Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 117: "Like Gods, We Live Forever."
The Wardens of Antiva reached Jader on the twentieth of Drakonis. The Marcher Wardens from Ansburg arrived there four days later. The Rivainni Wardens had decided to go to Cumberland, and arrived there later still.
Warden-Commander Enzo Visconti of Antiva found Jader under Fereldan control, but could not complain of the Warden facilities in the city. The Compound had been left under the command of Warden Catriona, whom he found pleasant and business-like, and very pleased that Wardens had come to help.
Visconti was in his last years as a Warden, and expected his Calling at any time. He had resented the First Wardens sanctions against helping Ferelden very much indeed, and as soon as they were lifted, had hurried to take part in the only Blight he would ever see. However unconventional Warden-Commander Bronwyn Cousland was, she had performed some very impressive diplomacy in uniting the races and nations against the Blight. According to the couriers, she and her army were somewhere on the Imperial Highway, heading ultimately toward the site of an Orlesian disaster on the River Orne. She should be easy enough to follow, if he got his people in order and hurried to support her. Though Antiva was famed for its horses, Visconti had brought none. Horses did not travel well by sea, especially on such a long voyage. Nor did horses deal well with darkspawn. Better to force-march the Wardens. A day of rest to get their land legs back, and they would go at all speed to join this Warden Queen.
Thus, the Antivans were already in Halamshiral by the time the Marchers were ready to leave Jader. The cities and villages along the Imperial Highway were bemused by the additional Wardens. It did quite a bit to keep them honest.
Riordan, his hopes very much raised by the knowledge that an army was not a day away and ready to stand with him against the Blight, began making new plans as soon as he awakened early the next morning. As people met for their breakfast, he outlined his ideas.
"My friends," he said to the Fereldan contingent, "perhaps you would care to go with me today on a patrol. We shall first check on the people at Chateau Corbelin and its village, and see if de Guesclin made it through safely to his home."
"I'd like that," said Carver. "Maybe we could talk them into evacuating here. This seems a lot safer than an isolated castle."
"Or at least the women and children could come," said Jowan.
"That is my hope," Riordan agreed. "They are exposed where they are, and who knows if the horde might not come marching south? For that matter, I have little idea where the horde is. I now know they are not in Vercheil, thanks to you. I assume that quite a few remain in Val Royeaux. Other than that, I am nearly blind."
Jowan bit his lip. He wished he could shape-shift into a bird. Morrigan had bullied him into wyvern shape for the battle, and he felt he could manage that shape reliably on his own now, but the essential art of shape-shifting was difficult for him, and he did not think he could attain a shape on his own. A bird was more helpful than anything else. Maybe he could find someway to persuade Morrigan to coach him into a hawk shape like hers. Then he could be a useful scout, too.
"We could have a look at Beau Rivage and Plaquemine while we're out," suggested a Warden.
"So we shall." Riordan explained to the Fereldans, "There are two other villages in the general area. They were supposed to be evacuated, and I know some of the people are here in Montsimmard, but they might still be inhabited by stragglers, looters, or even darkspawn scouts."
Fenris thought that was a sensible idea. "We saw people ourselves who evacuated late due to illness. Who knows if the old and sick are still hiding in their houses, unable to escape?"
A troubling notion, and the men ate in silence for awhile. The doors opened and the Prince arrived with his people to join them.
"You are going out today, Riordan?" Florestan asked, rather cheerfully.
"I am, Highness. A patrol out to Corbelin and the surrounding villages. I want to scout the area before I go to meet with our allies. I would like to find the army today, but if the patrol takes time, it will have to be tomorrow."
"A splendid idea! It would be good to know that Madame de Guesclin is safe. What would you say, Riordan, if I were to go with you?"
His adviser Corot appeared about to have a seizure. His bodyguard was resigned. Riordan tried to be tactful.
"Your Highness, perhaps it would be best if we first made certain the area was clear of darkpsawn—"
Carver impulsively blurted out, "Don't go! I was at King's Mountain!" He blushed red, as all eyes turned to him. "Sorry, Your Highness, but I was at King's Mountain. What happened to King Cailan was horrible. It broke everybody's heart. Darkspawn don't care who they hurt."
Riordan said smoothly, "I would not have put it so baldly, Your Highness, but my young brother is right."
Florestan wanted to know more. "I know that darkspawn are no respecters of persons. I understand what a terrible, shocking event the fate of King Cailan must have been. You were at the battle yourself?"
"I was, Your Highness, and not far from the King. Then the ogre charged, faster than you could imagine. It snatched up the King in a huge fist and gloated over him, drooling. You can't imagine what it was like. My brother charged in and killed the creature. We fought off the darkspawn, and we thought it was going to be all right, but later that night we learned that the King had contracted the Blight sickness, and then he died, after horrible suffering."
"Ah! I am sorry," said Florestan. "From all reports, your King Cailan was a brave and gallant young man. His death was much mourned at the Empress' Court." Which was perfectly true. Celene had regretted Cailan's death very much, though Florestan did not know all the reasons why. He added, still curious. "And so it was your brother who was the brave knight who challenged the monster? A noble deed!"
Carver was tongue-tied, exasperated at Adam's heroics coming once again to loom over him like a great stone golem. It was completely his own fault this time. He managed a choking, "Thank you, Your Highness."
Jowan tried to help. "Carver's brother is Adam Hawke, the Bann of the city of Amaranthine, Your Highness."
"I see!" Florestan thought he did, and felt even more comfortable and at his ease in this company. "A noble deed by one of noble family!" He was even more disposed to like the young Warden who led the Fereldans, and smiled. "I bow to your judgement, Riordan. I would not wish to make additional trouble for you. By all means, scout the area and see to the de Guesclins. However, if you find the danger minimal, I must really insist on traveling with you when you go to meet the formidable Red Queen!"
He chatted some more, and was quite pleasant with the guests, even going so far as to take notice of the dogs.
"Ah! The famed Fereldan mabaris! What splendid animals!"
Fenris hid his amusement, for this was the surest way to Carver and Jowan's good graces. For that matter, Nevin saw nothing odd about it. Instantly, the dogs were the topic of discussion and were properly presented to the prince.
"Your Highness, this is Lily, and this fellow is Magister—"
"Magister?"
"The dogs were prisoners of some Tevinter blood mages, but we rescued them and gave them good homes."
"So I see! You have had your share of adventures, my friends."
More pleased with the result of Carver's outburst than not, Riordan gathered some ten Wardens of his own, and with the Fereldans and their friend Fenris they soon rode out of Montsimmard. After some distance they turned north to Chateau Corbelin and its nearby village, also named Corbelin.
Riordan was not so pleased that the prince wished to travel with them when they went to meet with the leaders of the army, but he saw no way to refuse. He himself was very eager to meet with Bronwyn, offer Montsimmard as a base, and get a feel for her plans.
So far, they sensed no darkspawn, nor did they see signs of Taint. The dogs were useful creatures, and Riordan saw the sense in using them in such a manner. Perhaps that was something that could be considered here in Orlais someday.
They had been lucky, which was good and bad. Montsimmard had not been made the Archdemon's target. If they were lucky, it meant that somewhere, others were not so lucky. He was still smarting over his failure to get through to Val Foret. He had sent Fiona with a patrol south on the Imperial Highway, to go all the way around Lake Celestine, warn the people in Val Firmin, and approach Val Foret from the south. So far, he had heard nothing from her.
Something occurred to him, and he called Carver over. As they rode side by side, Riordan lowered his voice. "Was the Joining tried on King Cailan?"
Carver made a face. "Yes. Alistair told me about it. It killed him. He was going to die anyway, so Bronwyn was desperate. They tried it, but it just didn't work, and then they cleared up all the evidence of it. And then, this poor old mage got blamed for everything, and some Templars tracked her down and killed her. It was all just awful. King Loghain told him not to fight, but he wouldn't listen."
"Ah. I am sorry. It would have been interesting, had it succeeded. Then we would have had a Warden King instead of a Warden Queen."
"I think we're better off with a Warden Queen," said Carver. "She's a real hero. King Cailan just thought he was."
Jowan gathered his courage and remarked, "I notice, Senior Warden, that you don't seem to have many mages under your command. Is that usual?"
Riordan sighed, thinking back over old quarrels. "It's true. The Chantry has been difficult for many years about recruitment. Here, in the heart of the Chantry's power, we have had to be careful. My senior mage is on a mission elsewhere, and my other mages were killed during our advance west of the Orne. Many mages from the Montsimmard Circle left with those Wardens, and we found none of them. They are either dead, or dispersed. The Revered Mother and the local Templars are not inclined to release any more to us."
"Can't you just... conscript them?"
Riordan laughed. "I could, though it is difficult to conscript without the individual's name. I supposed I could simply conscript the entire Circle, but there is no precedent for that!" He grew grim. "Granted, most of those left are too young or too old for the Wardens, but their ages would not save them if the darkspawn attack."
"Maybe a Warden could pay a visit, just to do some research in their library? That way you might meet some likely candidates."
"Not a bad idea. I'll consider it."
Chateau Corbelin showed no sign of the Taint, and after some disbelief, the inhabitants opened its gates, relieved to find that they were not forgotten. De Guesclin was there, smiling and happy, holding the hand of his lady and one of his little girls. Mathilde de Guesclin was no beauty, as her aristocratic heritage had made her rather horse-faced, but she was a pleasant, sensible woman, and was glad to make the Wardens welcome.
"I feel obligated," said De Guesclin, "to return to the army, but I want my wife and children to be safe. Can you wait a few hours while we pack? The women and children of the castle, too? Mathilde says most of the village is gone."
"Pack," Riordan said. "We will check out the village and also do a sweep by Beau Rivage and Plaquemine. When we return, we will go to Montsimmard together." Shrugging, he turned to Carver. "I suppose that we will not be seeing Bronwyn until tomorrow."
Once her new Grey Wardens were awake and fed, it was time for Bronwyn to give them The Talk. Quinn and Maeve took Pepin outside to play, since he was too young to understand this, and would become restless.
Most of the new Wardens took the news of the changes in their lives fairly well. The dreams, the hunger, the every-present duty: these were balanced by the ability to sense darkspawn and the additional strength, speed, and stamina. Bronwyn overheard one Circle mage tell Tara, "Better to be good for something than to be good for nothing."
Bronwyn talked to them at length: assuring them that they would have food, shelter, clothing, and family with the Wardens for the rest of their lives. They would never be cast off. If they were mages, they would be protected by the Wardens from the Chantry. Elves, dwarves, and humans were equally Wardens. No Warden was another's servant. As Wardens, they should address her as Bronwyn, or as Commander. Then too, Wardens were paid according to rank, not according to race. The new recruits were all due good coin from the day before to Summerday, the next pay date.
This all went down well. Less happily received was the news that their fertility might be somewhat affected. A Warden mage, she told them, had somewhat improved the potion, which had kept a higher proportion of them alive than in the past, and might have solved the fertility problem, but that was as yet unknown. She also told them about the Calling, and that the potion might counteract that as well.
"However, it's all experimental. I'd prefer you didn't discuss it with Wardens from other countries, lest we raise false hopes. There is the central matter of being a Warden that I must still reveal to you. This is the greatest secret of the order, and the reason for our existence. Listen well, and then seal your lips. Blabbing Warden secrets calls for the harshest punishment."
Which led her into a digression about her rules for Warden behavior and her prescribed punishments. There was nothing there that sounded excessively harsh or unreasonable to anyone, whether they were soldiers, mages, or unlucky citizens dragged into an unplanned war by the Blight. The mildest punishment was loss of pay— or at least Bronwyn deemed it the mildest punishment. To the people before her, it was a serious matter.
A city elf muttered to his friend, "Nobody wants to miss out on that kind of coin!" This evoked mutters, which were entirely of agreement. Young Warden Boniface tried to look haughty, but to a penniless young nobleman, the amount of pay sounded good, too. His bitch of a grandmother, of course, would want him to send it all to her. He wondered if the Queen would make him obey her. He hoped not.
"All right," said Bronwyn. "Ordinarily this important secret is not revealed to new Wardens until they've served for a year. We want to make sure you settle in and don't run away. We don't want to panic you, for that matter. Still you've all faced darkspawn, and you all survived. You've seen they can be killed. You'll all do your part in the Fifth Blight, and that's something to be very, very proud of. So here it is:
"Only a Warden can kill the Archdemon." She let her words sink in for a moment.
Bustrum looked puzzled, and said, "But Lady... everyone knows that. Only Wardens can end the Blight. This is no secret."
Bronwyn smiled, and did not correct him about his mode of address. That would take time. "The secret is in the why, my friend. For that matter, there are many who doubt the Wardens. There are many, like the Sieur de Flambard, who fancy themselves mighty heroes who do not need Grey Wardens to protect them. They are mistaken. Only Grey Wardens can end a Blight, because only a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon. If anyone else were to attempt it, it could result in disaster for Thedas. Let me explain why. Pass the cider around. I don't know about you, but I find that storytelling is thirsty work!"
There was laughter... mostly quite cheerful. The good food and good drink had won the poor. Those who were used to as good or better were drawn in by the adventure and the chance for personal glory. They listened intently, waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.
"All right," said Bronwyn. "A brief history lesson. In the days of the First Blight, almost all of Thedas— surface Thedas — was ruled by the Tevinter Imperium, which claimed the greatest army the world has ever seen. And yet the First Blight lasted nearly two hundred years. How could the mighty Tevinters not kill a dragon, however big? There are Wardens here who've participated in killing two High Dragons, and numerous lesser dragonkind."
A dwarf duster lifted his cup in salute. "We know you have, Dragonslayer!"
"I never killed one alone," Bronwyn told them. "It's always been a group effort. In the Frostbacks five of us killed a High Dragon. One of us— our dear friend Cullen, a former Templar — died protecting us so we could get in the lethal blows. Still, it was a very big dragon and we killed it. I don't know how big Dumat was, but the Tevinters were unable to kill it, until the Grey Wardens came along. It ravaged all Thedas, and ultimately led to the collapse of the Imperium."
"Well..." Constant, one the Templars, temporized. "It was Our Lady Andraste who defeated the Tevinters."
"Very true," Bronwyn agreed, "but she wisely saw her opportunity in the weakened state of the Imperium in the wake of the First Blight. The world was exhausted, and it would have been far worse without the first Grey Wardens. They drank the Joining potion just as you did, and with it came the power to end the life of the Archdemon. We still know the names of some of the heroes who saved our world: the lovers Corin and Neriah who killed the Archdemon Zazikel in the Second Blight; Caius Corvanni who killed Toth in the Third; the elven hero Garahel whose slaying of Andoral at the battle of Ayesleigh ended the Fourth Blight...
"Wait..." whispered a city elf. "There's an elven hero?"
"Shhhh," Adaia whispered back. "Maybe you can get Bronwyn to tell the story. It's really neat. Yeah, a real elven hero. Garahel."
"However," Bronwyn said seriously, "What can any of you tell me about the later careers of those heroes?"
"They didn't have later careers," said Brosca. "'Cos they were all dead. Killed in the battle."
A questioning silence followed.
Bronwyn gave them a nod. "It's true, but there's more to it than that. I can't explain it all, because we only know a bit about the end of the Second, Third, and Fourth Blights. The Wardens who struck the killing blow perished. About the First Blight, all we know is that all the original Wardens were killed in the final battle. But as to the rest, every Warden who struck the final blow against an Archdemon died. And it has to be a Warden. Others thought they had killed the Archdemon Dumat in the First Blight, but it wouldn't stay dead. Its spirit traveled to the nearest darkspawn, and it rose again. The Old God's shape-shifting ability resulted in a new, healthy, reconstituted Archdemon. That's why the First Blight went on and on."
Everyone was thinking hard. Bronwyn did not torture them with curiosity for long.
"A darkspawn is a soulless creature. A Grey Warden is not. It is thought that if a Grey Warden strikes the final blow, the Archdemon's spirit is drawn to that Grey Warden by their shared Taint. The souls meet and both Warden and Archdemon perish. It's the only way to win. I, for one, accept that challenge and that fate. If I must perish so that the world may live, so be it."
Some look horrified. Some—many more — looked enraptured. Bustrum and Ostap glanced at each other, and then nodded sagely. Bronwyn went on.
"But I can't do it alone. Once I learned how to kill the Archdemon, I understood why the Warden went aloft on griffons and surrounded the Archdemon. It wasn't just to kill the creature, but to prevent the disaster of someone who was not a Warden getting off a lucky shot that would appear to kill the Archdemon, but wouldn't. Imagine if that happened: everyone would be celebrating a dead Old God, while the actual Archdemon, possessing the body of a little genlock perhaps, crept out of sight until it could regather it strength and fall on the unsuspecting world with even greater fury. When we meet the Archdemon, we Wardens have got to get in and get close and do the job ourselves. The mission of the army with us is to engage the darkspawn and give us a chance at the Archdemon. King Loghain knows enough to know that."
"Too bad we don't have griffons," said Boniface. "Now I understand why they were important, and not just for show."
"No, they weren't just for show," Bronwyn agreed. "Their purpose was to give the Grey Wardens an edge when fighting an aerial enemy. We no longer have that edge. In the future, we might be able to train wyverns — or better, dragons—to carry us. That's a long term project and we don't have time for it now. I have no idea why the Grey Wardens haven't done it, but there's no point in recriminations."
"If Carver were here," Aveline said, smiling, "he'd tell you about the time the Commander rode a dragon."
There was quite a bit of interest in this. Bronwyn laughed. "Some other time. It took off flying with me on its back. I do know that there are people who have managed to tame dragons, but as I say, that will be a task when the Blight is over and won."
"And now we have wyverns!" Sigrun declared, still thrilled at the memory.
"We have wyverns," Bronwyn nodded, "or rather mage wyverns. Our mages who could shape-shift gave us a great tactical advantage in the last battle. Wyverns, however, have a very limited flying range. They glide rather than fly. There are other tactics to use against the Archdemon. In our fight against one in the Korcari Wilds, we used ballistae with explosive bolts to damage the creature's wings and bring it down. it was still a very hard fight, but I was able to get on its back and get at its brain through the back of its skull. I've noticed that dragons will usually land to attack an enemy, if they can. As soon as they do, you got to damage them in every possible way."
She then quickly described all the vulnerable points of a dragon, hoping it would sink in.
"Above all you have to destroy its ability to fly. In the Frostbacks, when the dragon was on the ground I was able to nail an explosive bomb to the dragon's wingjoint. It flew off, but came back to flame us again. Tara there hit the bomb with a fireball when it was still high in the air. The bomb blew the wing apart. Yes, that was quite the sight. The fall injured it so badly that we could finish it off."
Astrid spoke up. "That's why we have ballistae teams who can set up them up quickly and carriages for them that let us elevate them to shoot into the air. I want some of you to train with them. I think a ballistae bolt fired by a Warden would settle the Archdemon perfectly well, if it hit in a vital spot."
"I wonder..." said Niall. "You know that's less than a handful of events to judge from. Maybe the Archdemon's soul would be drawn to the Warden closest at the moment of death."
"An interesting idea," Bronwyn granted, "though that's not Warden lore."
Actually she thought that a very interesting idea indeed. Perhaps not all would be lost if some non-Warden caused the Archdemon to die. Nonetheless, a Warden must be close by, lest the Archdemon regenerate.
"You don't think..." Adaia ventured. "You don't think that the Warden's soul is killed as well as the body?"
The dwarves, for the most part, rolled their eyes, Astrid among them. However frail the souls that animated elves and humans, surely the spirit of a dwarf was of stronger stuff, and would not disperse simply because of a collision with a lunatic dragon god. Nor were they the only ones who rejected the idea.
"No!" Leliana objected. "I do not believe that at all. A soul cannot be destroyed." She quoted:
"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."
"Well said," Bronwyn said, inclined to be optimistic about it, remembering her dream in which she had seen her family. "Nothing can destroy our spirits. For all we know, the Old God's spirit isn't killed either. Perhaps it, too, instead of a miserable existence in a Tainted, corrupt container, is freed to move on to spheres we can only imagine. Whether we go to the Maker, the Stone, or the Creators, death in this world is only the beginning. Like gods, we live forever."
A good exit line, but of course there were training arrangements to make, and responsibilities to assign. And there were a handful of people she wished to deal with immediately.
"If Alistair and Astrid have a moment to join me, I'd like to meet with the following new recruits: Laurel, Tygon, Oliane, and Darius."
Two of them were Circle mages, two were refugees who had been Blighted and saved by the Joining. None of them had particularly distinguished themselves in the battle for their courage or skill at arms, but they had other skills that could be put to good use elsewhere. For that matter the mages might improve with further training, which no one had the time to give them here at the forefront of the army, other than Morrigan force-feeding them shape-shifting.
Bronwyn was brief. "I'm sending you four to Jader. Warden Catriona is in charge there, and you're to help her. Petra's there too, and she can give Laurel and Tygon some training in battlemagic."
Tygone was embarrased, but not as embarrassed as Laurel, who turned dark pink.
"I'm sorry. I've never been any good with elemental magic. I did my best."
"You did fine. You got your blood, and you healed some wounded, and you survived the Joining. Nonetheless, I want to keep some Wardens in reserve, and some supplemental training can only make you more effective. Oliane, I understand that you were a nobleman's housekeeper..."
"Assistant housekeeper, Your Majesty," the young elf said shyly.
"Call me Commander. Be that as it may, we have a big compound in Jader. Some of the servants remained, but not all. I would prefer to have Wardens who can be trusted with our secrets in responsible posts. We also have a castle in Ferelden that will require organization, when we can get back to it. I don't want to send you there alone, but eventually we want Soldier's Peak to be our primary home. As to you Darius, I was told that you were an Imperial tax collector."
"I never actually asked people for money, Your— er— Commander," the small, slender man said. "I kept records. I maintained archives. I'm a scholar, not a fighter."
"Good. We need scholars and archivists, too. Soldier's Peak's library is in poor condition, though Warden Leliana did what she could with it. You might talk to her before you leave. I'm sending the four of you with the courier escort to the Port of Lydes, where you'll take ship for Jader. I'll have a letter for Catriona, and some letters for Denerim that Catriona needs to see get sent."
No one seemed about to break down in hysterics, which was a relief. You never knew about people. Bronwyn passed on the order to return to camp, and went to see to her horse. Others lingered. Alistair was impressed at the size the force they now commanded. He thought, all things considered, that morale was good.
Some indeed, seemed quite excited. A group of warriors had collected around Ostap and Bustrum, who appeared to be telling some sort of Avvar legend.
"—just as in the days of old. Animals go blindly to the sacrifice, the gods gave knowledge to men. When the Kings or Queens were dedicated, they knew their fate. In three years, or seven, or nine, whenever the custom was, the term would end and the gods would call them. Or sometimes they would go when there was great sickness or a danger. And they went consenting, or they were no true rulers, and power would not fall to them to lead the people. When the people chose among the Royal Kin, that was the sign; that the true ruler would choose a short life with glory, and to walk with the gods, rather than live long, unknown, like the stall-fed ox."
One of the Orlesians looked tense and rather sad, glancing over at Bronwyn. "Are you saying—"
Bustrum went on. "Later the custom altered. Perhaps they had a King they could not spare, or war or plague had thinned the Kindred. Or perhaps a god showed them a hidden thing. They ceased to offer the King or Queen at a set time. They kept their ruler for the extreme sacrifice, to appease the gods in their great angers, when they had sent no rain, or the cattle died, or in a hard war. And it was no one's place to say, 'It is time to make the offering.' The King was nearest to the gods, because he had consented to his fate."
The ex-Templar Constant grimaced. "Andraste did not volunteer to be burned—"
The other Templar, Ronan, interrupted him. "—but she chose to lead the people against the magisters. She must have always known what might happen to her."
Alistair shook his head, shivering over the implications. He decided not to think about it.
Theology. Ugh.
Then he walked on, and so missed the rest of the conversation.
Loghain heard Captain Travis' report from start to finish, and considered it carefully. A servant brought him some hot cider and a bacon roll, and he had just enough time to swallow both before Prosper de Montfort burst on the scene.
"It's true?" he demanded. "There are Qunari by the River Orne?"
"So it would seem. The scouts only saw a dozen or so, though there may be more. All Qunari warriors, though they had an elf girl with them—some sort of servant or other."
Prosper's expression was quite the study. He stepped closer and dropped his voice for Loghain's ears only. "Qunari do not bring servants to war. If there is an elf with them, she is something very different, and very dangerous." He grew impatient at Loghain's hesitation. "Listen to me, King Loghain. You may know more of war than I, but I know a very great deal about the Qunari. I have made a study of them. I traveled to Par Vollen in my youth. I get regular reports of them. I speak their language. If they are here in the Orlesian heartland, it bodes no good."
"You distrust the Qunari," Loghain said, quite interested in this development. De Montfort spoke Qunari? That was quite the feat. Loghain had heard it was the most difficult language in Thedas, since it was not related to any of the others.
"Qunari are dangerous, and they dream always of coverting Thedas to the Qun. May I speak to this captain of yours? I would like him to describe the elf."
"Very well. Why not?" He told the guard. "Summon Captain Travis."
Travis came immediately, wiping his face, and looking like he longed for his cot and some sleep. Nonetheless, he answered Prosper's questions readily enough.
"Like I told His Majesty, my lord. The Qunari said their ship was wrecked and they rowed to the mouth of the Orne."
"You saw an elf among them, I understand?"
"Yes, my lord— just an elf girl. Young, passably pretty. The whole party looked a bit... beat down, but pretending not to be."
With forced patience, Prosper probed on. "Was the girl performing any camp chores? Cooking, cleaning?"
"No," the captain answered slowly. "Now that you mention it. She wasn't. She was standing by the leader when we rode up."
"Was she armed?"
"Yes. Yes she was. She wore a pair of daggers and she was dressed in green leather and a bit of mail— more like a scout than a camp girl." He frowned, retrieving the memory. "Sort of brown or reddish brown hair. She left the talking to the leader, but he turned and spoke to her. Big fellow, name of Karasten. Big horns on his head. On all the men's heads, too. Wouldn't have guessed they were the same as that Qunari who's in the Queen's retinue."
"Most of that race are horned," Prosper said, dismissing that remark. More interesting were other things in the report. "A Karasten! And you saw only a dozen with him?" He turned to Loghain. "Qunaris do not have proper names, but rather are designated by occupation or rank. A Karasten is a senior officer of the Qunari military. He would have commanded a dreadnought."
"Travis said their camp was well-organized, but not well-supplied." He gave the captain a nod to fill Duke Prosper in.
"It's true, my lord. Based on what I saw, I believe the shipwreck story. They don't have much beyond their weapons, and they're living off the game they killed. And there are some wounded men among them. Some nasty burns, it looked like, though it was hard to tell."
"Did Karasten call the elf girl by name?"
"Yes... Tanis, Taris..."
"Tallis?"
"That's it, my lord. Tallis. She had a nice smile. I remember that. I didn't get close. This sounds ridiculous, I know, but I just had a bad feeling about them."
"You were wise, my friend. They would have killed you, if they'd had the chance. We need to talk at length with those Qunari, but we need to go in force."
Loghain was suspicious of all foreigners by nature and experience, and so he did not despise Prosper for being concerned about the Qunari. It had been clear to him, too, that there was more to the story than the Qunari had told Travis. Fortunately, the captain had had the presence of mind not to tell them all about the allied army. Let the Qunari be surprised by that, and see how they liked it.
"Yes," he said. "I want to meet this Karasten fellow myself."
The captain was dismissed, and Loghain raised a brow. "Tallis? You know this woman? A spy?"
"Worse. Much worse. She is a member of a the Ben-Hassrath, which is in a sense their priesthood and also their institution of political enforcement. They discipline those who have failed in their duty. They are also agents and assassins when necessary. I am puzzled that they would send a woman, for the Qunari separate the duties by gender very strictly. Generally, a female member of the Ben-Hassrath would punish women and children, but certain among them are chosen for their ability to blend in abroad. An elf woman would be a formidable agent. She is highly-placed, or I miss my guess."
"An elf woman is a Qunari?" Loghain asked, puzzled. "How can she be both an elf and a Qunari? She is in their pay, you mean? Like a bard?"
"No, I mean she is a Qunari. Put aside your image of elves as slaves or servants... or even as bards. She is playing no game. She is a highly-placed official of their government. She would scorn the idea of performing her duties for pay. Do not confuse the race of Kossith with the Qunari. The Qun is a philosophy, and open to all races. Most Qunari are indeed Kossith, but not all. If this elf is Ben-Hassrath, then she has embraced the Qun with the zealotry of the convert, and will thus be doubly dangerous. If they sent a Benn-Hassrath to Orlais, they had a specific, vitally important mission in mind. Her name... 'Tallis'... It means something like 'one who solves problems.'"
"A "Fixer?'Well, you obviously know more about them than I," Loghain granted, finding it both ominous and extremely interesting. Also rather amusing. It was pleasant to see an Orlesian worried about invaders in his own land. "Bronwyn has a Qunari among her companions, but I've never heard much more about him than that he's a good fighter. He served well down at Ostagar."
"Is he Qunari, or Tal'Vashoth?"
"I have no idea what you mean."
"Tal'Vashoth have renounced their allegiance to the Qun. What is the fellow's name?"
"Bronwyn and Alistair call him Sten."
Prosper de Montfort blew out a long, long breath. "He is a Qunari officer. I had noticed him, of course. I thought him a Tal'Vashoth mercenary— a renegade who has renounced the authority of the Qun, but it would seem not. Would you mind very much, if this Sten— which means 'lieutenant,' by the way, answered a few questions?"
"We can do that, though perhaps we should wait until Bronwyn is back. He's her man, after all."
Bronwyn was back fairly soon, though not soon enough for Prosper's anxiety. She was eager to hear about the patrols, though rather surprised by the questions about Sten.
"Yes, he's a soldier. He told me that he was sent on a mission by his Arishok to find out the answer to the question "What is the Blight?" I think he found out more than he planned."
"He was sent alone?"
Bronwyn was a little puzzled by Duke Prosper's intensity, but answered readily enough, leaving aside Sten's horrible crime. He was attempting to atone for it, after all.
"No. He had a small force with him, but he told me they were all killed by darkspawn. Sten was badly wounded, and woke up some time later in a cottage. No one seemed to know anything much about his men. He went rather berserk when he found he'd lost his sword somewhere in the Hinterlands, which I understand is a disgrace among his people."
"That is so," Prosper nodded in satisfaction. "A great disgrace. He could never return to them without it. They would execute him. So that is why he stayed with you?"
"Not at all. I found that sword at the Frostback Fair for him. Such a lucky chance. He was frightfully grateful and said I must be an ash... an ashkaari." She laughed. "That means someone who finds out secrets and truths. I think it also means some sort of teacher or philosopher, too. He told us a very amusing story relating to them."
"You found his sword," said Loghain. "So he was free to go. Why didn't he?"
Bronwyn shrugged. "I daresay he'd prefer to be able to report the whole story to his officer. He seems content in our company, though he did not want to be a Grey Warden, so I didn't force the matter." She studied both men in her turn. "Why so many questions about a lone Qunari?"
Loghain glanced over at Prosper, "Because, my dear girl, there seems to be more to it than that. He is no longer a lone Qunari. The Greenway patrol came across a band of them, 'shipwrecked,' they said. Led by a high-ranking officer, and with some sort of government official with them."
"There is that," agreed Prosper, "and more. The Arishok who gave your Sten his orders is not simply an officer. The Arishok commands the Qunari army. With the Arigena and the Ariqun, he is one of the three rulers of the Qunari people. Your Sten received his orders at the highest level. This is no mere idle questioning, but a serious reconnaissance by a foreign power."
"I daresay," Bronwyn said patiently. "Any Qunari could come to our country and find out as much. People are free to travel in Ferelden. Sten will no doubt have all sorts of things to report, but nothing I feel we need fear or be ashamed of. He is a brave soldier, and has shown remarkable personal loyalty to me, above all when I was badly wounded in the Deep Roads. I am not about to start treating Sten as an enemy. I think it's much more interesting to discover what these other high-ranking Qunari are doing here. Have they talked?"
"No," said Loghain. "I thought we might go have a word, and bring that Sten of yours along. Duke Prosper here understands their language, but there's no need to tell them that."
"All right," Bronwyn said. "Just as long was it's done in the proper spirit. I think well of Sten, and I would not want him to have any reason to question my honor."
She spoke very decidedly, and Loghain and Prosper exchanged another look, expressing the uselessness of debating the dangers of such an individual so close to a crowned head. Prosper did not wish to quarrel with the Fereldans on such a matter, but vowed to have his own people watch this Sten very carefully.
As for Loghain, he resolved to deal with the matter in his own way and in his own time, and to be very careful that Bronwyn never knew anything about it.
Sten arrived, was somewhat bemused to hear of the arrival of the Qunari. He grew sober— even for him— at the news that a member of the Benn-Hessrath was of the party.
Bronwyn felt very much in the position of being Sten's advocate. She knew Loghain was suspicious of foreigners, but was surprised at Prosper's attitude. Then she reconsidered. Why shouldn't he be as xenophobic as Loghain, when it came to the arrival of armed foreigners on his home soil? Of course, a party of fifteen was not exactly a credible invasion force.
"Do you know why they might be in Orlais, Sten?" she asked.
The Qunari frowned massively in thought.
"A karasten? A member of the Benn-Hassrath? A mission of great importance, surely. Their rank is far higher than mine, and I would not be privy to their secrets."
"Orlais does not have regular diplomatic dealings with the Qunari," Prosper said, his face hard with suspicion. "Why now? Why come to Orlais when we are under attack? Might they be coming for the same reason as you? To learn more about the Blight?"
"It is… possible," Sten granted. Then, thinking more about it, he added, "Or perhaps they have come for a thing of ours."
"What thing?" Loghain asked, pouncing.
"In the course of the formal cessation of hostilities between the lands of the bas and those of the Qun, certain agreements were made. Not all were kept," said Sten.
Neither Bronwyn nor Loghain missed the slight flaring of Prosper's nostrils at the word 'bas.' They would have to get back to that later.
"You are speaking of the Llomerynn Accords, I presume," said Bronwyn. "What part of them was not kept?"
"Your Chantry had in its possession a Qunari artifact of great cultural value. In the peace talk, it was agreed this artifact was to be returned to us. It has not been, thus far. It could be that if they knew this land was in turmoil, they would attempt to retrieve it, fearing for its safety."
Prosper smiled grimly. "The Tome of Koslun."
Sten inclined his head in assent. "It is so. A priceless book of wisdom, fundamental to the Qun. Your Chantry has had it in its possession for two hundred years.. If the city of Val Royeaux has been occupied by the darkspawn creatures, the Tome could be in danger of destruction. It is the only thing in the whole of Orlais that the Qunari people would value."
"Good of you to tell us about it," Loghain remarked. Bronwyn glared at him.
Sten was unruffled. "It is no secret. We have requested the return of the Tome time and again. Your people have no use for it. It would be logical to return it."
"You know of this Tome, then, my lord," Bronwyn asked Prosper. "Do you know where it is? Was it on display at the Grand Cathedral?"
"I believe it to be in the Grand Cathedral, but not on display. No indeed. It was, to my understanding, locked away in the Cathedral vaults as a work of deepest heresy, but possibly valuable as a bargaining piece. As to why it has not already been returned, I think that was a matter of politics."
Loghain sneered. "Intricate politics, since the Accords were signed nearly a hundred fifty years ago!"
"No one in the Chantry wants the reputation of being complicit with heretics." Prosper spread his hands, and shrugged. "No one wished to go to the trouble of returning it. It would be a matter of some delicacy, since there would be those who would wish to possess it, besides the Qun."
"You speak of the Tevinters, of course," said Bronwyn.
Sten made a noise of disgust. Prosper nodded, smiling grimly.
"The Imperium would certainly like to have it, to study, looking for an edge in their ongoing war against the Qunari, and to strike a demoralizing blow against them."
"We're certainly no friends of Tevinter. Would you object to the Qunari having this book to returned to them?" Loghain asked. "If it is locked in a vault, then it might well have survived the fall of the city."
"Indeed it might." Prosper actually laughed. "If the Qunari can pry it from the darkspawn's clutches, they can have it and welcome!"
Actually, the thought was very amusing, in a grim way. If the Qunari perished fighting the darkspawn, that would suit Prosper de Montfort very well indeed.
"We shall go to them tomorrow," Bronwyn said, "and you, Sten, will come with us. I'm sure you will have much to say to one another."
Sten nodded and went his way. Bronwyn turned to Prosper.
"So?"
"I think he's telling the truth, as far as it goes. If I may venture to do so, do not trust too much in his loyalty. Do you know what the word 'bas' means? When he spoke of the 'lands of the 'bas?'"
"I'm sure you want to tell us," snorted Loghain.
"I do. It means 'thing,' implying 'pointless, useless thing.' That is the charming name the Qunari people use for anything not of the Qun. They truly despise us, you see, and consider nothing not of the Qun to have value. It's important to always bear that in mind when dealing with them."
The Qunari castaways had shown no inclination to come east, or in fact do anything but what they had come to do. If the allies wanted to know the truth of their mission, they would have to go to them and ask.
Ordinarily, the allied command would send the Qunari a summons to come to them, but it would likely be ignored, and either result in a fight or simply in them looking weak. It was better to go themselves with a large scouting party to the Orne Bridge. It was a long day's journey, and they would have to camp nearby, but Bronwyn wanted to see the area for herself anyway. They would be moving the whole army west in a day or so.
Thus, she brought half of the Wardens, along with her loyal auxiliaries. Sten, of course, needed to be there anyway. He was showing no emotion about meeting those of his own kind, but Bronwyn thought he surely must be glad, after so many months among strangers, at the prospect of speaking his own language and seeing his fellow countrymen.
Signs of Blight were everywhere, and very likely spreading, as they did until purified with fire. There were signs of the darkspawn having traveled the road as well: the usual bloody trophies. These, too, were burned. They moved more slowly as they approached the site of the Qunari camp. Travis described it to the Dalish scouts, who moved in, silent and invisible. It was arranged that the Dalish Wardens would make contact first. Sten agreed that this was wise, as Qunari would not be so reflexively hostile at the appearance of elves. He also warned that the mages should be discreet, for many Qunari soldiers would be alarmed at the sight of an unleashed saarebas.
The Qunari camp was a neat but crude affair. They had lookouts, of course, but they were not that hard to spot, or difficult for the Dalish to evade. The Qunari were not so familiar with the plants, animals, and climates of the colder south, and their woodcraft was not quite equal to fading into the alien environment. Contact was then made, when Danith slipped out from cover, Darach and Cathair at her back.
"Good day to you!" She called out, her hands out and in view. "I am the Grey Warden Danith. We heard that you were here, and I have come to see if you need help, and if you would tell me about any darkspawn you have seen."
There was an tense moment, when it hung in the balance whether or not the Qunari leader would order an attack, but the small elf woman at his side whispered in his ear, and the huge warrior relaxed. He nodded at his men, and they lowered their weapons.
"We require no assistance, elf. What we have seen is our own affair."
Danith was not particularly offended by his conduct. Sten was often this abrupt. He did not mean to be rude: it was the way of his people. On the other hand, Danith would not be surprised if this Qunari meant to be rude.
She gave him a slight smile. "I am properly addressed as 'Warden,' Karasten," she said, "for that is my function. Is that not the Qunari way?"
"It is," he answered.
"Very well. You do not have to speak to me, but I advise you to speak to my Commander, who is now arriving, along with King Loghain, Paragon Astrid, Keeper Merrill, and Duke Prosper, the other leaders of the allied army. They are not much interested in shipwrecked Qunari, but they are very interested in tracing the movements of the darkspawn."
"Your war means nothing to us," Karasten declared.
"I don't think that's true at all," Danith said, contradicting him to his face. "I don't think you would be here if it weren't for the Blight. However, our leaders will soon arrive, in command of a substantial force. They are inclined to treat you as guests in this land, which is very much to your advantage. Think on it."
Her eyes briefly met those of the elf woman at the Karasten's side, and then she turned away, and vanished into the trees.
Almost immediately, there was the sound of hoofbeats, and horses entered the clearing where the Qunari were encamped. Karasten knew his men outnumbered, but did not automatically grant them as outclassed. The warriors were humans, dwarves, and elves, after all; not Kossith, which were traditionally chosen as warriors for their superior size and strength.
But with them, on a large warhorse, was a Kossith. A hornless Kossith.
"Tal'Vashoth!" muttered one of the Karasten's men, and spat on the ground.
"I wonder..." murmured Tallis.
Loghain had told his companions not to dismount. They were not here to make friends, but to question potentially hostile interlopers. Prosper could not agree more. His part would be to listen very carefully. Sten was behind them, with a group of Wardens
Thus it was Bronwyn who first addressed the Qunari.
"Greetings to you, Qunari travelers! I am Bronwyn, Queen and Warden-Commander of Ferelden. With me are King Loghain, and Duke Prosper de Montfort, speaking for the new Empress of Orlais. This is Paragon Astrid of Orzammar, also a Grey Warden, and Keeper Merrill of the Dalish. Also with us is Sten of the Beresaad, who has traveled with me for some time, seeking the answer to the question posed to him by the Arishok: 'What is the Blight?'"
"Shanedan, Queen and Commander," said Karasten. "We see our brother has taken no harm, though he has been gone long."
"I have learned much," Sten replied. "I have fought the darkspawn both on the earth and under the earth. The Blight is a danger to all, and must be overcome."
"Knowing this," said Karasten, with dangerous calm, "you remain among the bas, and do not make your report?"
"It seems to me," said Sten, "that you already know how dangerous the darkspawn are. I see wounded men among you."
Loghain asked, "Where and when did you meet the darkspawn?"
Karasten gave him a blank stare. "I need answer no questions of yours."
"Really?" Loghain remarked, an edge in his voice. "Perhaps we'll have to see about that."
The elf, Tallis, spoke into the rising tension. "Why don't we all... calm down?"
Bronwyn smiled, "I am perfectly calm, Tallis. We are all perfectly happy to speak to a member of the Ben-Hassrath."
Tallis made the slightest movement of surprise.
Bronwyn's smile broadened. "I think we can be of considerable assistance to one another. We want to know what you've seen of the the darkspawn. That is a perfectly reasonable question. And I think you're seeking something yourself."
Tallis shrugged. "All right. Let's talk. Just you and me."
Much to the displeasure of her husband and everyone else who cared about her, Bronwyn dismounted and walked apart with Tallis, towering over the slender elf woman.
"I am not an Orlesian," Bronwyn said. "I don't play games. You came in a dreadnought, I believe, and you're looking for the Tome of Koslun."
Tallis' face was a civil blank. "Sten of the Beresaad's been talkative. Interesting."
"Not at all. We deduced it for ourselves. We brought him along in case we had language difficulties, and also because I consider him a friend, and I thought it would give him pleasure to see his own people once more. Perhaps I was wrong."
"He will be judged on his merits. Meanwhile, what are your intentions?"
"I intend to fight the Blight. If your party would like to join with us under our command, you would be welcome."
"Qunari do not submit to the commands of others."
"That is simply not true," Bronwyn said, clinging to the shreds of her patience. Tallis had a snippy manner of speech that irritated her. She looked tired, though, and perhaps her hardships deserved some forbearance. "Sten has been a loyal soldier throughout our adventure. You are... what? A little over a dozen. You wish to find your Tome of Koslun. I have already spoken to Duke Prosper about it. If you can retrieve it, you are perfectly welcome to it. Nobody else cares about it. What I do care about is hearing about any contact you've had with the darkspawn. There have been no storms in the past several days. How did your ship happen to sink? Carelessness? Inefficiency? Did you—"
"The Archdemon sank it," Tallis interrupted her, stung by the implication of incompetence. "At least I think it was the Archdemon."
"Very large dragon... reddish purple in color... looks like it's rotting... white eyes? That Archdemon?"
"Sounds like it. Well. Yes. It was."
"Did it attack you at sea? In the open water? Where did this take place?"
"Er... in the harbor at Val Royeaux." Tallis shrugged. She saw no reason to keep this part of the story a secret.
"You sailed straight into the harbor of a city that had just been destroyed by the darkspawn?" Bronwyn gave her a look. "That was... reckless."
"Not all of it's destroyed. Bits are still standing. Here and there. Besides, we didn't know it had been destroyed by the darkspawn. That was the story you Grey Wardens were spreading. We thought it was worth checking out."
"I don't think I care for the way you phrased that. It is the duty of the Grey Wardens to warn the people of the Blight. 'Spreading a story' suggests that we're spreading lies. The Archdemon, as you apparently noticed, is no lie."
"Fine. Whatever. We've only come to take back what is rightfully ours."
"And no one is challenging your claim. However, we do have to know what is going on in our theater of operations. So the Archdemon attacked you. How did it happen to notice you were in harbor? Did anyone make a landing? Enter the city?"
"I don't see how it benefits us to tell you anything."
Bronwyn took another look at the elf, and reined in her temper. "Then you're not thinking clearly. It benefits you because if you cooperate and do your part, you can walk away with your book. If you get in our way, we will have to consider you allies of the darkspawn, and therefore our enemies."
"Obviously we're not 'allies' of the darkspawn. That's ridiculous."
"Hardly ridiculous when you're hiding valuable information that might help shorten our war."
"Your war. Not ours. I think we're pretty safe on our islands."
Bronwyn understood iher. Oh, yes. She entirely understood that the elf— this Ben-Hassrath— was taking the long view, and saw great advantage to the Qunari people the more damaged and wounded Ferelden and Orlais—all the nations of Thedas— were by the Blight. It was disgusting and opportunistic, but since the Qunari saw no value in any culture other than their own, it made a horrible kind of sense. For that matter, it was not so different from the Orlesians sitting back, happy to see Ferelden ravaged. The unpleasant difference was that the Qunari was right. Very likely they were perfectly safe, with deep ocean beds between them and the continent. Nothing in the Shaperate maps indicated that the dwarves had ever attempted to dig under the ocean proper. If they couldn't do it, neither could the darkspawn.
"Keep your secrets," Bronwyn said finally, with a shrug. "Our army is coming along this road soon. Stay out of our way. You should know that darkspawn spread disease. If any of you fall sick, you can seek Healing among the Wardens. We have the greatest expertise in that." She turned and started walking away.
"That's it?" Tallis asked, surprised. "You really don't care about what I've seen?"
"I don't play games," Bronwyn said, and kept on walking. "If you want to help fight darkspawn, come see me. Otherwise, you can rot here in this swamp for all I care."
She swung onto her horse, and gave Loghain an expressive look.
"Let's go."
"A moment!" growled Karasten. "Go and good riddance, but Sten remains. It is time for him to return to his duty."
Sten clearly had been expecting this. "The Arishok's orders supercede all others."
"The Arishok did not order you to consort with bas," said Karasten. "You can complete your mission among your own people. I speak for the Arishok in this."
"And I speak for the Qun," Tallis said. "Choose your path, Sten. You can be of the Qun... or not."
A pause.
"I am of the Qun."
With a deep breath, Sten dismounted. His hand touched Trampler's withers lightly.
"Panahedan."
"The horse would be useful," grunted a Qunari.
"It is not mine," replied Sten. He turned to Bronwyn. "It seems that our paths part here, Warden."
"Not forever, I hope," said Bronwyn, disappointed and grieved, but trying not to show it. "My thanks for your good company. You and your sword will always be welcome." She caught his eye, willing him to understand how much she meant it.
"Let us go," Prosper sneered. "It is clear that these oxmen know nothing of value."
Bronwyn glared at him in surprise, wondering why he was being so deliberately provocative. The Qunari bristled, and conversed briskly in their own language. Prosper fumbled with his bridle, delaying their departure, and then they rode off.
Loghain, rather amused, turned in his saddle to question Prosper. "What was that little puppetshow about back there?"
Prosper was smirking at Bronwyn. "Did the Ben-Hassrath tell you they had wounded the Archdemon?"
"No!" She would have laughed, had she not been so unhappy about Sten. "All I got was that the Archdemon attacked their ship when they tried to sail into Val Royeaux."
"It appears that as the Archdemon flamed them, the gaatlok magazine — the place where they store their explosive black powder — was set afire and exploded. From what I could gather, the creature flew away screaming." He snorted. "Of course the dreadnought was entirely destroyed, and only a few survived in a lifeboat. Rather a pyrrhic victory."
"So what did the elf tell you?" Loghain asked Bronwyn.
"Not much in words. She did let slip that they were sunk in the harbor of Val Royeaux. She wouldn't tell me if they came ashore, but I believe they must have. That's probably what roused the Archdemon. She made clear that the Qunari High Command feels secure on its islands and has no problem with the rest of Thedas being destabilized by the darkspawn."
Loghain growled. Bronwyn smiled a bit sadly. "What was most interesting was what she did not say and possibly does not know. I think she must have gone into Val Royeaux herself. She's in the early stages of Blight disease. She can become a Warden, or die."
While the rest of the leadership began moving the army up to the Orne, Bronwyn took a party of Wardens across the river. They moved past the Qunari camp, which was well guarded. Bronwyn looked, but could see no sign of Sten.
Nobody was happy about Sten. Alistair was not happy at his choice, and others wondered why Bronwyn had not ordered him to stay with her.
"How could she?" Leliana asked those questioners, exasperated. "She had no authority over Sten. He was a volunteer. He chose to go back to his people— to an officer who did have authority. You mustn't blame Bronwyn, and it is not Sten's fault either!"
Nonetheless, they could not help wondering about him. Even Morrigan, who was more suspicious of Qunari the more she knew about them, was used to having him about. There was some concern that the Qunaris might harm him.
Bronwyn did not think so. It would be madness to waste the abilities and experience of a valuable officer and warrior when they were already so few in number, and the Qunari claimed to abhor waste. That did not mean they would feel obligated to treat Sten well. There was little she could do about it until Tallis came to her as her condition worsened. Instead, Bronwyn focused on their exploration of the land beyond the river, as they approached the site of the Imperial Army's destruction.
There was yet more sign of the Taint. Trees drooped, blackened and dying. The underbrush was dry and crisped, with a nasty greyish-white scale on the leaves. The air was heavy with the smell of death and decay.
Now and then they were attacked by wild animals, Blighted and distorted. It was a madness, and a pitiful and dangerous thing. Most dangerous was a white-eyed she-bear. With a hollow roar, it rushed them, drooling mouth agape. After it was put down, the Dalish tracked it back to its lair where its dead cubs lay rotting.
Further up the road, they met darkspawn, and that is where events turned very unpleasant indeed.
Thanks to my reviewers: Imperial queen, JTheClivaz, Chiara Crawford, Nemrut, sizuka2, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, KnightOfHolyLight, Rexiselic, Melysande, DjinniGenie, Death Knight's Crowbar, JackOfBladesX, Mike3207, Blinded in a bolthole, Costin, Ie-marus, Herebedragons66, Robbie the Phoenix, Fenrir666, Phygmalion, AD Lewis, Ravus, Jenna53, Guile, Kel, darksky01, dragonmactir, and jnybot.
I totally made up Caius Corvanni, the Warden who ended the Third Blight. There is nothing in the DA wiki about who ended that one, so I made some deductions. It was a joint army of Orlesians and Tevinters who fought the final battle at Hunter Fell. If an Orlesian Warden had ended the Blight, the Orlesians would never have shut up about it. Therefore, my guess is that it was a Tevinter Warden. Moreover, since nobody even knows his name in the southern lands, let's guess that it was a mage. So, yeah. My head canon about the end of the Third Blight is that Toth was taken down by a powerful Tevinter mage Warden. Bronwyn only knows about him because she read about him at the Shaperate, which possesses information that the human nations would find annoying for cultural and religious reasons.
A big chunk of Bustrum's story is borrowed from Mary Renault's wonderful historical novel about the hero Theseus, The King Must Die.