."

"Maker grant we never see her again!" Eglantine prayed.

"You won't," Bronwyn shrugged, as Alistair handed the girls up and shut the door of carriage.

It was only too easy to imagine exactly what become of that unpleasant and foolish woman, once the party was out of sight and the soldiers remembered there were no officers watching them. The only question was how soon they would loot the wagon, down to the last copper, and if they would kill the Comtesse before or after they were done.

Bronwyn put the matter from her mind, and swung in the saddle. It was back to the Rock for her, to prepare for her march on Jader.

Thanks to my reviewers: Rexiselic, Torricklol, Tirion I, Chandagnac, NPC200, Nemrut, RaZoRMandiblez, Blinded in a bolthold, Mike3207, Mage, Zute, Ie-maru, AD Lewis, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, BAMS, Reynes, sizuka2, djon863, CBH17, darksky01, MsBarrows, Acaila, jnybot, JackOfBladesX, Death Knight's Crowbar, Robbie the Phoenix, YayForYuffie, KnightOfHolyLight, Phygmalion, Lyssa Terald, Lohr, Massgamer45, Ellyanah, Jenna53, Isala Uthenera, mille libri, Herebedragons66, Vares, Guest, dragonmactir, and RB23G.

Dragonmactir has posted a charming picture of Loghain and Bronwyn to Deviant Art. dragonmactir .deviantart #/art/Loghain-Greets-Bronwyn-359478677?_sid73c4d21 8

Now I'll have to write that scene!