Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 110: The World Has Changed
The mages spent a great deal of the visit to Galehaut studying Leopold. Even those who had not mastered shape-shifting before were galvanized by the power and majesty of the wyvern and the possibilities that such a creature represented. Morrigan liked the Warden mages well enough to coach them through a rigorous study of the wyvern's anatomy; his movements and his vocalizations, the smell of his poison. An experienced shape-shifter herself, she found interesting challenges presented by the wyvern.
"I have asked the grooms for the sweepings of the creature's stable: pieces of hide, claws, quills from the frill. We will need these to charm our garments. Otherwise we can only shift between beast and nakedness, which would be distracting to a rational enemy, but simply inconvenient and dangerous when fighting darkspawn."
Inside the big stable, a groom presented Morrigan with a large crate of such waste. Morrigan dismissed him, and the mages spent a long time over the objects, touching them, discussing them, slitting their garments and weaving charms into them along with odd bits of wyvern. Morrigan had learned from a great mistress of the art, and knew a multitude of training exercises for shape-shifting. All of the mages had already done them before, but the intimacy with such an impressive creature caused them to make much greater progress than they had in the past, when trying to become a cat, a bird, a bear. Perhaps it was the fact that each of them really, really wanted to be something so powerful as a wyvern. Intent was always vital in performing magic.
They went back to the paddock and again examined Leopold. Morrigan leaned against him, listening to the mighty heartbeat, moving with the inhalations and exhalations of the enormous lungs. After some time they left the other guest once more to their politicking and their wine, and went behind the big stable. The rest of the visitors did not feel the sudden wave of air pressure, or hear the muffled exclamations. They did not particularly notice that Leopold's head swiveled around eagerly, as he sniffed the breeze.
"We-l-l-l-l... Morrigan..." Anders managed, backing away from the sleek, dark blue menace. "That's... interesting..."
"Amazing," breathed Petra.
"Scary," muttered Tara.
"I feel I can almost do it," said Jowan. "Almost, I mean..." He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. His arms turned blue and developed very impressive claws. Niall laughed so hard he fell to the ground. Jowan was briefly horrified, until the claws retracted and the arms became human once more. Morrigan shifted back herself in order to scold them.
"An acceptable first attempt," she praised Jowan. She turned to others, not about to tolerate adolescent behavior. "May I point out," she said, with more than a touch of acid, "that the ability to assume such a shape would quite alter the balance of power between mage and Templar? It would, dare I say it, change the world."
Anders was still laughing, but not at Jowan. "Morrigan, the world changed from the moment I met you!"
Astrid approved of Jader. There was good stonework here, and the architecture of the dwarven quarter showed a proper reverence for their underground origins. It all looked far more prosperous than Denerim, certainly. The dwarves came out in force to greet her, too. Everyone was impressed by her golems.
"Atrast vala, Paragon!"
"Hail, Astrid Goldenhand!"
"Free drinks for the Paragon and her officers at the Paragon's Cup!"
"Stone preserve you, Paragon!"
"We're with you!"
It would be quite nice if they were. Astrid wanted to recruit soldiers for the dwarven army, and also craftsmen for her thaigs. The soldiers would have to be in their own unit, of course. The warrior caste would never accept them into the army proper, and the Jader dwarves might not care for the restrictions imposed on them by the Legion of the Dead. Jader, the closest surface city to Orzammar, had a huge dwarven population. Why not have a company of Jader dwarves? And in it, a strong unit of engineers...perhaps a handful of Wardens, too. Astrid had some ideas she wanted to discuss with Bronwyn. It was absurd for warriors to rush at the horde, waving swords like that fool Cailan, when there was plenty a good engineer could do to soften up the horde first.
Velanna and Ailill, her Dalish elves, were moving along quickly, their eyes a bit wild. Maybe they'd been underground too long. Ailill had closed in on himself, and Velanna had become almost maniacally abrasive. Maybe they needed a change of duty. Astrid was fairly tired of them, anyway. Maybe she could find a sane human mage. Maybe two humans, who could keep each other company. Ailill and Velanna would be even crazier by now, if they hadn't had each other. It was something else to talk over with Bronwyn. For now, she had to keep on task.
'The Paragon's Cup?' Astrid decided to make an appearance at that clever innkeeper's establishment, and see what kind of concrete support the dwarves of Jader were really prepared to give. Free drinks would be quite welcome. First, however, she must meet with Bronwyn, who had also been doing exceeding well for herself.
She greeted her as an equal, of course. She owed that to the dwarves. No Paragon should humble herself before a human king or queen. On the other hand, she liked Bronwyn and thought her a sound leader. There were mutual bows and then a warrior's greeting, hands clasped to forearms. Bronwyn had considerately provided a chair up on the dais, next to her throne. That pleased the dwarves, too.
"How fares Orzammar, Paragon?" asked Loghain.
"Well, King Loghain. Our defenses have never been better. The dwarves can send a mighty force abroad without fearing for the safety of the dwarven kingdom. The Amgarrak Road has a strong barrier door, cutting it off from the western and southern Deep Roads, and connecting it securely to Orzammar. Our reclaimed thaigs prosper."
A cheer rose up from the dwarves in the throne room, and from the Wardens, too.
Bronwyn said, "The security of our worthy allies, the dwarven people, is of the greatest importance to us. We plan to march west soon, and look forward to once again marching with you."
Astrid smiled. "We'll be there."
Of course, in private, they had details to go over. The dwarven Wardens were invited to that discussion. Their Dalish vanished early on, greeted by the other elves as their long-lost brother and sister. Velanna's voice rose shrilly in joy and relief to see her own kind at last.
"I never want to go underground again! The dwarves can have Orzammar and welcome! They're so—"
Thankfully, the door shut on the noise.
Brosca greeted Astrid with great enthusiasm, and of course wanted to know about her family.
"How's little Endrin?"
Astrid was glad she could give her good news. "Little Endrin is big, bouncing, and healthy. Your sister's beauty is undiminished. The King was in good spirits, since he's very satisfied with the progress of the war. Oh... and your sister is expecting again. The baby's due in a month or so."
Brosca beamed with joy. "That's our Rica! Another prince!"
Astrid shrugged. "Or princess."
Brosca's smile faded.
Astrid laid her golden hand reassuringly on Brosca's shoulder. "Don't worry. If it's a girl, I told Bhelen I'd adopt her. The more Aeducans, the better."
Loghain leaned over to Bronwyn, whispering questions about that situation. He occasionally forgot that the aristocratic Astrid and the common Brosca were aunts of the identical little prince. A curious situation, and one that could only have arisen in Orzammar.
There were more polite preliminaries, and then they sat down to some serious talk over a big map of Orlais.
Loghain presented their general strategic situation—which was not at all bad— plus what they knew so far of the fate of the Orlesian Imperial army, the fall of Val Royeaux, and the movements of other Grey Warden contingents. Bronwyn gave some general background on what tactics they themselves had developed.
"It's clear that the Archdemon is our essential target. I've had some of my people working on the problem of a flying opponent."
Briefly, she summarized what Carver and Jowan had learned from the Nevarran Wardens about traditional dragonhunting. She gave her own experiences with using bombs and magic to bring down a dragon in flight. Loghain then discussed the use of the ballistae which had damaged Flemeth's wing and brought her down to ground level. Catapults could throw bombs. For that matter, so could their golems. Shale could carry huge sacks of bombs and grenades as he waded into battle. The explosives of the Glavonak brothers could deal death on a wide scale to the darkspawn.
Astrid herself had some exciting news of dwarven ingenuity to share.
"The workshop of Smith Garin has come up with a new weapon." She motioned Falkor forward. He carried a strange object: Gleaming steel and silverite, its butt was shaped like that of a crossbow and it had a trigger mechanism, but there was no bow section, but instead a long metal tube with a kind of sighting device at the end.
"Garin calls it 'the Airbow,' said Astrid. "It shoots lead pellets he calls 'bullets,' and it operates by means of a coiled silverite spring-loaded piston contained within a compression chamber, and separate from the barrel. Cocking the bow—" She demonstrated this with a click "— causes the piston assembly to compress the spring until a small hook on the rear of the piston engages a lock; pulling the trigger releases the lock and allows the spring to decompress, pushing the piston forward, thereby compressing the air in the chamber directly behind the bullet—" she held up a small sphere of lead. "Like this. The bullets are easily molded, which makes them cheaper and faster to produce than arrows. When you pull the trigger, the bullet moves forward, propelled by an expanding column of air. All this takes place in a fraction of a second. This particular model is enhanced with Runes of Impact and Striking."
She flipped the butt of the weapon against her left shoulder, sighting down the barrel at a porcelain figurine on a stand across the room. She pulled the trigger. A muffled "pop," and the figure shattered. The missile continued on and slammed into the wall, penetrating over a handsbreath into the plaster, wood and stone. The lead missile was dug out of the wall and examined. It had flattened out to the diameter of a sovereign. It would have torn a great hole in a darkspawn's chest.
"Oooo!" rose the delighted murmur.
Bronwyn rolled her eyes, amused and tolerant. There was nothing a Warden loved like new death-dealing devices. She rather liked them herself. Loghain's gaze was fixed and hungry. This was a splendid ranged weapon for someone who was not a skilled archer, and who might not have the physical strength to cock a heavy crossbow.
"If I may?"
Astrid was delighted to show off her new toy, and demonstrated how it was loaded with the lead bullets. The Airbow could hold up to five in reserve, as well as the one in the shooting chamber. Shooting the bullet caused the next one in the reserve to enter the chamber in its turn. The interior of the barrel itself was incised with a long spiral, which improved the accuracy of the weapon.
"Really?" asked Loghain. "That's a fine piece of smithcrafting."
He went to the window, opened it, and held the weapon as Astrid had. It was designed for a dwarf, and so did not suit his longer reach, but he had no trouble picking up how to support the barrel with one hand while operating the trigger mechanism. The sight was not much different than that of a crossbow, though more refined. Loghain took aim at a bronze windvane in the shape of a lion at the far end of a roof jutting out perpendicularly from under their window. He breathed out slowly and squeezed the trigger.
Another muffled "pop!" followed instantly by a clanging "crack!" as the bullet struck the bronze lion, blasting off its head. The windvane spun wildly.
"Whoa!" Brosca actually patted Loghain on the back. "That'll show 'em, Big Guy."
Loghain smiled grimly. He was conscious of the recoil against his shoulder. It was a good, hard punch, but not hard enough to trouble him, even if he had shot several times. Nonetheless, someone using this weapon regularly would likely want some padded leather there.
"This weapon," he said quietly, "will change the world."
Bronwyn only smiled and took the Airbow from him. She had heard of repeating crossbows, but they were delicate objects, prone to breakdowns. If a bowman could shoot six times before reloading, he would achieve a rate of fire superior to the best traditional archer—at least for those six shots. And the weapon seemed accurate... at least at fairly short range. So far, she had seen nothing to indicate that it could rival a longbow for that.
Hakan spoke up. "Could you poison the bullets?" He waved her hands expressively. "I don't mean pouring poison on them. Couldn't you put a little poison inside? Form the bullet around a bit of crystal or pressed glass?"
"I don't know," said Astrid. "It might be worth the experiment, though it would make the bullets more expensive. It might be easier to stamp them with runes."
"We'll have the Glavonaks see what they can do," said Loghain. "That young Warden Adaia, too. And I want as many of those Airbows as the dwarves can make."
"It just so happens..." Astrid smiled serenely. "That I have two with me right now. Askil, the gifts. One for the King, and one for the Queen."
"A wonderful gift, indeed!" Bronwyn laughed, teasing her. "As long as it's not red. It isn't, is it?"
Astrid grinned and shook her head. "Just good, sound silverite and steel. With white runestones and your names in gold."
Many of the new soldiers in the fortresses along Gherlen's Pass had never seen a Dalish elf in their lives. Most Orlesians had certainly never seen a caravan of them, hallas picking their dainty way along the road, pulling the aravels behind them. Veterans of Ostagar merely greeted them, told them that Bronwyn was in the city of Jader, and pointed out the way.
For the most part, the Dalish preferred to camp outside the walls. Siofranni, Merrill, and Lanaya, however, with Thanovir, Maynriel, and a party of warriors, presented themselves at the gate. The Fereldan guards there knew their business too well to attempt to bar their way. A runner was sent ahead to alert the Palace, and a pair of soldiers escorted the Dalish through the colorful streets of Jader.
The Dalish were gazed on in wonder, especially by the city elves, who had previously been comfortably certain that the Dalish elves were a myth. Disabused of this notion, some of the younger elves followed in the wake of the Dalish, too timid to speak to them, but thinking them extraordinary, glamorous beings.
"Now this is much prettier than Denerim!" Merrill exclaimed, looking about her. "So much neater and cleaner. The houses don't all look about to fall down. That's nice for the people. I wouldn't want a house to fall on me!"
Lanaya said less, but was equally consumed with curiosity. She did not remember much of her early childhood before her rescue by the Dalish, but she knew she came from a shemlen city and had been born in an Alienage. She hoped that the Alienage here in Jader was better than the awful place in Denerim. They must pay a call on their city cousins. The Sabrae clan had had some luck in luring the poor creatures back to the happier, nobler ways of the Dalish. Lanaya would like to save some of them as well. And there was the burgeoning little village in the new elven homeland. Surely that would do for those who must have a roof over their heads.
Siofranni was not so sure if leaving the city was the ideal outcome for everyone: not if the elves lived in the kind of beautiful houses she saw along the fine, wide streets. She had enjoyed her comfortable quarters at Roc du Chevalier. The problem, as the young Warden saw it, was not so much that the city elves lived in cities: it was that they were poor, and thus could not enjoy the pleasures of city life.
They were all astonished at the majestic beauty of Emerald Square, anchored on either side by two huge buildings of greenstone. They felt very relieved when Danith and Nuala emerged from the palace, and ran down the steps, smiling, to greet them.
"Aneth ara!" Danith exclaimed, her arms out. "You are most welcome!"
They were made welcome, again and again, by the rest of the Dalish, by the other Wardens, by Bronwyn, by Loghain, and then were invited to join them at dinner. They were invited to stay in the palace, too, for that matter, but were not pressed when they explained that they preferred to stay in the Dalish camp. Siofranni, as a Warden, told them she would be staying at the palace with her fellow Wardens.
"I must hear what my comrades have been doing," she said. Adaia whispered in her ear, eyes dancing, telling her of the charming room she would share with her. It sounded very inviting.
It was not until after dinner that Tara could take Lanaya and Merrill aside and urge them to follow her.
"Let me show you something I found! Bring the warriors, too. Everybody's welcome! " She lowered her voice, "Well, all elves, anyway."
Very intrigued, the Dalish party crowded into Tara and Zevran's exquisite room. Already present were Danith, of course, and Cathair, Steren, Nuala, and Darach. Velanna was there, and Ailill. Both of them had the look of escaped prisoners, rejoicing in their freedom. Siofranni and Adaia had made themselves comfortable on some pink satin cushions. Merrill had no eyes for anything in the room other than the lofty, gilded object in the corner. She had recognized the eluvian immediately.
How angry she had been angry with Marethari for disposing of the other eluvian— the one that had poisoned Danith and Tamlen in the forest. This, however, was undamaged and untainted.
Since Tara had determinedly kept it a secret, Danith had not seen the mirror before that moment. She backed away, alarmed.
"Don't worry!" Tara assured her. "it's not like the one that infected you."
Merrill cried, "It's perfect! I can't believe it!" She told the puzzled elves, "It's an eluvian! It was made in Arlathan by our ancestors the ancient elvhen, long, long ago!"
An awed silence filled the room.
"This is a noble thing," muttered Maynriel. "We live in an age of wonders."
"It belongs to the elves," said Tara. "No one is to speak of it to anyone else. My fellow Wardens only know that I claimed a splendid mirror as plunder." She had told Brosca a bit more than that, but saw no reason to bring it up. Brosca could be trusted not to blab a friend's secrets.
Tara's insistence that this be purely an elvish matter was greeted with general approval. No one had the least desire to share a lost treasure of the elvhen. Velanna declared her agreement vehemently and repeatedly. She had never heard of such an object, but if it was elvish, than not even torture would force a word of it from her to either shemlen or durgen'len.
Lanaya had been told about eluvians by Zathrian, who had known a great deal of ancient lore. He had never seen one, however, or spoken to anyone who had. Lanaya was thrilled at this glimpse of the glory of long-lost Arlathan.
"It's beautiful! I can sense its power, but what does it actually do?"
Tara gave them what information she possessed, derived from the book she had read at the Circle library. Merrill, however, was examining the mirror in detail already, murmuring unknown words in her sweet voice. The reflective surface wavered, and then ripples spread out from the center, as if she had dropped a stone into a forest pool.
Abruptly, her chant stopped, and she backed away, shocked by her own success. Her words came back in a soft, distorted echo. The elves murmured in wonder and then were absolutely silent, as they heard the soft sussuration reflected back at them. Merrill whispered a word of command, and the surface smoothed out once more.
"I think," Lanaya said softly, "we should be very careful about what we say to this mirror. We do not know who may be listening."
"That's true," agreed Tara, a little discouraged. "We might be communicating with the Black Divine, for all we know."
"We must study it," Merrill insisted. "Not only could we use it to speak to others far away— we could use it to travel. We hadn't many books in our clan, but we had a book about the eluvians. There is a spell to make them open their paths among the worlds. Different eluvians led to different places. We will need some blood…"
"Blood magic!" cried Lanaya, horrified. Everyone fidgeted with dismay.
"We can use mine," Merrill said, unruffled. "It's not to control anyone, but to let the eluvian know that an elf wishes to step through. Only the blood and magic of the elvhen can unlock all of its powers. Our enemies the magisters could not make full use of an eluvian for that reason, not even with elven thralls. They did not even know what was necessary."
"Well, if it's just that..." Tara said. "It's more like the Templars using blood for tracking, and nobody—other than mages— has a problem with that."
"It is good to know that the evil Tevinters could not use them," growled Darach. "But where does such a path lead?"
"Our wise ancestors," murmured Lanaya, "would not lead us to an evil place, or a dangerous one."
"Not deliberately, I grant you," said Zevran. "However, if this is connected to another eluvian somewhere, perhaps that, too, has been moved from its original location."
"There is writing on the frame," Tara said, "but I can't make it out. It's in a very old script that's quite unknown to me."
Merrill peered at it and then read it off:
"Melava inan enansal
ir su araval tu elvaral
u na emma abelas
in elgar sa vir mana
in tu setheneran din emma na
lath sulevin
lath araval ena
arla ven tu vir mahvir
melana 'nehn
enasal ir sa lethalin."
The Dalish looked at each other, shocked and rather excited. Tara looked at each of them, but her knowledge of the elven language was not sufficient to translate something spoken so quickly.
"I'm sorry," Adaia said, greatly daring. "I don't understand it at all. Please tell me what it means."
Merrill smiled, and hesitantly rendered the ancient tongue into common Trade language.
"Time was once a blessing
but long journeys are made longer
when alone within.
Take spirit from the long ago
but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.
Be certain in need,
and the path will emerge
to a home tomorrow
and time will again
be the joy it once was."
"Do not dwell in lands no longer yours..." Lanaya whispered. "Is it our doom, or is it offering us a new way?"
Merrill was radiant. "'The path will emerge to a home tomorrow.' Well, we'll just have to see about that. There is an incantation—actually several different incantations, depending on which eluvian you are using... and one needs to prick one's finger ... only a drop of blood is needed to find the way through... and then... we shall see, won't we?"
"Wait…" Tara said. "You're just going to… step through?"
"Of course, " Merrill replied. "That is what it's for. How can I know where it goes, if I don't go there?"
"You cannot go alone," Maynriel spoke up. "I shall go with you, Keeper."
"That is kind of you, lethallin."
"I, too," Danith declared, forcing herself to master her fear of the thing. "We shall be safer as three."
"Now, wait!" Tara said, rather taken aback at how events had accelerated. "Why don't you... I don't know, just put your finger in first, and see what happens? All right? Or I'll do it. Maybe a little finger? So if something bad happens, I don't lose anything essential?"
"That sounds very sensible to me!" Zevran seconded her loyally.
"If you like," Merrill agreed. "A finger only. That way we will at least know that it works. But I shall do it first." Instantly she drew her belt knife and pressed the sharp tip to her index finger— much to Tara's exasperation— and then intoned an incantation.
"Vena an areth!"
Nothing happened. Merrill slumped in disappointment.
"Not the right one, then. Let's see..."
Siofranni whispered to Adaia, "I go to the safe place..."
Biting her lip, Merrill tried again.
"Ar in Setheneran!"
"I dwell in the Land of Waking Dreams," murmured Siofranni.
No response. The elves sighed in sympathy.
Merrill straightened her thin shoulders, and took a deep breath. "I'm sure this is the one!"
"Ero din an ti Arla!"
To their astonishment, the eluvian began humming. Everyone in the room but Merrill pressed back against the wall. Merrill then slowly reached out to the mirror's surface, which had ceased reflecting and was now a silvery pool of light. At the touch of her fingertip, the surface dimpled like water touched lightly, and then there sounded a low note, sweet as a harp struck softly, and her finger disappeared into the eluvian. The once-hard surface of the mirror resembled a viscous, metallic liquid, quicksilver bright. It swirled like a whirlpool.
"Oh!" cried Merrill.
"Keeper! Be careful!" urged Thanovir. "Step away!"
"I'm not hurt... I'll just be a moment..." said Merrill, and then quickly stepped forward. There was a soft, sucking sound, and the young mage vanished, the silvery whirlpool drawing her in.
"Mythal, protect her!" screamed Danith. She drew her knife and slashed at her palm, running at the mirror.
"Ero din an ti Arla! Ero din an ti Arla! Ero din—"
In a flash, she was through the eluvian and the surface rippled with her passing.
Grizzled Maynriel uttered some words in elvish that were incomprehensible to those who were not Dalish, and quite shocking to those who were. He, too, sliced a shallow cut into his palm, and stalked toward the mirror, shaking his head at the recklessness of youth.
"Ero din an ti Arla!" He practically snarled the words, and strode fearlessly through the swirling depths. After a moment, the mirror stilled and grew hard once more, reflecting the stunned faces in the room.
The three adventurers were gone for some time. When they returned, they told their friends that the world had changed.
"But what did you see?" Tara shouted. She was not the only one yelling.
After a panic-stricken wait, she had been ready to follow Merrill, Danith, and Maynril into the eluvian, when they suddenly reappeared from it, their eyes filled with remembered wonders.
Merrill was too dreamy to reply coherently; Maynriel too overwhelmed. It was Danith who answered.
"Not all the elves of ancient Arlathan perished or were enslaved. There were those who escaped. They have been waiting for news from us for a long, long time. They are waiting to welcome us… home."
Jader offered some new diversions to Loghain. Having no particular respect for it as he would for an ancient Fereldan settlement, he felt free to reimagine and reconstruct it any way he liked. The palace and the chantry certainly needed no other adornment. His attention was currently centered around the gate houses, the barracks, and the dockyards.
All of them were well-built and convenient. The gate houses were given into the charge of reliable Fereldan officers, who set up guard rotas composed of reliable Fereldan soldiers. The barracks were filled with the Fereldan army, with the new Jaderian contingents interspersed in such a way as to make it difficult for them to unite and hold any part of the building effectively if they decided to turn traitor. Loghain toured the barracks and admired them at length. The facilities gave him all sorts of ideas for improvements at West Hill and even at Fort Drakon.
It was at the dockyards that he had the greatest impact. Construction on the additions was complete there. In addition, the shipbuilders had finished work on one splendid new warship, and another was nearly ready. The captains whose ships they were to be were Kirkwallers by birth, and not displeased that Jader had a king and queen who would pay them, since Empress Celene seemed unlikely to meet her financial obligations, either now or in the future. The new ship's name was changed to the Dragonslayer, and it was launched with considerable fanfare. As a bow to their dwarven allies, the second ship would be named the Paragon.
His engineers were working on the harbor defenses now. An improved wall was under construction, with a number of catapults, ballistae, and trebuchets being installed in the forts on either side of the harbor to prevent any enemy vessel — or even fleet— from sailing into Jader Bay. In addition, a boom was being forged. The existence of the Horn made that a tricky piece of engineering, but the dwarves insisted it could be done.
Looking out to sea, relishing the thought of repelling all enemies, he did not hear people approaching until they were quite close. He turned to see a group of dwarves inspecting the wharves.
"King Loghain!" shouted Astrid, giving him a wave.
"Paragon!"
Brosca was there, and some of the other dwarves he knew, as well as a few he did not. He was feeling quite friendly toward Astrid at the moment, and not just because of the Airbow. She was doing good work recruiting among the dwarves, and they would have another band of sound engineers traveling to the west.
Brosca had one with her now, and was actually holding his hand. The lad was a mild-looking fellow, very abashed by the high-toned company he was keeping.
"Loghain!" Brosca shouted, bouncing down the stone steps, dragging her not-unwilling captive along. "This is Torvald! He was really nice to me when I was first here spying. He even bought me a drink and a skewer of Jader sausages!"
The dwarf turned a dull red, and bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."
"Well met, Torvald." Loghain said, too amused to laugh at the poor fellow outright. "A friend of Warden Brosca needs no other recommendation to me."
One of the older dwarves —probably a relative— brightened at the words. Loghain prepared to be petitioned for yet another contract.
The journey from the Circle to Jader lasted only three days. It was just enough to be a splendid adventure, and not so much as to render everyone utterly exhausted. First Enchanter Irving was rather enjoying himself. When he grew bored with the scenery, he arranged himself comfortably on the bedrolls in the lead wagon, and read the books he had brought along. The current one was a delightfully spicy romance in a serious-looking blue leather binding. Since no one else in the wagon could read Antivan, Irving enjoyed the benefits of knowing all the written languages of Thedas, as well as his reputation as a serious scholar. No one had the least idea what Count Fornicatio was doing to his sister-in-law and her mother. He sighed, a bit nostalgic. Dear Wynne had always liked a hot-blooded novel.
"I can't believe that Loghain had the gall to seize the Aeonar!"
Irving sighed, and set down his book. Knight-Commander Greagoir's leather lungs had repeated those words, over and over again, for most of the day, ever since they had come across the small company of Templars who had sworn to fight the Blight for the duration. Irving was thoroughly tired of hearing them.
"Well, he did. It's fairly clear that the staff there had gone rogue."
"Yes, yes, that's what young Desmond said, but it should have been turned over to us to investigate first..."
Irving said nothing more, but returned to his trashy Antivan novel. Ser Desmond, once outer guard of the Aeonar, had had plenty to say about the atrocities he had been shown once the prison was liberated.
"I joined the Templars to make the world a better and safer place, not to torture innocent people..."
Irving smiled tightly, suspecting that "innocent people" did not include mages of any race, age, or gender. At any rate, what Loghain found at the Aeonar had got him exercised enough that he had closed the place down altogether. He had shipped the priests off to Denerim with a fiery letter, and sent the most offensive of the Templars to Orlais. The timeline was not clear to Irving. Had Loghain known about the darkspawn at that time? Probably. The old mage smiled quietly, enjoying the image. He hoped the Templars were set ashore as close to Val Royeaux as possible. Greagoir was still fuming about jurisdiction, but he would simply have to get over it.
The world has changed, he mused, whether Greagoir likes it or not.
They headed quite the formidable little company: ten Templars and thirty-six mages. Some of the mages were quite young: only just past their Harrowing. Greagoir had let Healer apprentices go last time, but had since thought again about it, and had insisted that all mages be Harrowed. No one had gone bonkers and turned into an abomination yet, even when faced with slit-trench latrines.
After sleep, breakfast, and time to reflect on what Danith had told them of the place to which they had traveled by means of the eluvian, the elves had some decisions to make.
Other groups went through the eluvian briefly, and then came back: first Tara, Adaia, Lanaya, and Darach, and then the others. In threes or fours, all the elves saw the place beyond the portal for themselves. It was not the Fade. It was a real place, and astonishing. They had brief, awkward, but excitingly heartfelt conversations with those they met there. The language had diverged a great deal and required patience. Each who returned was rather silent afterwards, feeling humbled and ignorant, but brimful of hope and possibility.
Lanaya said, "Not all elves will wish to leave Thedas. Not all Dalish would exchange a life in the forest for this brave new world. Or not right away, or soon. It will take time, but it would be a great deed."
Nuala whispered. "They have preserved so much of the ancient wisdom, and gone far beyond it, too. I fear our distant cousins think us savages."
Adaia shook her head, "I don't care. It's beautiful! I'd go live there right now, if it weren't for the Blight and the Tevinters. Once we've defeated the Archdemon, I think we should rescue as many of our stolen people as we can. We've got loot. We can hire a ship with a trustworthy captain and steal them back from the bastards. We'll free all the slaves we can. Then we'll take them to the eluvian and they can start going through. No one will ever make slaves of us again. The elves have learned their lesson."
Velanna paced restlessly, and burst out in shrill denial. "Let the Blight take the shemlen! The darkspawn were none of our doing! Let them be consumed by the monsters their pride unleashed. Our people will be safe, at least."
Danith was already irritated by her attitude. She saw Ailill rubbing his head and wondered how he had endured her so long. "Like it or not," she said coldly. "We swore oaths as Wardens. I shall keep mine. If you need a more selfish reason, remember that many elves are in danger from the darkspawn. In order to get them to our new home, we must make the way to it safe. This, I shall do."
She did not particularly like Bronwyn, and Bronwyn would never like her. That did not matter. Her personal honor did: that, and the practical need to make travel as safe as possible.
"Of course we must fight the Blight," Lanaya agreed. "It would be a sad and cowardly thing to leave the land of our ancestors to the darkness. However, I see nothing wrong with the old and frail being made safe, and the little ones, too. We who can fight, will fight, honoring our ancient treaty."
Velanna made a face, but did not contradict her.
Tara had been thinking along the same lines, but saw some of the difficulties. "We'll need to get the eluvian safely to the homeland. We'll need a team of reliable people to start setting things up. I can't, obviously. I have a duty to the Wardens, just as many of us do. We'll help fight this Blight, we'll rescue those of our people we can, and then we're out of here." She glanced at Zevran, who was smiling, picturing a world without Crows.
"There is also the possibility..." Danith said, more soberly. "... there is the possibility that the war against the darkspawn might go badly. If so, it would be a way for at least some of our people to escape."
The three Wardens Riordan had sent back east made their way to Jader reluctantly, but with obedient speed. The situation in Lydes had deteriorated in the past few days; the city had rapidly destabilized with the mob of starving refugees inside and outside. The Wardens themselves had been forced to be very persuasive indeed in order to pass through the gates. The elves of Lydes were antagonistic and rebellious; the dwarves were already packing up to go.
It was the latter who first approached the three Grey Wardens. The elderly dwarf in the lead was richly dressed; obviously a community leader. Behind him were a half-dozen younger dwarves. They hailed the Grey Wardens in the main street of Lydes, as they made their way to the East Gate.
"You lot came through only a few days ago," the elderly dwarf asked, his face pasty with fear. "Did you meet the horde? Are the rest of the Wardens dead?"
"No!" Fabrice nearly shouted. "No. We haven't seen the darkspawn yet. Our Senior Warden wants us to contact the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and tell them the situation. We're on our way to the border."
"We just stopped in Lydes to restock our rations," the archer Minjonet told the dwarves, looking down at them from the superior height of her horse. "Not that's there much to be had here."
"Too true," agreed the dwarf.
He and the other dwarves engaged in a whispered debate. Apparently, more wreckage had washed ashore, and there was speculation that the Archdemon was flying out into the Waking Sea and sinking ships that came too close to Val Royeaux. The old dwarf nodded, "Jader it is, then. After that, we'll see."
They were not the only refugees heading east. All along the Imperial Highway the Wardens passed dispirited, wretched people carrying their worldly goods on their backs, in handcarts, on donkeys. The richer among them had wagons and oxen. Some had guards. Smoke rose along the road, and now and then the stripped bodies and the burned-out skeletons of wagons indicated that guards were definitely a good idea. The refugees had attracted a larger than usual number of bandits, out to make all the coin they could from the misfortunes of others.
The blue and silver Warden armor marked the three companions as hard targets. Bandits did not trouble them, since there was richer, weaker prey. The Wardens were careful, nonetheless, and kept a strict watch at night when camping in the countryside. Everywhere, people approached their camp, begging for food, begging for help.
"—Please, messieurs, the bandits took everything…"
"—They took my daughter. I beg you, messieurs, she is only thirteen…"
"—My mother is sick. We cannot move her without the wagon… We cannot leave her alone to die…"
Minjonet muttered, "Aren't we going to help them? Any of them?"
Clovis always replied, "We have our orders. Wardens' business comes first. Close your eyes and harden your heart to foolish sentiment."
One night a band of desperate men tried to steal the horses, and paid dearly for it. The Wardens left the bodies where they lay and rode on swiftly, not wanting to hear the cries of anguish from the dead men's women and children.
The first wave of refugees had reached Halamshiral before them: the most easily alarmed, the most prudent, the best prepared. The Wardens took the time to report to the Vicomte and tell him about the bandit infestation on the Imperial Highway. Then they galloped away, ahead of the tide of misery. When they reached Solidor on the eleventh, they discovered that their world had changed.
There was no point in going through Gherlen's Pass. The Queen of Ferelden and Acting-Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens was in Jader, which she had claimed for her kingdom.
"Can she do that?" Fabrice wondered out loud.
"Apparently she has," Minjonet replied with a shrug. She had been quiet since the night they had killed the refugees: quiet and dissatisfied. As one of the few female Wardens in Jader, she had taken it into her head that Riordan had sent her back because she was a woman. Clovis thought it might be true. Minjonet was very pretty; very delicate-looking. Her father had been an elf, and she had ended up on her own when her parents died and neither of her parents' families could tolerate such a being in either of their fine homes. Luckily, she had proved to be a brilliant archer quite young, and so had an alternative to the brothels of Jader. She had knocked at the door of the Warden Compound one day, demanding to Join. Riordan had turned her away seven times before he decided it was Fate.
"So..." Clovis said. "It's back to Jader. It will be strange, seeing the Fereldans in our Compound."
They were even more surprised to discover that the Wardens were not there at all, but at the Palace.
Bronwyn was out by the archery butts, playing with her new Airbow, when the deputation arrived. Loghain, practicing obsessively, had determined that the weapons had a range only little over half that of a long bow, but were accurate almost to that limit. Or he was that accurate. Loghain had the eye of a man who trained all his youth as an archer, and it translated well to the Airbow. Bronwyn was not quite so brilliant, but she could hit a target more often than not, at a better range than she could manage with a shortbow. These were good weapons. A smith had shown them the clever bullet mold that could turn out heaps of lead bullets within an hour. Lead was plentiful and cheap, and it took no skill to mold a bullet, unlike the painstaking art of fletching arrows.
"Your Majesty!" called a guard. "Some Orlesian Grey Wardens are here, wanting to talk to you!"
"Take them to the Wardens' dayroom," she ordered. "I'll meet them there." She shrugged, and said to Loghain, "I'd better see them right away."
Loghain snorted his opinion of that, and loaded his Airbow for another round of target shooting.
With her guards on either hand, she strode quickly through the courtyard and up through the shining corridors. The guard beside her threw open the door. Amidst a group of her Wardens were three unknown faces.
"Stay here," she ordered the guards in a low voice, "and don't let anybody else in."
She was dressed for practice, in a white linen shirt under leather jerkin and breeches, but the newcomers seemed to guess who she was readily enough. Perhaps they had heard about her eyes.
"Warden-Commander," said one of them, the big, stocky fellow. "We come from Senior Warden Riordan." His companions looked at him uneasily, not sure what to do. The young woman then sketched a bow, and muttered, "Your Majesty," under her breath. Bronwyn decided that she was the smart one.
"Welcome," she said briskly, and then gestured at the benches. "Take a seat. I am very interested in your news. Might I know your names?"
The big one shuffled. "Clovis, Commander. And these are Fabrice and Minjonet."
"Have you seen the horde?"
"No, Commander. Riordan sent us back to tell you what we have discovered so far."
With that, he launched into his report: the Archdemon's attack on the army, the panic in the cities, the deteriorating situation on the roads, the defiance of the Sieur de Flambard.
Bronwyn scoffed at that bit of information. "Doesn't like Wardens, does he? I daresay he'll like darkspawn even less. What word from the Wardens of Montsimmard?"
"We have not seen them, Commander. Based on the information from de Flambard and deserters from the army, we know they came upon the camp after the attack by the Archdemon. They rallied a portion of the surviving troops. Then they headed north toward Val Royeaux. We have seen evil things in the Fade, but we know little. It was Riordan's intention to scout the site of the last camp, and then either go north to Val Royeaux, or northwest to Val Foret."
Bronwyn put a map before him and the Jader Wardens used it to trace their route: the places where they had had the most trouble, and the place where they believed the site of the Archdemon's attack on the army to be.
"Very well." Bronwyn considered their report. The refugees were definitely going to be a problem. Plans must be made to accommodate them, or they would have a starving mob in Jader before another few days had passed. She asked, "Did Riordan have any other messages for me?"
Clovis flushed, embarrassed. Fabrice elbowed him, not wanting to speak himself, not wanting to beg. Minjonet rolled her eyes, exasperated, and then glared at Clovis. Knowing there was no way out of this, the swordsman thought best to lay the matter out plainly.
"Our Senior Warden said that you were to come to our aid. He said that the time for petty quarrels is over, and reminds you of your duty as a Warden."
There was a outburst from Bronwyn's people, who were mightily offended. The outcry rose, louder and louder, alarming the guards outside the closed door. Bronwyn got to her feet, blazing with indignation. She snarled, "He does, does he?"
Minjonet hissed at Clovis, "He did not put it that way, you fool!" She turned to Bronwyn. "I believe that he thinks that things have gone badly for the Wardens of Montsimmard and he is sure that the Wardens of Val Royeaux are dead. Riordan said that you should recruit as many Wardens as you could and then to come. He asked that you show more mercy than your have been shown, and..." The girl wiped her eyes angrily. "...And so do I. I beg you to help us! So many are suffering. These great lumps here do not seem to care when people beg us to protect them, and we ride away and leave them, but I cannot bear it! The Grey Wardens exist to protect all Thedas!" She crumpled to her knees and her voice broke. "I beg you to come to our aid. Forgive us for our stupid pride and our refusal to help you! Come west with us and fight!"
Looking at each other sheepishly, Clovis and Fabrice knelt beside her, heads lowered.
"Get up," Bronwyn said hoarsely. "Get up. Sit." She pointed at the bench, glaring at them until they sat down like recalcitrant schoolchildren. She walked over to the window, and stood there, looking out but seeing nothing, trying to pull herself together. Alistair came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Fools," Morrigan sneered.
Leliana was even angrier. "You think she is as bad as you! As bad as the rest of the Wardens, who obeyed the orders that we were to be left to die!"
"Stop!" Bronwyn said. She turned, and put up a hand for silence. "It's not their fault."
She looked at the Orlesians for a long moment, and then spoke.
"I'm well aware of the contempt in which Orlais has always held Ferelden. I know that we Fereldans are regarded as savages; as unfit to live indoors; as skin-clad barbarians who require the guidance and punishment of their betters. At best, mindless peasants fit only to be exploited. Since the beginning of the Blight, I have been constantly under attack. My family was murdered… a massacre instigated by a malicious Orlesian bard."
Leliana bit her lip and looked away.
"But that," said Bronwyn, "was clearly insufficient to slake the spite of the rulers of Orlais. Attempts have been made on my life, on the life of my husband the King, on my brother, on my friends. Only last month, my dear cousin the Arl of South Reach was viciously murdered in the presence of his wife and children by an Orlesian-trained catspaw. Attack after attack has been lauched at us, and all the while the darkspawn clawed at our lands. Orlais could hardly have done us more harm, had they openly declared an alliance with the darkspawn."
Clovis gasped with protest, but Fabrice nudged him again, this time for silence. They must let the Queen have her say.
"We fought alone against them," said Bronwyn, "for I was informed by the Warden-Commanders of Nevarra and Antiva that the First Warden had forbidden anyone to come to our assistance. Why? Because, they said, somewhere 'more important' was undoubtedly the real target. Now, no doubt, the First Warden will admire his foresight. However, if we had really hit the darkspawn early, hit them hard with all the power of the Wardens, they might not have had the wherewithal to attack Val Royeaux. We'll never know, of course.
"I have my own theories. My sources warned me that the First Warden was surrounded by Orlesians who would gloat at the destruction of Ferelden. Furthermore, it might well suit the First Warden's purposes for such an 'unimportant' nation to be destroyed, as a warning to the rest of the Thedas to pay their tithes promptly."
"Understand me well," she said, her green eyes fixed on the three Wardens. "I don't give this—" she snapped her fingers "—for the First Warden. I owe him nothing: not respect, not support, and certainly not obedience. He knew that Alistair and I were raw recruits, who knew nothing of the essential elements of Warden lore."
Clovis and Fabrice glanced at each on in shock and alarm. Minjonet's complete attention was on Bronwyn. Bronwyn herself paced restlessly, and went on:
"The First Warden threw us away like a market woman throws away spoiled turnips. Not a word of advice, not a copper coin did he vouchsafe us. My only instructions from him were to report like a good child to Montsimmard, leaving my people to be slaughtered and Tainted. I ignored him then, and I intend to go on ignoring him. We did all right, at that. While my 'brother and sister' Wardens have scorned their own obligations and played politics, the Dalish, the dwarves, and the mages of the Fereldan Circle have honored the ancient treaties."
"Ready to march, Boss!" cheered Brosca, raising a tankard. She, Sigrun, and Oghren clanked a loud toast together. Bronwyn gave them a nod, smiling.
"I'm calm again. There's no need to beg for mercy. I've been admonished to be merciful by quite a few... people, over the past few months. In fact, what angered me was your assumption that I would be as petty and malicious as nearly everyone else has been to me. It never occurred to me for a moment... not a moment... not to continue the campaign against the Blight. I know that it would be madness to allow the darkspawn to breed undisturbed. And there's another reason."
She stopped pacing, and looked at them rather sadly.
"The only outside help we have received since the beginning of the Blight was from your own Senior Warden Riordan, and his second, Senior Mage Warden Fiona."
At their manifest astonishment, she smiled grimly.
"Yes. Defying orders and danger, and true to their oath as Grey Wardens, they sought us out in secret. They told us what we needed to know in order to prosecute the war. They helped us Join new recruits. They are the only people in this whole sorry situation to whom I feel I owe anything. They are the real Grey Wardens: the First Warden and his lackeys are mere hacks. So yes, I'll do everything Riordan asks. I'll recruit, I'll march, I'll find him and I'll fight beside him."
Thanks to my reviewers: Josie Lange, Tirion I, Nightbrainzz, imperial queen, Nemrut, NPC200, MsBarrows, Rexiselic, AD Lewis, Kyren, Chiara Crawford, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, KnightOfHolyLight, Ie-maru, Garm88, BandGeekNinja, RB23G, Isala Uthenera, sizuka2, KrystylSky, jnybot, Mike3207, darksky01, Robbie the Phoenix, Adventfather, JackOfBladesX, Ravus, amanda weber, Phygmalion, Zairazruari, mille libri, Mage, Jenna53, dragonmactir, wassersaeufer, Blinded in a bolthole, Guest, Stygian Styx, Lyssa Terald, Psyche Sinclair, Tsu Doh Nimh, and Costin.
Yay! Four thousand reviews!
Yes, the Airbow somewhat resembles Varric's Bianca, which is a repeating spring-bow. I really don't see what the dwarves wouldn't have previously developed such a weapon. Where would they get the materials for their regular bows? Bone is really not a good substance for long bows or short bows. Crossbows, yes. Dwarves have next to no access to wood. It is a very expensive imported item. However, they have lots of metal and have built many devices that no doubt required machining. I'm sure they can make good gears, pistons, and springs. A spring bow or an air gun, either pumped or with an air cartridge, seem well within their capabilities. I am trying to avoid using the term "firing the weapon" in reference to it, since it does not involve a chemical component like gunpowder.
The inscription on the eluvian is taken from the elven song "Suledin," which is played during the dungeon escape portion of the Leliana's Song DLC. Another reason that I suspect Leliana's mother was an elf. I can't help it, but the developers must have read my mind. I was about to compose something similar, and then discovered it already existed.
Elves among you know that "Arla" means "home," and that "an" means "place, and that "din" is a negative. Ten DA points to those who decipher the elvish incantation.
As to why Morrigan could use the eluvian under Drake's Fall in the Witch Hunt DLC: we know that she lived among the Dalish for a time before stealing the book about the eluvian. She read about the ritual and it would be easy for her to gather a small amount of elven blood, which she used to open the gate. She used the first incantation shown above, which was the one appropriate to that particular eluvian. Where it took her, I cannot say, but she had reason to believe that Flemeth could not follow her there.