20 Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon
The late afternoon sun was warm on her face, in contrast with the chill in the air, as Arais rode up to the Redcliffe stables. The trip back to Redcliffe was monumentally faster than the trip there had been. Even so, it had felt like an eternity, as her thoughts constantly strayed back to Connor, and to the mages who were left to deal with the pain and loss of so many of their fellows. Wynne was more or less in charge, second only to Irving, and she would do her best to keep the templars under control, but would they listen?
The stable boy approached her horse and, once he took the reins from Arais' hand, he helped her down from her mount. Her legs ached from the long ride, but adjusted quickly, and she removed a couple sovereigns from her coin purse and handed them to the young boy.
"Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said with a small bow and a gracious smile, pocketing the coins.
She nodded. "It was no trouble."
With that, he walked off towards the stables with the horse, and disappeared inside.
Arais turned and looked up at the castle, and apprehension bloomed in her belly. What would she find inside? A family in shambles, no doubt. Isolde had been inconsolable when Greagoir sent word that Kinloch Hold was ready to take Connor. Eamon had been less than helpful, the implications of his poisoning finally weighing on their marriage. That Isolde couldn't have known of Loghain's plan to have the arl poisoned seemed not to matter to Eamon; he was cold and resentful toward his wife. Arais kept her distance from him, afraid she might say something rash, and lose what little trust she retained after the debacle with Alistair at the Landsmeet.
She crossed the bridge into the courtyard outside Redcliffe Castle, and the dull thuds of arrows hitting targets and the clang of swords met her ears—soldiers, young and old, training for battles yet to come. Many of them stopped when she passed by, bowing their heads. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the sentiment, but she was embarrassed by the attention. They had all fought beside her to win the Blight, and she hadn't even struck the final blow against the archdemon. She had been knocked unconscious, and Loghain had accomplished what she had been unable to do herself.
An exuberant bark behind her was her only warning before Barkspawn circled his way around to face her, his entire backside wiggling excitedly. Arais caught his paws when he jumped up, and nearly lost her balance, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as he licked her cheek.
"I know, I know, I missed you, too," she said, and scratched his ears.
He let out an appreciative woof, and fell back to all fours. He spun in a circle and ran toward a group of soldiers wearing what looked like extra clothing, then back to her again, wagging his tail expectantly.
"What is it, boy? You want to show me something?"
He jumped from side to side and barked, and she followed him when he loped to the soldiers. One of the men looked up when he noticed her approach.
"Oh! Warden." He bowed, and his fellows followed suit. "We were wondering why the hound had run off. Good to see you back."
"What's going on here?" she asked, curious.
"We've been using your hound here for training. We rarely have the chance to work with dogs anymore, since most of the arl's hounds were killed during the . . . incident a while back. Your hound has been keeping our soldiers' reflexes sharp, and they're better able to avoid an attacking dog—though we took precautions, just in case he gets a good bite in." He patted Barkspawn on the head. "And I think he's benefiting from it, as well." Barkspawn woofed, and his tail still wagged rapidly. "I hope that's all right?"
"He seems to be enjoying himself, so I don't see a problem with it." She knelt down and rubbed the hound's sides. "Just be careful, boy, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."
"He won't come to harm with us, Warden."
"I wouldn't trust him with anyone else." She stood and brushed the dirt from her robes. "All right, boy, I need to go talk to the arlessa. You be good."
He barked his agreement and trotted over to a soldier who wore the extra padding. He crouched into an attack stance, and leapt at the soldier as he had done in battle so many times. The soldier rolled to the side, hindered only slightly by the excess clothing, and set himself on his knees. Barkspawn woofed and twirled excitedly, and ran to lick the man's face.
Arais smiled, not surprised that Barkspawn had taken a shine to the arl's soldiers. They had fought together, after all, when she left him behind at the gates of Denerim.
The guards at the door bowed lower than even the soldiers when she approached, and she recognized them both from the siege on Redcliffe—she was happy to see they had survived. When she entered the castle and the doors shut behind her, the silence was almost deafening, until voices trickled out from the main hall. They were hardly hushed, and the cadence of an Orlesian accent betrayed Isolde's presence and distress.
Arais crossed the threshold to find Isolde in conversation with Eamon and Teagan.
"Oh, thank the Maker," Isolde rushed over to the Warden, away from the two men.
Eamon's mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes flashed as he watched his wife cross the room. But Teagan's shoulders relaxed, and he smiled almost imperceptibly when Arais met his eyes.
"Is Connor all right?" Isolde's tone demanded Arais's attention. "Were you able to stay with him?"
"Connor is fine," she answered, keeping her voice steady. "We made it to Kinloch Hold without incident. We were separated briefly for his orientation, but it went as smoothly as could be expected."
"Did they hurt him?" Her voice shook.
Arais hesitated, just slightly. "No. And they won't be able to, I made sure of it." She glanced away, and Teagan caught her gaze, one brow arched. Embarrassed, Arais looked away. Clearly, he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth, but it was already done. "Wynne is a senior enchanter, and gave me her word that she would look after him."
"Can this Wynne be trusted?" Eamon asked from across the room, arms crossed over his chest.
Arais bristled at the implication. "Of course. She was my mentor for almost seventeen years, and aided me during the Blight. I would trust her with my own life."
The arl nodded, his eyes straying to the fire that danced in the hearth, and said nothing more.
"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done, Warden," Isolde said, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
Unsure what to say, Arais simply nodded. She felt awful lying to Isolde, even if it was over something as simple as a cut, but the particulars of the orientation were not in her power to disclose, especially regarding something as sensitive as phylacteries.
"Is there anything you would like?" Isolde asked. "A drink, or maybe—"
"Isolde," Eamon's voice was tight, restrained, "I am sure the Warden has had a long journey and would like to rest."
Isolde's shoulders went rigid, and for just a moment, anger burned in her light brown eyes. Just as quickly as it had come, the anger faded—replaced with a blank placidity—and she turned her head to face her husband briefly. "Of course." Her voice was as falsely calm as the expression in her eyes, and Arais's annoyance with the arl increased dramatically. "Warden—"
"Please, call me Arais," she interjected, forcing a smile.
Isolde nodded. "Of course. Arais, the servants have already prepared a room for your stay. Dinner will be in an hour." She motioned to an elven woman who stood quietly by the door. "Alliah will show you to your room."
"I . . ." Hesitant to accept the help, but not sure how to politely decline, Arais frowned.
"That won't be necessary, Isolde," Teagan said as he approached the two women. "I will escort our guest."
Isolde seemed surprised, but brushed it off. "Thank you." She turned to the servant. "Alliah, you can accompany me to my private chambers."
Dutifully, Alliah followed the arlessa out of the main hall, leaving Arais alone with Teagan and the arl. Eamon continued to stare into the fire, having not looked at her—or anyone, for that matter—since he had reprimanded his wife. It was hardly any concern to Arais, and she exited the main hall into the corridor without so much as a bow in the arl's direction.
Teagan fell into step beside her and placed a hand on her back. Her cheeks grew hot, and she smiled up at him. They climbed the steps to the second floor, and she found herself being led to the same room she had stayed in before the march on Denerim. She remembered that night fondly for the comfort he had offered, fleeting though it might have been. Their kiss, however brief because of Loghain's interruption, was set firmly in her memory. Her duties to the Wardens kept her in Denerim almost long enough to prevent her from fulfilling her promise to escort Connor. However, her determination to make his transition as easy as possible, coupled with her blossoming relationship with Teagan, was enough for her to insist she return to Redcliffe, at least until the coronation.
When they reached the door to her room, Teagan turned to face her. His brow was creased, and there were lines around his eyes. His eyes held no judgment; only something that looked like understanding. Why would he look at her like that?
Oh. He had caught her in a lie, hadn't he?
Damn.
She led him into the guest room, and closed the door. That would allow that at least some privacy. "Teagan, I . . . I want you to know that I was telling the truth, about Connor being fine. Now."
"I do know that." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "What I don't know is what exactly happened at the Circle. Was Connor hurt?"
She sighed. How could she put this into words? There was really no good way to say it, without telling him the truth. She trusted Teagan, but it still made her uncomfortable to divulge the secrets that the Circle kept hidden to all but those who were ruled by Chantry doctrine.
"There are certain . . . precautions the templars take when a new mage is brought to any of the Circles outside of Tevinter. One of them involves retrieving a few drops of blood from the mage initiate during orientation. A small incision is made on the palm of the hand, and the blood is collected in a small vial." Teagan was silent, but his grip on her hand had tightened marginally. "For me, it was quick, not entirely painless, but the templar in charge of my orientation used a salve on it before bandaging it up." She lifted her hand from his to show him her palm, where a thin, pale scar still lingered.
"I take it something went differently with Connor?" he prompted.
"Yes." Arais let her hand fall to her side. "The cut was deeper than it needed to be, and it was bandaged poorly. I should have stayed with him, insisted that they allow me to accompany him through his orientation, but I know they wouldn't have allowed it. They were needlessly rough with him, and I don't doubt it was because of the circumstances under which he was discovered."
The muscles in Teagan's jaw moved rapidly beneath his skin, and his eyes betrayed his anger. "Have they no regard for children? Connor is just a boy; how could they be so careless?"
"It wasn't carelessness." She unfastened the button at her throat and laid her cloak across a chair. A fire burned low in the fireplace, and she sat on one of the steps before it, rubbing her hands over her face. "It was cruelty, exacted by a templar who I know is not fit for duty. There is no excuse for what he did, and I should have known any tolerance for me wouldn't carry into the chamber once I was gone. Cullen wouldn't have taken such a risk if he thought he would be reprimanded for it."
"This is . . . unbelievable. I had heard rumors, but I had hoped . . ." He sighed, sitting beside her. "You say Connor is all right?"
"Yes. I healed the wound as soon as I saw how bad it was. He has a scar, but it should no longer bother him. At least physically." Her breath hitched in her chest, and tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them back. "I can't promise he will come to no further harm, but Wynne was there, and she saw what the templars did. She swore she would talk to the first enchanter; they will do what they can to convince the Knight Commander to keep Cullen in line."
"Was the Knight Commander not there for Connor's orientation?"
She hesitated. "He was: it's procedure. I would like to think he just didn't notice . . . but if he did allow for that to happen, that is another matter entirely, and not one that can be easily dealt with. But I trust Wynne, and Irving as well, and I know they are more than capable of getting through to the Knight Commander. Until then, Wynne is keeping a close eye on Connor. I have to believe that will be enough, for now."
"If you say she can be trusted, then I will take your word for it." He reached up a hand to cup her cheek. "Thank you, Arais. There is no one other than you with whom I could have trusted my nephew's well being, short of myself."
"I—You're welcome. I wish I had been able to do more."
"What more could you have done?" His hand left her cheek to hold her hand, his thumb tracing the scar on her palm. "You said yourself that they would not have let you join him during his orientation."
"I just hate that I had to leave him there. As a Warden, I'm unable to return to Kinloch Hold permanently, and yet, right now, there is nothing more I would rather do. Anything, to ensure Connor's safety, and the safety of all the others, as well." She frowned, and stared down at their joined hands, rather than look at him directly. "I trust Wynne, I really do, and I know she will do what she can, but there is only so much she can do without risking an incident with the templars. I know that, but it doesn't keep me from hoping she'll take those risks—maybe confront the templars when they abuse their power, and fight against their abuse. And it's selfish, truly, deeply selfish, but I can't help it.
"Part of me knows that the only way to keep the templars in check is to have his family see him regularly, but that's impossible. Chantry law forbids mages from seeing their families once they're placed in the Circle. Mages who have borne children have had them taken away, whether the infants drew breath or not." Her free hand ran back through her hair, catching in tangles and knots she hadn't even realized were there. Maker, she must look like a complete and total wreck. "I just wish there was something, anything I could do to help him; to help them all, even if only in Ferelden, or just Kinloch Hold." She thought about her conversation with Wynne. The older woman was so sure Arais would think of a way to make life easier for mages. But where would she even begin?
"Perhaps there is something you can do," Teagan said, rather abruptly. He had been silent as she vented her feelings on the situation, but now he sounded determined.
"What do you have in mind?" she asked, glancing up to see that determination plain on his face.
"It isn't much in the way of a substantial idea, but . . ." He paused, and it looked as though he were searching for the right words. "The coronation is just under a month away. I don't know a great deal about what Anora is planning, otherwise, but the rumors pouring in from Denerim all suggest that she is prepared to offer the Wardens a great deal of freedom. And, as you are the savior of our great nation, I believe she plans to offer you a boon of your choosing."
"A . . . A boon?" Arais blinked at him, not quite comprehending the enormity of such a prospect. "There must be some restrictions on that sort of thing. I can't possibly be allowed to choose anything."
"You defeated the archdemon and stopped the Blight before it could completely consume Ferelden. She could offer you the throne, and it wouldn't be enough."
She let out a frustrated huff. "I didn't defeat the archdemon, Loghain did. I was knocked unconscious. I've told you this."
"Perhaps, but you are still the only reason any of us even made it that far. The only reason Loghain was in a position to deliver that final blow." He folded both her hands between his. "You deserve whatever you find it in your heart to ask of Anora, and I can almost guarantee she will be willing to deliver. You need only think of what is most important to you. What will bring you the most peace, or joy."
She wanted to argue, but couldn't find it in her to try. He was so sincere, and she knew, deep down, that even if what he said wasn't true, she wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise.
At any rate, maybe this was the starting point she needed.
A small smile touched her lips, and she slipped a hand free of his to push back a loose strand of his hair. She rested her palm on his cheek, his beard tickling her skin. "Thank you, Teagan," she murmured, lowering her hand. "I'm sorry I lied to Isolde. I thought about it a great deal in the time it took to return here, and I just . . . couldn't worry her anymore than she already will."
"I understand. That was the right thing to do. The kind thing. I'm just grateful you could tell me."
There was a knock at the door, and Arais looked over to see Alliah standing on the other side of the threshold, her large eyes bright in the firelight. She seemed distressed. "Mistress Isolde sent me to tell the two of you that dinner will be delayed, and she sends her apologies."
"Thank you, Alliah," Teagan replied.
The elf nodded and hurried off. "Is she usually that nervous?" Arais asked.
"Recently, yes." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Isolde and Eamon have been somewhat at odds since Connor left. My brother is not taking it well, and, as you witnessed downstairs, has become short tempered, particularly with Isolde. Their arguments are nothing to be trifled with, and the servants have all been wary."
"I did notice his . . . deameanor," she said, carefully controlling her voice so as not to display any unintentional ire. "Do you think Eamon will improve, given time?"
He looked into the fire. He let out a slow breath, and lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. "Actually, we have discussed the possibility of him stepping down as arl. The political ramifications of what Isolde did—hiding Connor's magic, hiring an apostate to train him, not to mention that apostate poisoning Eamon—are proving too much for him. He has been far more quick to tire than usual, and less likely to temper his anger."
Arais looked down at their hands, her brows furrowed. "If he steps down, then that means—"
"—the arling will be passed on to me, yes." He touched a finger to her chin. "Does that bother you?"
"No," she lied feebly.
"Arais . . ."
"Oh, I don't know." Arais met his eyes. "I'm a mage, Teagan. You're nobility. Even as a bann, you hold power and privilege that I could never in my wildest imaginings hope to be allowed. This"—she lifted their joined hands—"whatever it is, probably shouldn't be happening as it is. If you become an arl . . ."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "However, I won't force you into anything that you are not comfortable with. If you want to stop this now, I won't blame you."
"I—" She looked into the eyes of the man who had helped her find hope when she thought there was none to be had, who had stoked a fire she had thought would never burn again, and found she couldn't look away. Maker knew she couldn't handle being hurt again, and this seemed destined to inflict that sort of pain on her, sooner or later. The question was, would it hurt more now or later; to never allow herself the chance, or to have a fleeting period of happiness and have it end?
"You don't have to decide now," he amended, squeezing her hand. "Take all the time you need. In the meantime, you should rest before dinner. My brother may have been short, but he was right, you are probably exhausted from your journey." He stood, and helped her to her feet.
"Thank you." She leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and lingered there for a moment. "For everything."
"It was no trouble. Arais." With that, he bowed his head and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Arais turned and stared into the fire, and she blinked back the sudden tears that burned her eyes.
But why struggle against them? Why try and hold them back? No one was there to see, and she had every right to cry. It was all so overwhelming, and she hardly knew where to start with all that needed to be done. On top of dealing with Cullen's outrageous treatment of the mages, now she had to decide what to do about Teagan. It was all just too much.
She moved to where she had dropped her pack on the chair, and opened one of the outer pockets. Inside laid the rose Alistair had given her, carefully dried and tended to for so many months. She touched it with the tip of her index finger, the petals rough against her skin. When she at last held it in her hand, she felt, as always, the persistent question of why she still had it tense her muscles, and rise like a scream in her throat. It only reminded her of pain and loss, and further affirmed her hesitance to allow herself any sort of happiness with Teagan, no matter how short lived it might be.
A tear burned a path down her cheek, and not for the first time she contemplated destroying the rose, and ridding herself of the pain it invoked once and for all. But, to no surprise, she slipped it back into the pocket, and felt her resentment toward it, and toward Alistair, grow even more. She pushed her pack aside and sat, and allowed the tears that had already begun to spill to fall at will, and cried into her open palms.
She stayed like that for a time, and the sobs wracked her body as her emotions ravaged her. Not just her anger, or her grief, but the knowledge that the place she had once called home had become—or perhaps had always been—a living nightmare, cleverly concealed from those who lived outside its towering walls. Her hands fell to her lap, and she stared at the bed. She was exhausted, not just from the journey, and if she lay down, maybe she could relax, or at least think without feeling the weight of her decisions pushing down on her. She stood and moved to the edge of the bed and unlaced her boots, then set them aside on the floor.
When her head hit the pillow, exhaustion hit her like a blow from a shield, but still her thoughts raced. Her conversation with Teagan, her trip to the Circle. So many thoughts relating to the mages and their treatment. She couldn't seem to sleep no matter how much she willed it.
Finally, her mind settled on one thing: this boon that she would supposedly receive from Anora. The Chantry needed to tighten the reins on their templars, but any request she might make, even to the queen, would likely go ignored if it pertained to Circle.
No. She needed to stop this defeatist line of thought. There had to be something, anything for which she could ask that would be within the realm of reason. Perhaps limiting herself was the problem. Arais was about as well versed in politics as Oghren was in Chantry scripture, so it was entirely probable she was underestimating Anora's influence as queen.
Wait. Perhaps that was it.
She flipped onto her side, her heart pounding hard in her chest.
Could she ask for that? For familial visitation for the mages in the Circle? What she had thought impossible before seemed plausible now, maybe even the better option. Rather than request more restrictions on the templars, asking for something as simple as giving mages the right to see their families could serve to keep the templars in check. They would have to think twice about harming the mages, lest their families notice something off and start asking questions. And it would be difficult for them to justify denying such a request, as it would make it look as though they had something to hide. It would require more thought, and some fine-tuning, but it could work.
Assuming Anora even offered her a boon.
Maker, she hoped those rumors wouldn't prove false.
Bent over a wrinkled pieces of parchment, Arais wrote as quickly as her hand was capable, the thoughts coming to her faster than she could jot them down. She had slept barely long enough for the fire in the hearth to burn down to embers before she woke to a surge of excitement. Now that the night had gone and the morning sun shone through the window, her mind had finally tied up all the loose ends of what she could ask of Anora. It wasn't perfect, and it might not be easy to put into action, should her request be granted, but it was something, at the very least, and it could work.
A soft, rapid knock at the door tore her attention away from the parchment, and she straightened. Her back was stiff and sore, and her hand ached. How long had she been writing?
After she slipped the parchment into her pack, she crossed the room, clenching her hand into a fist and releasing it repeatedly. When she opened the door, Isolde greeted her with a smile.
"Arlessa Isolde?" Arais opened the door wider and motioned for Isolde to enter. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, of course. Everything is fine." The arlessa walked into the room, and settled herself on the edge of the bed, still smiling. "I trust you slept well?"
She closed the door, to allow them privacy. "I did." It wasn't a lie, per se. She felt rested, despite the abruptness of her waking.
"I am happy to hear it." Isolde folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, her smile gone. A few moments passed before she seemed to make a decision. "I . . . wanted to apologize, for yesterday. My husband has not been himself since he learned the truth of Connor's tutor."
"There's no need to apologize," Arais soothed. "You did what you felt was best for Connor, and Jowan took advantage of the situation."
Isolde's lips were pressed into a line, and her brow knitted together. She stared at the carpet. "It was foolish of me to trust him, but what could I do? I was terrified I would never see my son again if the Chantry learned of his magic. And what good did it do me? Connor is still gone, and my husband despises me for it." Unsure what to say, Arais sat beside the arlessa. "I know he blames me for bringing Jowan into our home. And I suppose he's right. If I had just accepted that sending Connor to the Circle was inevitable, Eamon would never have been poisoned, and Connor wouldn't have tried to deal with a demon."
"Eamon is blaming the wrong person," Arais stated firmly, "and so are you. Loghain, whatever his reasons might have been, is the one who sent Jowan to poison Eamon, not you. You were only trying to keep Connor safe."
"I know, but . . ." Isolde's voice wavered, and she took a deep breath.
"Isolde, you did what any mother would want to do for her child, in this situation." The arlessa looked at her, eyes glossy with tears. "I'm only sorry Eamon doesn't seem to realize that. Teagan does; he has said as much to me. And if I had been in your position, I would have done the same."
A tear slipped down Isolde's cheek, and another, and another, until her shoulders began to shake, and a choked sob escaped her. Arais hesitated, but then pulled the arlessa into her arms, holding her tight as she cried. Could Eamon really be so cruel as to blame his wife for something that very clearly wasn't her fault?
Of course, there were his actions during the Blight to consider. How he had disregarded Alistair's reluctance to take the throne and Arais' misgivings about deposing Anora. Yes, no doubt he could. Eamon seemed to be so focused on what he wanted; it wasn't all that much of a stretch for him to be the sort who would blame everyone but himself for the things that plagued him.
Eventually, the sobs quieted and the shaking ebbed, and Isolde sat up. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, red and puffy. She was silent, save for the occasional hiccup at whatever emotions might have raged on within.
"It . . ." she began, her voice thick. "It has not been easy, with Connor gone and Eamon acting as he has been, but . . . you're right. I just don't know what I can do."
"I'm not sure, either, but believe me when I say that the answer will come to you. And Teagan and I will support you, whatever you decide."
"Thank you, Arais." Isolde took Arais' hand and squeezed gently. "You have done so much, I don't know what I can do to repay you."
"You don't have to do anything."
Though she hardly seemed to be dissuaded, Isolde nodded. She stood and walked to the door, but turned to face Arais before she crossed the threshold. "Would you care to accompany me to the dining room? I believe breakfast has already begun."
Arais looked over at her pack, aware of the importance of its contents now more than ever. With a smile, she looked back to Isolde. "Of course."