Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 109: Magical Creatures
Loghain was certainly happy to see her. Bronwyn backed away from that searing kiss, somewhat wide-eyed. Very happy to see her. He was looking at her, just looking at her as if she were Andraste herself— no, that sounded wrong— as if she were the greatest woman of the world, and had given him a gift he had longed for his whole life long.
"You look well," he said, and then paused. "No... that's not what I meant to say. You look beautiful. How do you feel?"
"I feel... fine," she answered, a little flustered. "And you?"
He shot her a keen look, nodding here and there at the cheering soldiers, appearing not to see the cheering Jaderians. He was quite oblivious to the fact—unlike Bronwyn— that the passionate kiss he had so publicly bestowed on his queen had raised him very much in his new subjects' esteem. From a barbarian bogeyman, he had become a hero of romance. People loved romance. And Loghain was a very impressive figure after all... very dashing, whether he cared to acknowledge it or not. In fact, in his iconic Orlesian armor, captured at his victory at the River Dane, he looked a far more credible chevalier than most chevaliers. The people of Jader had not expected that, and were very pleased.
Their dogs were happy, too; greeting one another in proper doggy fashion, tails wagging in excited blurs. The crowds chuckled, amused and kind. Loghain was a hero of romance... with a faithful hound. Scout was happy to see him, too, and barked cheerfully.
"Come inside," said Bronwyn, her heart somewhat warmed to her husband... perhaps because his was so obviously warmed toward her. "Come inside and see our new palace. It's quite amazing."
"What are all these Orlesians doing here?" he asked, his nostrils flared as at a foul odor.
"They're your new subjects. They live here," she said patiently. "That is the steward, Ser Manfred, and that is the seneschal, Gilbert. Over there are the minor nobles and landholders. They know all about the place and they've done homage to me. They're very useful."
"You've accepted the homage of Orlesian noblemen?" Despite his good mood, he sounded just the least bit testy.
"Noblemen of Jader, yes. They're not Orlesian anymore. They're Fereldans. And you should accept their homage, too." She looked over her shoulder, smiling and waving to the crowd. "Loghain, give them a wave. They're quite happy to get out from under the Empress."
He scowled ferociously, but turned and put up a gauntleted hand in acknowledgement. His scowl deepened at the happy cheers and the fluttering red banners.
"What's all that about?" he asked.
"No idea. They think I like red, I suppose. I'm a bit tired of it myself, but it would be silly to hurt their feelings." She gave him a look, and with a grunt of acquiescence, he offered her his arm like a gentleman. That pleased the people of Jader, too.
He had never actually been in an Orlesian city, and it made him very nervous and off-balance. He could be attacked at any moment. And he felt countrified and out of his depth, too. To hide his feelings, he assumed his usual stern mask. The place was completely ridiculous. The floor was ridiculous, made of shiny bits of differently colored marble. The walls were ridiculous, covered with paintings of half-dressed layabouts. Even the ceilings were ridiculous, with plaster swirled and stretched and gilded into garlands and leaves. Ridiculous. Fussy and ridiculous. Orlais taxed its merchants and peasants nearly to death, and used the gold to build palaces that were like overgrown trinket boxes.
She showed him the principal rooms of the palace. The one he actually liked was the study, which had a model of the city of Jader on a big table in the middle of the room. The study itself was overdone: an oval room with pilasters of jasper, chalcedony, and greenstone lining the walls and framing the bookshelves, and a fireplace carved with naked girls pretending to read. However, the model of the city was absolutely a delight. It was better than any map. It was a way to learn this new city in an hour. There were tiny trees and horses on the Voie d'Or— no, the Golden Road from this day forward— and tiny people in Emerald Square, and ships at anchor in the harbor. There was the Alienage, with the huge vhenadahl tree in the middle. Loghain walked around the table, taking it in, not realizing that he was smiling. He pulled up a chair and studied the model. Bronwyn quietly ordered a servant to bring them wine, and sat beside him. She smiled too, at his pale blue eyes, alight with his pleasure in such an object.
"Do you know who made this?" he asked abruptly, after a long, happy silence.
"I don't. I'll ask Gilbert. He knows everything about the Palace. We can but hope the artisan is still alive. Wouldn't it be delightful to have models of all the cities of Ferelden?"
He only grunted, his eyes still on the model. He had never imagined such a thing, but it was better than simply an ornament: it educated and enlightened; it put the place in a kind of perspective. He set down his crystal wine goblet, rather surprised to see that he was holding one. Bronwyn was smiling. He remembered there were other things he wanted to do here.
"I suppose the living quarters here are just as overdecorated."
"Indeed they are. Let me show you."
He followed her out, with a last glance over his shoulder at the enchanting city on the tabletop.
He raised a brow at his own apartments, snorting his opinion; he raised both brows at the sight of hers, and then brought them crashing down in an access of disapproval.
"Oh, come, Loghain!" Bronwyn laughed. "They're not that bad. The bed is quite comfortable."
"It looks like it would splinter if a man so much as sat on it, much less—"
Bronwyn gestured the servants out, trying not to laugh out loud. "I suppose we could see. I haven't splintered it so far, but it's possible—"
He turned to look at her, his face changing. Bronwyn was silenced at the curious intensity of his expression.
This was inevitable, Bronwyn knew. He was happy to see her. He would want to renew their relationship. Now. She was not sure how to feel about that.
Her childish obsession with him was over and done. Her heart no longer pounded at the sight of him. There were no awkward blushes that she must struggle to master. He was no longer a distant ideal to her, but a real man, with plenty of flaws. Marrying him had seemed the right thing for Ferelden— no, it had been the right thing— but now she felt somewhat trapped. She had not grasped how much she was giving up, by committing herself to this relationship. Thank the Maker they had things in common!
Nor was he repulsive to her physically. He was a generous lover, in that he saw to it that she found their couplings as enjoyable as he. Not a gallant or romantic one, by any means, of course, but satisfying. And she was young, and her natural drives demanded fulfillment.
They were married. They were husband and wife; King and Queen. They must be lovers in a physical sense. Could they be friends? Bronwyn hoped so, but Loghain was so much older than she, so very used to being in charge, so accustomed to control, so ready to dismiss the opinions of others. He had done a great deal to vex her during the Landsmeet. He had not shown much personal regard for her during their earlier campaign out here in the west, and the memory of the miscarriage still caused her the occasional pang of sorrow. It was all very well to know that their child was safe in the Maker's care, but had things turned out otherwise, Bronwyn even now would be giving Loghain the wonderful news of her pregnancy. The child would have been born in Kingsway, and would have made their family, their friends, their subjects so very happy. The child would have been hers to hold and love; hers to guide and teach; a link with her lost parents and a stake in the future.
A hostage to fortune, too, she granted ruefully, but also a Prince of Ferelden.
It was not to be, but there was always the possibility of another. Bronwyn had struggled with the entire issue of whether or not to use contraception, and had ultimately decided that she could not in honor make use of means to prevent the conception of an heir so badly needed by her country. To do so would be to contravene her duty as Queen of Ferelden. Yes, she could fight the campaign against the darkspawn more effectively without the complication of pregnancy, but who knew when the Blight would be over? Some had lasted over a hundred years. Was she to put off her life… forever? If she became pregnant, then she would just have to find larger armor when she grew too big to wear what she had.
She moved to help Loghain out of his own armor. For all Bronwyn knew, it had been taken from a kinsman of one of their new subjects. Deftly, she unbuckled and untied; she bent to help him with the poleyns and sabatons. Everything was laid out in proper order on the green silk brocade of her sofa. Then she allowed him to help her slip out of her velvet gown.
As her smallclothes slid away, he took her by the shoulders, looking her in the eye.
His voice husky, he said, "You're a brave and clever girl… and I love you."
Too confused and embarrassed to think of a verbal reply, Bronwyn led him to her bed and made him welcome in their latest home. He was curiously hesitant, and seemed concerned that he would hurt her.
Of course. They told him about the miscarriage.
"I'm quite all right," she assured him, "Entirely healed. I don't want to talk about it."
He still looked like he wanted to talk about it, but she did not not, and she succeeded in distracting him from a conversation that would make her sad again.
It was all very nice, very exciting, very pleasurable. They both dozed off afterwards, and Bronwyn buried both dreams and nightmares too far down to be troubled by them.
She was very glad she had had the presence of mind to close the bed curtains, because she awakened to the furtive noises of servants busily working, trying to be quiet as mice: feeding the fire, laying out clothes for dinner, drawing a bath, setting out snacks and wine on the amethyst-topped table.
Yes, the table was covered with a layer of amethyst, smoothed and polished. Bronwyn had seen marble-topped tables in the past, but the tables here were inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory, or were topped with solid sheets of semi-precious gemstone: amethyst, topaz, rose quartz, citrine. Yes, it was an obscene display of wealth, but it was here, and it would do no one any good to throw it away and replace it with rough-hewn pine.
She lay back on the silken pillows, and smiled when Loghain opened his eyes, looking about suspiciously. The light coming in through the curtains was a delicate pale green, like the young leaves of a forest in spring. Bronwyn liked it. Red curtains would have made the inside of the bed look like a demonic inferno.
"Our subjects await us, Loghain. Time to put on a show for them."
He sat up, a little disgruntled but quite relaxed.
"Orlesians. They're our enemies, if you don't recall. My policy has always been to ignore them if possible and destroy them if necessary."
Amused, Bronwyn brushed his hair back from his brow and said, "When I make friends of my enemies, do I not destroy them?"
He scoffed loudly at that. Bronwyn laughed.
"Perhaps you'd prefer that I simply waved my hand and shouted, 'Off with their heads!'"
He rubbed his stubbly chin, trying to hide his smile.
"Maybe. Now and then." He added, "I don't mind telling you how impressed I am that you managed to take Jader without striking a blow."
"It was no problem at all," she said archly. "I threatened them with you. I told them they could become Fereldan the easy way—" She pointed at herself. "—or the hard way." She slapped his chest lightly.
He looked down at himself, and nodded. "The hard way? Fairly soon, at this rate."
Shaking her head, she slipped through the curtains and shooed the giggling serving maids away. She threw on a dressing gown, and tossed another — larger and outrageously peacock-glorious— to Loghain.
"Maker's Breath! I'm supposed to dress like an Orlesian tart now?"
"A delicious male tart, yes; I suppose so, but only for me." She laughed, and splashed recklessly into the wonderful hot bath.
Loghain scorned the dressing gown—which Bronwyn thought a pity since it was a good color for him,— and stalked across the dainty room, proudly naked, which was not bad, either. He slid into the huge tub, making waves, sniffing suspiciously at the scented waters.
"It's sandalwood from Seheron," Bronwyn said. "Surely that's manly enough for you."
"I know what it bloody well is. It's still a perfume."
But his grumpiness was all for show. He was obviously really quite happy, and very nice about scrubbing her out-of-the-way bits.
"Have you met the princesses?" Bronwyn asked.
He snorted. "I was thinking about you. And I took time to survey the Rock. No time for playing games with Orlesian snakelings."
"They're not so bad. Very young, and kept locked up and very ignorant of anything practical."
"Hmph. Sounds sensible to me. Let's keep them that way. Locked up and ignorant."
Bronwyn rolled her eyes. "Of course I've ordered a strict watch over them. The woman who guarded them for the Empress was a nasty tyrant who tried to kill them rather than let them fall into my hands. Like the people of Jader, the girls seem quite happy at the change. They could be useful, too. We'll want to appoint a Fereldan to rule Jader.. as an arl, I thought. If one of the princesses married him, it would go down well with the locals. The youngest, I think."
He scoffed at that, too, reflexively, but considered her words. Loghain's opinion of Bronwyn, always high, had soared, and he was willing to grant that she seemed to have the knack of managing these strange people. Was she planning for Alistair to be Arl of Jader? It might do. It might also cause a great deal of trouble, since Loghain disliked the mixing the blood of Kordilius Drakon into the Fereldan nobility. Their children might well have dangerous ideas. He was too pleased with Bronwyn to shoot down the idea on the spot, and instead decided to think it over.
First, however, he had to demonstrate 'the hard way' to his young queen. She seemed to like it very much, though a great deal of soapy water sloshed onto the shining floor.
Loghain was not the only man glad to see his lover again. Tara was enchanted with the charming little nest Zevran had made for them in one of the servant's rooms connected to the family apartments. It held a deep, downy sleigh bed, painted with flowers and... dragons... of all things, and was draped with rose satin that Zevran had appropriated from the palace linen chests, It had a little arched window and a door that locked. He had claimed a number of other trifles as well: an inlaid chest, bronze lamps in the form of dancing girls, a set of blue goblets, a little tinder box of solid gold.
Her gorgeous, mysterious mirror fitted in just perfectly.
"But what is it?" Zevran asked, coming up for air. "Mind you, I like the way you've positioned it... very stimulating, cara mia."
Tara bounced up and grinned naughtily in the eluvian. Then she gave it a wave. Zevran glanced at it, wrinkling his brow in uneasy concern.
"Don't worry! I don't think they can see us."
"Who?"
"The ancient elves of Arlathan," Tara declared grandly. "That's an eluvian. According to my readings, the elves used them to communicate with each other, and possibly to travel from place to place. The magisters could manage the communication part only. It was stored in the Aeonar and covered with dust, so I don't think the Chantry researchers had any luck with it."
"There was no such 'eluvian' at the Circle?"
"No... never saw one before, but I read about them in the library there. There was an old book on elven artifacts that nobody but me cared about." She gazed deep into the silvery depths of the looking-glass, past the dim reflections of the two comely naked elves. "I'm betting serious money that there's something very important for us to learn here. I have the strangest feeling about it."
Zevran lay back at his ease, hands behind his head. "Will you show it to Anders and Morrigan, then?"
She thought about that. "No. Not yet. Maybe not ever. This is elven magic. This is for us. I like Morrigan, but she'd grab it for herself if she thought it was important. I like Anders, too, for that matter, but no. This is for the elves. Maker knows we have little enough of our own. Siofranni's gone to summon the Dalish. I want to show this to Merrill and Lanaya and get their opinion first. I've told all the rest of my people not to say anything about this. For all anybody knows, it's just a really fancy mirror that I took for my share of the loot. Let's keep it that way."
Bronwyn and Loghain held Court the following day, up on the grand dais, enthroned in splendor. Many came, seeking audience. The nobles of Jader uneasily paid homage to Loghain, who uneasily accepted it. Certain facets of Orlesian life were manifestly offensive to the new Fereldan monarchs: no masks were to be worn. It was made clear that the fashion for masks had passed, and that anyone wearing one would not only not be permitted into the royal presence; they were likely to be mocked as hopelessly uncouth. La Voie d'Or had become the Golden Road overnight. Jader boasted an Emerald Square and an Emerald Palace. Other familiar names were vanishing. Innkeepers kept sign-painters busy with new names for old taverns. Those sign-painters used quite a bit of red paint. Some even depicted large and ferocious dogs.
Among the Orlesians presented to Loghain was Ser Berthold de Guesclin, formerly in command of Roc du Chevalier. It was clear to see that the Orlesians were far more comfortable with Bronwyn than with Loghain himself, though that was no more than Loghain had expected. De Guesclin seemed quite impressed by Bronwyn, and was eager to go west and fight the Blight. What surprised Loghain was how anxious the Orlesians were for leadership—even his own.
Not all of them. The steward had tales to tell of the independent-minded lordlings who had decamped to their keeps, clearly hoping to wait out the war. Some had unwisely left wives and children in the city; these would be kept in comfortable captivity as hostages. Others had been sent stiffly worded message, demanding their presence before King Loghain and Queen Bronwyn, no later than the twelfth of Drakonis. If they failed in their duty, their lands and titles would be forfeit.
Bronwyn smirked, thinking about it. "That should bring them."
"You want more armed Orlesians?" Loghain muttered under his breath.
"Yes, I do," Bronwyn insisted. "It's their bloody country, and they can bloody well defend it. Especially the noblemen. If they can't ride out and do their duty, I swear I'll dispossess the lot of them and put them on a boat to Par Vollen and let the Qunari decide what they're fit for!"
That got a chuckle out of him. Actually, it was not a bad idea... for some of the useless Fereldan nobles, either.
After the endless ceremony, they adjourned to the council chamber. The councilors numbered only eight at first: Bronwyn and Loghain, Arls Wulffe and Bryland, Ser Blayne Faraday, Alistair, Cauthrien and also Emrys Stronnar, because all the nobles knew him or his capable uncle, and Alistair had come to rely on him quite a bit. The others, including the new Jaderian subjects, were left to cool their heels in antechambers while the big decisions were made.
"Are we going to keep Jader?" Corbus piped up. "It's rather nice, isn't it?" He liked his room quite a bit, and Killer had his own velvet cushion. He wished Lothar were here to see it all.
There was some mild laughter about the room. Loghain told the boy. "We are definitely keeping Jader. We needed a good city on our western border. And we're keeping Solidor and the Rock, too!" He pointed to the large map on the wall, admiring how the border was far neater and more defensible now. "Jader is ours for good, lad. We'll need to organize it as a proper holding. Bronwyn—" he nodded to his queen "— thinks it should be an arling."
Wulffe stroked his beard. "It's a big enough territory for that. Six Fereldan arlings instead of five... three in the north and three in the south. One teyrnir in the north and one in the south. Balances things off, I suppose. And Jader's a big city. That's a fine demesne. We'd better put someone there whose loyalty can't be questioned or bought. Someone the fancy lot here can respect, too."
Emrys was trying to catch Alistair's eye. Alistair was scrupulously studying his boots. Cauthrien watched them both, rather interested.
"We'll have some new bannorns to share out, too," Bronwyn said. "Dispossessing lords who've sworn homage would be dishonorable. Quite a few, however, have not made an appearance. They were either with the army, like the Marquis, or they've gone to ground. I'm willing to stretch a point if a wife or an heir shows up to act as proxy, but if some representative doesn't present himself— or herself— in timely fashion, the lands are forfeit. It's important to sprinkle in a lot of loyal Fereldans to bind Jader to the kingdom." She turned to Cauthrien. "When we draw the borders, I think that Haven should be on the south end of the arling."
Cauthrien could see the sense in that. Now and then, she thought about going to see the place. It was theoretically hers, and she was very curious about it. She had not had a home of her own since Loghain had plucked her out of the the life of a farmer's daughter in the Bannorn. Not that she regretted that for an instant, but she had reached a point in her life when the idea of settling down in a place she could call hers was not unpleasant.
Ser Blayne spoke up for his friend. "You couldn't ask for a more faithful man than Norrel Haglin."
Bronwyn's smile became a trifle fixed, but she said nothing. It would suit her if the man stayed on the border for the rest of his life. Loghain agreed with the knight, of course.
"He won't be forgotten," he agreed. "Nor will you. That steward fellow... Ser Manfred... found me a good map of the area, showing all the holdings. After the twelfth, we'll start dividing the spoils."
"And then what?" Wulffe said. He peered at Bronwyn, trying to read her intentions. "Are we going to try for more, or hold what we have?"
"I don't believe..." Loghain said slowly. "I don't believe that grabbing more territory is necessarily a wise move for Ferelden. Even the addition of Jader will alter our national character in some ways. We don't want to water down our culture with too much Orlais. Ferelden is still somewhat depopulated from the eighty years of Occupation. We've got a good border now, and a fine, rich city. If we're greedy, we're likely to overextend ourselves, and leave an opening for other enemies."
"I agree that we should make no more territorial claims,," Bronwyn put in, her voice clear and firm. "However, we still have a Blight to contend with. The current alliance of men, elves and dwarves must go west and take the field against the darkspawn."
"The Orlesians won't like that," Wulffe pointed out.
"I am indifferent to their opinion," Bronwyn said coldly. "There has been too much selfish parochialism. Yes, it is not hard to rejoice at the sight of a mighty enemy humbled, but beyond that, the fall of a city such as Val Royeaux puts all Thedas is very great danger."
Loghain frowned, waiting to hear her out.
Corbus did not understand, and said so. "Why is that, Bronwyn?"
"Because," Bronwyn explained, sorry to tell the boy the ugly truth. "When the horde sacked the city, it abducted many women and girls. Those unfortunates will be used to breed thousands and thousands more darkspawn. It will take a month or so, but eventually, the horde will increase many times beyond its present size—and it is already huge. Eventually, the horde will pick the area around Val Royeaux clean, and move on to the next city, and the next, ever abducting more victims and swelling its ranks. The longer we wait, the greater the odds against us when the horde turns our way. And it will."
Loghain loathed the idea of fighting to save Orlesians, but the argument was convincing. Better to fight the darkspawn in Orlais than to fight even more darkspawn in Ferelden. Bronwyn was making sound strategic sense.
"It sounds like you'll need more Wardens," Ser Blayne said.
"Absolutely," Bronwyn agreed. "Tomorrow I shall put out a call for them. When the Dalish and dwarves arrives, I shall do likewise. We definitely need more Wardens. Lots more. I might even poach more mages. When we go west, we'll likely be entering areas vilely Tainted, where only Wardens and dwarves can travel in safety. In the meantime, I'll need what's left of Orlais to remain more or less at peace, until it can sort itself out."
"Until we can sort it out," grunted Loghain.
"Yes, very likely we'll have to do that, too. We don't want such a state of anarchy on our border that mobs of refugees start pouring over."
Emrys spoke for the first time. "Perhaps we should think about what we want Orlais to be when all this is past."
Ser Blayne snorted. "Perhaps we should think about whether we want an Orlais at all!"
Emrys did not roll his eyes, but his mouth tightened. "Some sort of diminished Orlais, I think, would be a very good idea. Or maybe a few small buffer states. An East Orlais, a South Orlais... something of the sort. As Bronwyn so justly says, we don't want to deal with the overflow from a land in anarchy. Furthermore, such a place would be ripe for conquest. We may not want more Orlesian territory, but others might. Would we really want Nevarra, ally or not— swollen with land and people, immensely more powerful— on our western doorstep?"
"Or the Qunari, eager to make order of disorder?" At the questioning looks around the table, Bronwyn shrugged. "My companion Sten was sent here as part of a scouting party to discover more about the Blight, since the Qunari arrived long after the last one."
"To discover more than that," said Loghain. Bronwyn was right to be suspicious of the Qunari. As for young Emrys... he looked at the lad with new respect. Very sensible young man. Good analysis of the situation. Perhaps the precedent of giving Wardens some territory should be followed here. If they made Alistair the arl, he would need a good bann he could rely on.
After finishing her meeting with the inner circle of Fereldans and the outer circle of Jaderians, Bronwyn still needed to talk to her Wardens about their plans. They gathered in a luxurious salon, and draped themselves over the furniture, eating and drinking, as usual. Leliana and Silas whispered together, their faces serious. Tara and Zevran held hands. It was very sweet. Fenris was watching Bronwyn herself, his huge green eyes intent. Occasionally she found the intensity of his gaze a bit disturbing, but today she was glad to have everyone's full attention.
"First of all," she said, "I want to thank everyone for their brilliant service. The campaign to take Jader and the Frostback fortresses has been a tremendous success, won with a minimal loss of life. I wish all wars could be fought so. Everyone in the Warden party will be paid a bonus of twenty sovereigns tomorrow."
This was greeted with great enthusiasm. Maeve was eager to go shopping in the Grand Bazaar. Catriona had promised to go with her, but planned to send all of her bonus home to her brother, along with much of the rest of her pay. Maker knew he needed it. Twenty sovereigns would not only pay his rent for the year: it would feed and clothe him and the children very well indeed. She'd made friends with the official courier, who had agreed to carry "Wardens' correspondence" in his post-bag.
"So what do we do now?" asked Sigrun. "Are we going to explore the Deep Roads again?"
Toliver grinned, "Or will I have time to make a complete catalog of Jader taverns?"
"Will you watch the progress of the Blight from your newly-won towers?" Sten asked, his disapproval manifest, "or do you intend to pursue this campaign?"
"Well, I think it's time the rest of the Wardens stepped up and did something," Carver declared, feeling defensive. "If you'd seen everything the Nevarran Wardens have! There are hundreds of them, too. And what about all those Wardens in Montsimmard? Why is it always our problem?"
Morrigan sneered at him. "If the darkspawn decide to march in this direction, it will be 'our' problem, whether you like it or not. I say we must continue to fight the darkspawn, and vigorously, too."
They were restless; Bronwyn knew they had too little to do. She must nip this debate in the bud.
"Morrigan is absolutely right," she said. The witch preened smugly.
Bronwyn only smiled, and went on: "We shall march west soon. I agree that the darkspawn remain a great danger. Greater than ever, perhaps, since their number will greatly increase very soon. I agree that the other Wardens must do their part, Carver, but we simply don't know where they are. Presumably they saw what we saw, but since they have done so little up to now, I can't say that I trust them to do the right thing. And even if they do the right thing, I can't say that I trust them to do it well."
She popped a stuffed date into her mouth and waved dismissively at the thought of other Wardens. "When they come, they come. Meanwhile, we've got to do some serious recruiting before we leave. When you're out and about, look for likely recruits in the city. Loghain brought us some of Master Wade's dragon-hunting spears. We'll practice with them so you all know how they work. Jowan, I want you and Carver to stand up now and tell us everything the Nevarran Wardens told you about dragon hunting. Yes, I know you've told quite a bit to various people, but everyone needs to hear everything. We may need more equipment, and there are good smiths here in Jader."
Carver was always eager to make himself heard, and discoursed for some time, with Jowan adding bits here and there. Some dragonhunters had dug pit traps; other used triple-strand spider silk nets. Everyone used heavy barbed spears and poison. The dragonhunters had carried long, light shields of silverite to deflect blasts of flame. Some times they had assistants whose only job was to hold and position the shields over the hunters, while they themselves wore protective clothing. The hunters had also often made use of the terrain, finding high places where they could shoot down at a dragon, or even — in the most daring cases— leap down on a flying dragon's back.
"Jump down on a flying dragon?" Petra asked, astonished. "That's the craziest, stupidest thing I've ever heard!"
"I'd do it," Brosca declared, eyes alight. "It sounds like fun. The Boss rode a dragon that time—"
"Exactly!" Carver said, boiling over with enthusiasm. "That's exactly what some of the Pentaghasts did. Some of them still train in an art they call 'tumbling,' which is learning to jump and roll and leap."
"I've seen professional tumblers," Leliana put in. "They are very diverting. They turn flips in the air and make human pyramids— and perform all sorts of tricks. Some minstrels have learned the skill. I had not thought of applying some their arts to fighting, but I can see situations where those tricks would be useful."
"Crows are taught some tumbling," Zevran agreed.
"Anyway," Jowan cut in, "Back to dragonhunting... The dragonhunters would also use bait. Dragons are attracted to blood. They really like human blood, and especially—" he cleared his throat. "— the moon blood of a young woman. Sometimes the dragonhunters even brought a young woman who was having her courses with them. It would make the dragons excited and reckless. They also killed drakes, and... er... made use of the drake's... er... natural juices... to attract the dragon."
Raucous laughter greeted that suggestion.
"Victims of luuuurrrrve!" shouted Oghren. "That's terrific! Wonder if it would work on the Archdemon? She probably hasn't had any in... what? About twelve ages!"
The meeting swiftly descended into bawdy chaos. Bronwyn laughed, too, remembering the drakes at Haven. They could talk more about this in the coming days.
The Qunari's shout cut above the noise. "Parshaara! How soon do we march?" Sten asked, pressing the matter. The Wardens slowly subsided.
"That depends somewhat upon our allies," Bronwyn said. "I would prefer it was sooner rather than later. Danith, how quickly do you think the Dalish can be here?"
"I am not sure. Still, I am certain that Lanaya will come. Merrill, too, and the old Night Elves."
"I'm glad. We'll need good scouts. I've also sent word to the dwarves. The Legion of the Dead has largely regrouped at Orzammar, under their new Paragon."
Brosca lifted her goblet, "Stone protect our Astrid!"
"Aye!" The dwarves rumbled agreement. Then they burst out laughing again.
Bronwyn expected Astrid to arrive within the next day or so. She did not expect the arrival who sailed into Jader Bay, bold as Kordilius Drakon, on his own personal ship, carrying strange cargo indeed.
"It is Duke Prosper de Montfort, Majesty," murmured Gilbert the seneschal, in his most soothing tones. His pronunciation of "Majesty" was very Orlesian: "Majesté." The seneschal added, "He has come to offer his homage... and his support."
"That bloody Orlesian?" Loghain snarled. "That one who showed up at the Landsmeet and had the bloody effrontery to bloody threaten us to our bloody faces?"
"That's the bloody one," Bronwyn agreed, more cheerfully. "Let's see what he has to say, Loghain. It's not like he can play the Empress card anymore." She patted his hand. "If he insults us again, we really can shout, 'Off with his head!'"
Prosper made his appearance, elegant, unruffled, and particularly debonair. Being a high noble of great wealth, he had property near Jader, and hearing that those who wished to keep their estates must pay homage for them, he was prompt in his duty. He did not commit the offense of appearing with a mask, but instead was dressed in the casual but colorful style appropriate to a gentleman on his travels in an unsettled time. He made his bows, and approached the thrones with well-bred respect.
"Don't tell me," Loghain drawled, "that you ever expected to see us here, and in this situation."
"The wise man," said Prosper, "knows to expect the unexpected, and above all, that when he makes a plan, the Maker might well decide to laugh at him. The Wheel of Fortune has turned, and Your Majesties rule in Jader. The darkspawn have attacked Val Royeaux, and the Empress, my late, lamented cousin, is no more. All reasonable people must agree that ridding ourselves of the darkspawn would be a very good thing. I wish to do my part."
"And what sort of part are you prepared to play, my lord?" Bronwyn asked.
"A not ignoble one, I trust," Prosper answered easily. "I can give you a great deal of information about the situation in Val Royeaux and the composition of the army prior to the attack, as I was there up until the day before. While my principal seat at Montfort, alas, is far beyond my reach, I have lands near Jader and property within the city that will enable me to contribute to your campaign. I have a company of well-trained men-at-arms, whom I will lead into battle under your banner. I know every person of importance within the borders of Orlais. And..." his lips quirked in an odd smile. "I have a weapon, perhaps... an item that would be of interest to you. I brought it on my ship, at considerable effort. If Your Majesties would condescend to inspect it, I would be honored by your presence at my manor of Galehaut."
Before they would agree to any such thing, the man was interrogated privately and at great length. He could describe at length the scandalous episode of the burning of the Queen of Ferelden and Ferelden's Grand Cleric in effigy; of the lightning storm that struck the Cathedral; and of the subsequent panic and loss of life. He told them frankly that he had heard of the fall of Val Royeaux from the Nevarran Grey Wardens, who had mustered in Cumberland for an overland march south on the Imperial Highway.
"They do mean to cross the border, then?" Loghain asked.
Prosper's light laugh was wry. "I think at this point the border means very little to them. Elements of the royal army will support the Grey Wardens. Obviously, they cannot strip their defenses on the Tevinter border, but many are coming. For that matter, they clearly expect the Wardens of Weisshaupt and even of Tevinter to join them."
"Interesting," Bronwyn said, the words bitter. "An darkspawn attack on Val Royeaux is worthy of their attention."
"It is worthy of everyone's attention," Prosper said, unembarrassed. "I mean no disrespect, Majesty, but how interested would you have been in an attack on the Adamant Fortress?"
Bronwyn regarded him blankly. "I have never heard of such a place, I confess."
"I name it merely as an example. It is an abandoned Grey Warden fortress located in the Western Approach. It seems no more remote to me than Ostagar would to you. Or say, the attack had taken place in Rivain or in the distant Donarks? On the other hand, everyone has heard of Val Royeaux. The Nevarran Grey Wardens seemed... alarmed about the fact that the attack had taken place in a place so populous, but they would not tell me why."
Bronwyn saw no reason to keep it a secret. "The darkspawn use captured women to breed: humans, elves, dwarves. In Val Royeaux they might well have captured hundreds, if not thousands. The process is rapid and ghastly, and results in hundreds of spawn from each abducted woman."
Even Duke Prosper was briefly silenced by that image. "I... see. That is why I was told they had no time to lose."
"Exactly. The horde will grow, and grow, and grow. That is why Blights can last so long. You've given me one very good piece of news already. The Nevarran Wardens are marching toward Val Royeaux. If they could reach the city and destroy the nests, it would slow— even stop— the growth of the horde."
"Then you intend to march against the darkspawn... further into Orlesian territory."
Loghain snorted. "At this point borders mean no more to us than they do to the Nevarrans. Mind you," he said grimly, fixing Prosper with an icy look. "We're not out to conquer Orlais. We have what we want, and we intend to keep it."
"On the other hand," Bronwyn added, "We don't intend to let national prejudices prevent us from fighting the Blight. If we delay and conciliate, the darkspawn win. We will not tolerate opposition to our alliance when it goes west... soon... to face the Archdemon. If people want to fight, they should join with us and not try to hinder us."
"Indeed?" Prosper brightened considerably. "I believe I can be of some assistance to you. If this is clearly an alliance—Feredan and Orlesian; human, dwarf, and elf— then it will be far more difficult for local warlords and petty powerbrokers to oppose it. To fight the Blight, you have a great deal of potentially hostile territory to cross. I shall do my utmost to dispel —or at least mitigate— that hostility. In such a way, you will have some army left by the time you reach the darkspawn. I shall do my utmost to ensure it. This, I swear." He smiled. "And now, will it please you to come to Galehaut?"
"Oh, Loghain, do let's go. Now I'm curious."
Duke Prosper had considered how they might react to his exhibit, and said, "If you like, bring a retinue of archers. What I am going to show you may seem menacing. It is important that you understand that I am not attempting to assassinate you with it."
Loghain stared hard at the man. "We'll come with you... tomorrow. I confess I'm curious, too."
There seemed little point in not inviting him to dinner. Indeed, their new-sworn lords seemed at greater ease than ever, seeing one of the great nobles of Orlais in their company. The dinner went quite well, and there were calls for entertainment. Leliana caught Bronwyn's eye.
Bronwyn could imagine her feelings. This was an opportunity to perform in the country where she had been raised. For all her Fereldan birth, Leliana's views and values were essentially Orlesian. She longed to show these nobles that she had made something of herself: a Grey Warden, an accomplished bard and minstrel; a companion to the highest in the land.
"I am certain," Bronwyn said, "that Warden Leliana can oblige us with her skill."
"Indeed!" cried Leliana coming forward, sweeping the floor in her silken gown, her blue eyes sparkling. "Your Majesties, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen! I know just the story."
Leliana's Tale of the Dancing Princesses
There was once a king who had three beautiful daughters. They slept in one room and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and locked up. However, every morning their shoes were found to be quite worn through as if they had been danced in all night. Nobody could find out how it happened, or where the princesses had been. The king put more locks on their door and set guards on them, but nothing, it seemed, could keep the princesses from wearing out their shoes.
So the king made it known to all the land that if any person could discover the secret and find out where it was that the princesses danced in the night, he would have the one he liked best to take as his wife, and would be king after his death. But whoever tried and did not succeed, after three days and nights, he would be put to death.
A king's son soon came. He was well entertained, and in the evening was taken to the chamber next to the one where the princesses lay in their three beds. There he was to sit and watch where they went to dance; and, in order that nothing could happen without him hearing it, the door of his chamber was left open. But the king's son soon fell asleep; and when he awoke in the morning he found that the princesses had all been dancing, for the soles of their shoes were full of holes.
The same thing happened the second and third night and so the king ordered his head to be cut off.
After him came several others; but they all had the same luck, and all lost their lives in the same way.
Now it happened that a soldier, who had been wounded in battle and could fight no longer, passed through the country where this king reigned, and as he was traveling through a wood, he fell in with an apostate mage, who asked him where he was going.
"I hardly know where I am going, or what I had better do," said the soldier; 'but I think I would like to find out where it is that the princesses dance, and then in time I might be a king."
"Well," said the mage, 'that is not a very hard task: I've heard the story of how the men all fall asleep. I advise you to take care not to drink any of the wine which one of the princesses will bring to you in the evening; and as soon as she leaves you pretend to be fast asleep. Follow them and see where they go, but be careful."
"No problem with that," said the soldier. "Stealth is one thing I've learned."
So the soldier he went to the king, and said he was willing to undertake the task.
He was as well received as the others had been, and the king ordered fine royal robes to be given him; and when the evening came he was led to the outer chamber.
Just as he was going to lie down, the eldest of the princesses brought him a cup of wine; but the soldier threw it all away secretly into a potted plant, taking care not to drink a drop. Then he laid himself down on his bed, and in a little while began to snore very loudly as if he was fast asleep.
When the princesses heard this they laughed heartily; and the eldest said, "This fellow too might have done a wiser thing than lose his life in this way!" Then they rose and opened their drawers and boxes, and took out all their fine clothes, and dressed themselves at the mirror, and skipped about as if they were eager to begin dancing.
But the youngest said, "I don't know why it is, but while you are so happy I feel very uneasy; I am sure some mischance will befall us."
"You simpleton,' said the eldest, 'you are always afraid; have you forgotten how many kings' sons have already watched in vain? And as for this soldier, even if I had not given him his sleeping draught, he would have slept soundly enough. Hear him snore!"
When they were all ready, they went and looked at the soldier; but he snored on, and did not stir hand or foot: so they thought they were quite safe.
Then the eldest went up to her own bed and clapped her hands, and the bed sank into the floor and a trap-door flew open. The soldier saw them going down through the trap-door one after another, the eldest leading the way; and thinking he had no time to lose, he jumped up, and followed them, using all his arts of stealth.
However, in the middle of the stairs he trod on the gown of the youngest princess, and she cried out to her sisters, "All is not right; someone took hold of my gown."
The soldier instantly hid behind a pillar.
"You silly creature!' said the eldest, 'it is nothing but a nail in the wall."
Down they all went, and at the bottom they found themselves in a most delightful grove of trees; and the leaves were all of silver, and glittered and sparkled beautifully. The soldier wished to take away some token of the place; so he broke off a little branch, and there came a loud noise from the tree. Then the youngest daughter said again, 'I am sure all is not right - did not you hear that noise? That never happened before.'
But the eldest said, "It is only our secret princes, who are shouting for joy at our approach."
They came to another grove of trees, where all the leaves were of gold; and afterwards to a third, where the leaves were all glittering diamonds. And the soldier broke a branch from each; and every time there was a loud noise, which made the youngest sister tremble with fear. But the eldest still said it was only the princes, who were crying for joy.
Awaiting them on the other side of the underground grove were three handsome princes, who seemed to be waiting there for the princesses. The soldier shuddered, for he could see that they were demons, who had enthralled the young women.
Soon he saw a fine, illuminated castle from which came the merry music of horns and trumpets, played by unseen musicians. They entered, and each demon danced with his princess; and the soldier saw it all. When any of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it all up, so that when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this, too, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always silenced her.
They danced on till three o'clock in the morning, and then all their shoes were worn out, so that they were obliged to leave. The demons led them back to the grove, and the princesses made their way through the winding caves, promising to come again the next night.
When they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses, and laid himself down. And as the tired sisters slowly came up, they heard him snoring in his bed and they said, "Now all is quite safe." Then they undressed themselves, put away their fine clothes, pulled off their shoes, and went to bed.
In the morning the soldier said nothing about what had happened, but determined to see more of this strange adventure, and went again on the second and third nights. Everything happened just as before: the princesses danced till their shoes were worn to pieces, and then returned home. On the third night the soldier carried away one of the golden cups as a token of where he had been.
As soon as the time came when he was to declare the secret, he was taken before the king. In his robes hie carried the three branches and the golden cup; and the three princesses stood listening behind the door to hear what he would say.
The king asked him. "Where do my daughters dance at night?"
The soldier answered, "With three demon princes in a castle underground." And then he told the king all that had happened, and showed him the branches and the golden cup which he had brought with him.
The king called for the princesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said was true. When they saw that they were discovered, and that it was of no use to deny what had happened, they confessed it all.
So the king asked the soldier which of the princesses he would choose for his wife; and he answered, "I am no longer young. Give me the eldest."
So they were married that very day, and the soldier was named the king's heir.
It was a popular story and was well-applauded. Leliana's cheeks were pink with excitement and satisfaction. The Orlesians, too, found it a charming and gallant tale. The Wardens, at their own table, had their own opinions.
"I liked the part with the apostate," said Jowan. "He deserved some sort of reward."
Tara grinned. "Maybe he got the gold cup out of the newly-made prince. It would only be fair."
"Ha!" Anders scoffed. "I know old soldiers! He probably gave the mage a boot in the backside for his trouble."
"I certainly would," Catriona agreed, utterly shameless, "if somebody tried to talk me out of a gold cup. Maybe he'd get a purse of silver instead."
"At least!" Quinn said, indignant. "I wouldn't turn him away."
Maeve ruffled his hair. "You're not an old soldier, either. After a few more years, you'd probably give him a boot in the backside, too."
Galehaut was a charming place: just what a country manor should be. The demesne was not large, but it gave de Montfort sufficient living space for himself and his men-at-arms, and large stables for their excellent horses. One stable, newer than the rest, stood apart, on the other side of the compound, and was built very solidly of stone. It had a wide set of double doors, opening on a large paddock. The grooms there wore thick leather armor and helmets with movable visors.
The dogs sniffed and growled. Scout paced restlessly, looking up at Bronwyn.
"What is it, Scout? What's in there?"
Scout had no idea, actually, but he thought it smelled strange and rather menacing. Amber sniffed, too, whined, and lifted a paw, as if uncertain whether to charge or to run. Scrapper, Magister, and Lily barked, and then huddled with the other dogs.
The grooms swung open the heavy doors. Prosper called, "Leopold, dear boy! Come! We wish to see you!"
Out trundled a massive body, sleek and muscled. It stood well over man height at the shoulder, and its body was long, with a powerful tail. It had smallish wings, and was actually larger than the dragon Bronwyn had killed in the Elven Temple. There were a few frightened screams mixed in with the shouts of wonder. Everyone one took two steps back.
"A wyvern!" cried Bronwyn. "A real wyvern!"
Loghain narrowed his eyes at the Orlesian. "What kind of trick is this?" he asked, his voice menacing.
"No trick," Prosper assured them. "An egg was brought to me. When it hatched, I was there, and I imprinted on the creature, much as you have on your fine hound. I have succeeded in training Leopold. While griffons may be extinct, there are other creatures in Thedas that might be effective in combat: even more effective than horses, when it comes to fighting monsters."
It was an intimidating creature. It was also a magnificent creature. Its shining hide was dark blue, striped and marked here and there in a vivid yellow. Spiny frills trembled threateningly by its ears; its eyes were golden and enormous. Bronwyn tried to remember everything she had ever read about wyverns. They were said to be extinct in Ferelden. This one looked plenty lively to her.
"Don't wyverns spit poison?" Loghain asked abruptly. Of course, as Gwaren's symbol was the wyvern, Loghain could be trusted to have read all he could about wyverns.
"They do indeed," Prosper assured him. "A most lethal poison. Leopold only spits poison on command. It somewhat limits his value in hunting, since anything poisoned by him is quite inedible for everyone else. However, he has other means of killing: his claws, his fangs, his tail, his great body mass."
Behind them, nobles and Wardens alike were gazing on Leopold in awe.
"A splendid beast!" Morrigan murmured, avidly taking in every detail. If she could master shape-shifting into such a creature, she would be in a far stronger position facing both darkspawn... and... someday... Flemeth.
Leopold swung his heavy head in her direction and blinked slowly, not reluctant to accept the admiration of a sensible human. So many of the feeble two-legs were too fearful to look at him properly. Many of them here today were fearful, too, but others were very not. These smelled of respect and proper caution. Leopold preened, flicking his frills wide and stretching out to his full length.
"So…" Loghain considered what sorts of uses a wyvern could be good for. "He will attack the darkspawn? Your enemies?"
"He does."
"How well does he fly?" Bronwyn wondered.
"He cannot fly as high or far as a dragon is said to, but he's extremely quick, and…" Prosper left them in suspense, before he vaulted into the saddle on the wyvern's back. "… and he can be ridden!"
With that, he put Leopold through their usual exercises, only now mounted on the wyvern's back. The crowd watched, delighted and amazed. He took the wyvern around the paddock, and then reversed, and then performed a serpentine maneuver as if on horseback. Leopold, on command, sprang up and soared briefly over their heads. Prosper brought him back to earth, and then smirked triumphantly on the guests.
"I want one!" declared Brosca.
"Very impressive," said Loghain. "Let's talk."
"You!" Prosper shouted to the grooms. "Feed Leopold!" He slid easily down the creature's back, and gave him a parting pat. Then he strolled over to the Fereldans, feeling that he had made his place secure.
"Very impressive, indeed," Bronwyn agreed. "I previously came across people who had trained dragons to attack, but they did not ride them. The creatures clearly understood human language, just as your wyvern does. Where did you find the egg?"
"The Planascene Forest, I suppose," muttered Loghain, thinking rapidly.
"The very place," said Prosper. "It was brought to me by a hunter as a curiosity. As a rule, all nests are destroyed when they are found, but perhaps that is wasteful. The essential element is that the egg must be kept viable enough to hatch, and the person present at the hatching will be the one to whom the creature bonds. I was extraordinarily lucky."
"But then you successfully trained the creature as well," Loghain pressed him, trying not to be swept away by visions of a wall of charging wyverns, crushing all before them. The wyvern gulped down great gobbets of raw meat, tossing back its head as it swallowed.
"A similar technique might work with dragons as well," Bronwyn said, also watching entranced. "It would be worth exploring, though of course it would take years. How old is Leopold?"
"Only nine months old, Your Majesty. He has not yet attained his full growth and strength."
Morrigan approached, Anders with her. She studied the wyvern as a miser studies gold. She gave Duke Prosper a very graceful curtsey. He bowed in return, recognizing the beautiful woman he had noticed at the Court in Denerim.
"Might I have leave, my lord," she asked softly, "to examine your remarkable pet at closer quarters? Might you persuade him to let me touch him?"
Prosper was impressed by her nerve, and did not see the quick, amused looks exchanged by Bronwyn and Loghain. Instead, rather flattered, he showed off Leopold at greater length, putting him through his paces, ordering him to spit his venom at a target, allowing the fair Lady Morrigan and her escort to touch his hide, his frill, his wings; to peer at his fangs and claws. For that matter, Leopold was flattered, too.
Other Wardens came closer, and Morrigan asked an elf to obtain a sample of the venom. Some among the Wardens were clearly mages, and they gathered gravely together, discussing Leopold in low tones.
"—how resistant would darkspawn be to the poison?"
"—what kind of stamina do they have?"
"—Interesting. I think it could take on an ogre with no trouble at all."
"—I still say dragons are better. Poison only works on living creatures. It's no good against golems or siege works, for that matter."
"—And you can't use them together. Wyverns and dragons are natural enemies."
One of the mages laughed. "Only real ones. Not magical creatures."
Bronwyn whispered to Loghain. "I don't know about wyvern eggs, but I've found dragon eggs in two different places in Ferelden. After what we found in Amaranthine, I believe there must be dragons in the north of the arling. It's possible there are still nests up in the mountains at Haven, where I found the false Andraste. Perhaps Cauthrien should have a look at her new bannorn sometime soon. She could be there in two days, if she followed my map carefully."
Loghain looked about and saw Cauthrien, standing nearby, speaking quietly to Alistair and Emrys. It would have been a good idea, were they not in the process of going to war.
"I'm not sure I can spare her at the moment. We'll have to see what the mages can make of the Orlesian's pet monster. Surely more of them can learn that shape-shifting trick."
The Warden mages— Anders, Tara, Jowan, Petra, and Niall — were gathered round, listening to Morrigan's cool voice quietly discoursing on the qualities of the creature before them. Loghain wished that they had brought some of the mages traveling with the army with them as well. Uldred seemed powerful, as did his loyal follower, that blonde woman Gwyneth. He was not sure about the others. That mage girl Kieli, for example, he could no more see turning into a wyvern than he could himself.
Duke Prosper, seeing that his demonstration had been received favorably, insinuated himself into the conversation.
"I understand, Your Majesties, that my young cousins, the Imperial Princesses, are safely lodged at Roc du Chevalier. Have you any particular plans for them?"
"You are concerned for them," Bronwyn said sweetly. "That is very amiable of you. Rest assured, the ladies are safe, comfortable and exactly where we want them to be."
"Of course," Duke Prosper smiled, thinking about what kind of reward he might expect for services rendered. "Of course. I merely mention them because in the lamentable absence of the Empress, Orlais currently has no ruler to keep the peace while we pursue the darkspawn. They are certainly the next in blood. A puppet Empress, married to a reliable consort who has sworn homage to you, might be of inestimable help in pacifying the country."
Bronwyn's face was blank. It was obvious now what Prosper had come for, but she was not entirely comfortable about giving an innocent young woman into his care. Loghain was more pragmatic. The girls in question were Orlesian, after all.
"Let us say, for the sake of argument, that you were to be a candidate for such a princess's hand. Which one would you choose?"
Duke Prosper gave them a smiling, self-deprecating bow. "I am no longer young, Your Majesty. Give me the eldest."
Thanks to my reviewers: Nemrut, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Chiara Crawford, Quirky, Rexiselic, KnightOfHolyLight, Mike3207, Blinded in a bolthole, Konous the Grey, Ellyanah, Ie-maru, darksky01, Robbie the Phoenix, mille libri, JackOfBladesX, sizuka2, NPC200, Jenna53, Calliope Sol, jnybot, Massgamer45, Herebedragons66, Guest, dragonmactir, Chandagnac, Lady Laney, Tsu Doh Nimh, Rb23G, Suna Chunin, RaZoRMandiblez. Herebedragons66, AD Lewis, Josie Lange, Kyren, and imperial queen.
Bronwyn's remark about destroying enemies by making friends of them is stolen from Abraham Lincoln's many words of wisdom.
Leliana tells a benign version of Grimm's The Twelve Dancing Princesses. In another version they collected, "The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces," eleven of the princesses are beheaded by their father for lying to him. Only the terrified youngest confesses what she's been up to, and then is married to —in this case— a peasant. In a German/Hungarian variant, "The Invisible Shepherd Boy," all the princesses— except for the youngest, who tattles on them— are burned at the stake as sorceresses.
I've posted a new Dragon Age story, "The Flight of the Hawke." It's a one-shot AU about a Mage!Hawke in Kirkwall. If you haven't received the alert, I'd love it if you take a look and tell me what you think.
Bestiaries are in conflict when it comes to the flying capacity of wyverns. Some say that the wings are vestigial, and that wyverns do not fly at all. Some say otherwise. In canon, it's clear they have some flying capacity, since they are seen in the air in the distance, mating.