The Telling Tale

by Tsu Doh Nimh

Seeker Cassandra has finally tracked down the Warden, three years after her old recruit Anders started the Mage-Templar War. How does a Seeker convince a mage to side with the Chantry?

2. Warden vs Warden

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to Bioware. Hopefully, that will be most of it.

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Cassandra paced back and forth in the small prison cell, her armour creaking with her sudden turns. Fury was plainly evident on her beautiful features. "You warned the King and he still sent you?"

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, evaluating. "I suppose that says it all, doesn't it?" she whispered softly. She waved at Cassandra dismissively. "We're done here."

The Seeker stopped her pacing and stared. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that of all the things that Alistair and I discussed on top of Fort Drakon that day, the one thing that interests you above all others is the fact that I warned Alistair how the templars at the tower would react to me." She shook her head. "You really aren't interested in my story. You're not interested in the truth. As I said, you just want a scapegoat."

Cassandra recognised her error. When she was fully in control of an interrogation, she could muse aloud and still control the flow and direction of the exposition. Without any leverage over her, the Warden could stop her tale on a whim. "No. I need to know the truth. I had believed that the King was ignorant of the depth of ill-feeling between you and the Knight-Commander. That you warned him and he ignored you changes th-"

Kathryn snarled at her. "It changes nothing!" she snapped. "Your precious Chantry was so intent on gaining more power and influence in Ferelden after the Blight at the expense of the people that members of its hierarchy wilfully committed acts that would have anyone else hanged for treason."

Cassandra pursed her lips together, fighting down the impulse to attack this mage who would dare interrupt her. Had it been any other person, she'd not have bothered - she'd have skewered the bothersome toad in an instant. But this mage, for all her slight frame and delicate features, was feared by templars, nobles and maleficars alike. For very good reason. No, attacking her would inevitably lead to Cassandra's early grave, and more importantly, failure in her mission. "My... apologies," she said awkwardly. "You are correct that there are far more important things in your story than the idiocy of the Ferelden King. I would hear the rest. If you are willing to indulge me."

There was another silent pause between them. "We'll see. What do you know of the Wardens? Of our secrets?"

The Seeker blinked. "Why would that matter?"

"I want to know what I can divulge. A few days after my chat with Alistair, some Wardens from the Anderfels arrived. We discussed many things."

"Ah. I know some of your Warden secrets. I am not so egotistical to believe that I know them all, however. I know that you drink darkspawn blood, mixed with lyrium and archdemon blood in your Joining ritual, but I do not know the recipe. I know of your increased appetite and vigour, and of your decreased fertility and lifespan. I know of the ritual known as the Calling. I know that you can sense darkspawn, and that they can likewise sense you."

The expression of surprise on Kathryn's features pleased Cassandra. "You know quite a bit. More than I like, to tell the truth. Do all Seekers know, or have you interrogated one of my brothers?"

"The Warden hierarchy in Orlais have traditionally shared the secrets of their order with both the Crown and Divine."

Kathryn snarled. "Yes. Duncan's insistence on keeping those secrets at all costs lead to our order being all but wiped out at Ostagar. Yet after the Blight, the Orlesian Wardens felt comfortable in giving the secrets out to the seneschal of a backwater Keep." She shook her head. "Neither extreme position is useful."

Cassandra found herself feeling pity. "It is never helpful to have multiple command structures with differences of opinion."

"That I agree with." The elf sat back down on the cot. "Don't think I missed the fact that you didn't answer my question."

The Seeker sighed, unused to the uncomfortable requirement of providing answers. "Seekers investigating events influenced by Grey Wardens are given necessary background information, including what we know of your secrets. I have not personally interrogated any Grey Warden."

"Besides me," came the flippant response.

Cassandra allowed the ghost of a smile to appear on her lips. "This can hardly be considered an interrogation, Warden. I am under no illusion that I have the ability to compel you to answer my questions."

"True," Kathryn conceded. "Shall I continue?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Three days later, Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt, the Imperium, Nevarra and the Free Marches arrived in Denerim. The Second Warden himself had been sent, and he collected a smattering of brothers and sisters from different countries on his journey south.

"Ah! Warden-Commander Kathryn, It is a pleasure to finally meet you!"

I looked the large blond man up and down. He was huge; closer in size to Sten than Alistair. His long hair was braided back in a single line, while his beard was left free. He carried an axe that was longer than I was tall, and probably weighed more too. His armour, while obviously expensive, was just as obviously not for show. This was a warrior who looked as though he left the battlefield littered with dismembered limbs and heads. And could probably, in a pinch, don a helmet and be used as a battering ram.

"Thank you, Warden, er..."

"Helmut, Second Warden Helmut, and nein, vielen dunk! Thank you! Ending the Blight in only a year! Wonderful!" His accent was thick, but his words were perfectly understandable.

I almost had to lean back to prevent his enthusiastic bellows from destroying my delicate eardrums. The man (half-Qunari maybe?) did not seem capable of speaking at anything resembling normal volume. "Thank you. Tell me, are all Anders as loud as you?"

He let loose a booming laugh that echoed in the palace corridor. "Nein, it is only me. I think Heinrich sends me out on these diplomatic visits to make sure they end quickly!"

One of the quieter Wardens in the group cleared his throat. "May we introduce ourselves?" he asked.

One by one, the Wardens from various northern places shook my hand and offered me congratulations on both my success in ending the Blight and my promotion. The delegation of twelve included two mages - a pair of fraternal twins. All of them spoke the language of Ferelden to one degree or another; a couple were as proficient as Helmut.

The introductions complete, the Second Warden slapped his thigh. "Come! I would like to see where our brother Loghain killed the archdemon."

I nodded. "Very well. Just let me grab someone." I put two fingers in my mouth and let loose a whistle.

One of the Wardens looked at me oddly. "You call for servant vith vhistle?" he asked, his accent thick as treacle.

I grinned at him as the scrabbling of claw on stone became audible. "No. This is Thunder."

A few moments later, my mabari skidded around the corner sideways at a dead run, trying to gain traction on the flagstones. He barked an enthusiastic greeting and bowled into me, almost knocking me flying. Laughing, I shouted, "Thunder! Down boy! There are some people I'd like you to meet."

Instantly, Thunder sat rigid at my side, the very picture of an obedient war hound.

I chuckled at the sight. "Brother Wardens, this is my mabari, Thunder. He stood with me against the Archdemon, and bit off more than his fair share of its hide. The collar he wears is made from the chunks he took off himself." I looked up from my dog into a collection of astonished faces. Each of them were staring at Thunder. They were confused about something. "Er, what is it?"

Helmut tore his gaze away and looked at me. "Dieser hund ist ein-, er, sorry. This hound; he is a Grey Warden! How is he a Warden? Did you let him -" he broke off and looked around, before leaning closer to me and continued in a whisper, "drink some Joining potion?" The fact he said it in almost a whisper impressed upon me just how confused he was.

"No. Er, perhaps you'd better start at the beginning. Why do you think he's a Warden?"

The female mage cleared her throat. "Some older Wardens can feel other Wardens, like we can feel darkspawn. We feel your hound is a Warden."

I frowned, looking down at Thunder. "He was killing darkspawn long before I became a Warden, and he was with me on the top of the Tower fighting the archdemon. He swallowed a lot of archdemon blood in that fight, and was very sick for a few days. I thought he was going to die."

Thunder whined at me, looking up at me with liquid eyes and thumping his tiny tail on the floor to let me know that he was fine.

"I know you're okay, boy." I said, scratching him behind his ears which, even with him sitting, were at the height of my armpits. I looked up at the Wardens. "Before Ostagar, Thunder was sick with the taint. He survived, and has been with me since. But after the battle with the Archdemon, and despite already being an adult, he has grown even larger. He's a good head taller and almost half-again as heavy as any other mabari. He's faster and stronger too."

Helmut rubbed his bearded chin. "A Warden hound. We will have to consider this."

The Wardens, as a group, gathered quite a crowd as we made our way to Fort Drakon. Many people called out and waved as they recognized me, or at least, recognized my armour. The deep, iridescent purple colour was distinctive at the very least.

We arrived shortly, and made our way to the top. The palace escort were huffing and wheezing with repressed breathlessness, but the famed Grey Warden vigour meant that not a single one of my brother and sister Wardens were even mildly out of breath. As a group, they scanned the battlefield, murmured appreciative noises at the sheer size of the last few remains of the archdemon, and expressed admiration at my journals and notes on archdemonic biology.

"Very detailed work," one of the mages complimented me, as she flipped through the pages. "Look," she said, holding up the book so another Warden could see the pages, "She even tested hide resistance against different magic schools. This will be very handy for the next Blight."

I nodded, pleased at the praise. "I'm glad you think so. I'm having copies made and sent to each Warden Commander."

Helmut nodded, looking around at the magnificent vista from the battlements. "Have you collected the," he paused and looked around, continuing in a much softer voice, 'blood?"

I nodded, gesturing back towards the centre spire. "I gathered as much as I could into reinforced vials, and put them in padded crates. The crates are over there."

He blinked. "There are no guards?"

I shook my head, and wiggled my fingers. "Barrier spell. No one is getting past it without killing me first."

He grunted, not looking pleased. "We shall need to take much of it. Our stores of blood are poor. Our numbers have fallen in the last ten years. We have been rationing to make it last longer. Now, we can bring our numbers back."

I frowned as I led him over to my storage area; a deep alcove in the stone wall, protected with a shimmering wall and an alarming number of glyphs and traps, the later courtesy of a talented assassin. The security precautions seemed to dull the Second Warden's dourness.

I banished the barrier and disarmed the glyphs. One of the Nevarran Wardens rubbed his hands together and asked if he could test his skill. At my nod, he eagerly set about disarming Zevran's traps. He cursed and jumped back at one point, muttering something under his breath. Zev was nothing if not a professional.

I selected one of the crates and carefully prised the lid. Helmut's eyes widened at the sight, dozens of small vials filled with archdemon blood, carefully packed and padded. "Splendid! How many of these do you have?"

I gestured to the alcove. "Thirty-seven, with the thirty-eighth a bit over half full," I said, neglecting to mention the dozen extra crates I'd secreted elsewhere.

Helmut grunted, eyes calculating. "You couldn't collect more? The beast was enormous."

I shook my head. "It took me two days and I used every prepared vial in the city. My companions sacked the Wonders of Thedas for every one they had, and they went through the abandoned wares of every merchant in the city. Yes, there was more blood to be taken, but nothing to keep it in. I've added that little lesson to my journal. Next Blight, the Wardens need to stock up on the supplies beforehand. Having more than one mage on hand would help too."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn paused, tapping her chin.

The silence extended for quite some time. Cassandra cleared her throat. "Well?"

"We discussed a few things about the Wardens, things you don't need to know. Procedural and security concerns - cyphers and the like."

The Seeker crossed her arms, her expression doubtful. "Really?"

Kathryn nodded. "Yes, really. Oh, I also I got berated for not recruiting anyone else since the Blight," she said with a snort.

Cassandra frowned. "Why hadn't you? I would have thought that the swell of goodwill would have provided you with an abundance of people wanting to join."

"There were fewer than you might think," the mage said with a grimace. "The archdemon was dead, the Blight over. Why join the Wardens? In any event, I had to turn what volunteers I had away, since we were skint. Howe had looted the Warden compound, with the exception of a hidden room, and that didn't have much in the way of coin. I had assigned quarters at the palace, sure, but I had nowhere else to billet recruits, and no way to pay them." She snorted again. "I wasn't about to recruit anyone until I had the resources to pay and house them. Ferelden was all but bankrupt, so I told Helmut to go back to Weisshaupt and open the Warden's treasury."

"He didn't take that well, I suspect," Cassandra said with the hint of a smile.

"You could say that. He agreed - eventually - but then took the opportunity to strip me of the only commodity I had an abundance of in return for his promise of aid. We argued long and hard about the allocation of blood, with the Anderfels getting the bulk and laying claim to a large percentage for Orlais as well. The Nevarrans grabbed theirs and Antiva's share, and then the rest of us squabbled over the scraps."

"It sounds like the Wardens are not as united as it would appear to outsiders."

Kathryn waved that away. "When it comes to the reason for our existence, we act as one. We kill darkspawn. But, split as we are on national lines, we are just as competitive as any other organisation."

"What happened after your 'discussions' then? Once you left Fort Drakon?"

The Warden grinned. "I took Helmut to see Alistair. He and Anora were a bit put out that the Wardens had disembarked their ship and gone straight to me instead of presenting themselves at court, but Alistair was even more annoyed about when we arrived. He still thinks I did it on purpose."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Helmut and I strode towards the King's personal suites. Well, Helmut strode, I had to skip every third step to keep up. It's a constant of my life that I'm surrounded by insanely tall, long-legged bastards. At least Oghren could relate.

The guards on duty were snickering and snorting softly as we approached, unable to maintain a straight face. I raised an eyebrow, glad for a target for my ire. "Something amusing?" I ground out with a snarl.

One cleared his throat, but that sound just sent his fellow into a mouth-covered fit. "Shut up, Dan!" he hissed out the side of his mouth, which only sent his companion even further into his giggles. "Sorry Warden-Commander. The King and Queen are meeting," he stopped briefly, his shoulders shaking, "with an Orlesian tailor. He and the King are," another pause for silent laughter, "not getting along."

Ah, they weren't laughing at me. I felt my cheeks heat. For all my accomplishments, as a female elf, I wasn't taken seriously by a great many people. I needed to work on being less self-conscious. "Fine. Alistair is expecting us. Let me in."

With a final snicker, the guard said, "At once, Warden-Commander." He rapped on the door, and opened it slightly. "You Majesties, the Warden-Commander and Second Warden of the Anderfels."

"Just a moment, please," came Alistair's grouchy reply.

"Admit them at once," countermanded Anora.

The door was opened fully, and Helmut and I entered. We encountered a scene I had never in my life expected to witness.

Alistair stood on a circular, padded stool, almost like a portable, padded dais. He was stripped to the waist, wearing only tight leggings, his arms outstretched and his expression murderous.

An undernourished, almost emaciated man with elegantly coifed hair, immaculate clothing and rouged cheeks fussed over a mass of silks, satins and other materials I had no names for. "Non, non, non, Your Majesty," he pleaded with Anora, whose pinched expression and tapping foot indicated that she had lost her patience about five minutes back and that unless her demands were met soon, someone was going to be on the receiving end of a royal tongue-lashing.

"Yes," Anora insisted, her smile forced. "The King is to be dressed in the latest fashion!"

Continuing in a thick Orlesian accent, the wispy man begged off. "This style, it enhances virility! Oui, it is most fashionable in Val Royeaux, for it makes a gelding appear as a stallion! On the courtiers of the Empress' Court, this is a most necessary thing, but on the King, no!"

Anora crossed her arms. I winced. That was almost a declaration of war.

The tailor continued, in the best traditions of suicidal merchants. "It would not do! It would be like putting a saddle on a bull! Non, his shoulders, his chest..." he gazed longingly at Alistair, who was almost instantly tomato-red. "Such musculature should not be disguised with padded sleeves and and faux creased folds! It should be on display!" he thrust his arm out, snatching up a shimmering fabric and draped it around Alistair's chest, pinching and holding the fabric in a most flattering way. "This! This style would be like a jewelled collar on a panther! It would take nothing away from His Majesty, but merely hint at a civility that could be discarded on a whim! He would be a predator amongst his vassals, ohh," he finished, dropping the fabric and picking up an embroidered fan, which he ineffectually waved in front of his face.

I looked up at Helmut, whose face was carefully blank. Evidently, the guards' amusement was entirely justified.

Anora shook her head imperiously. "I do not wish His Majesty to be establishing fashion trends this early in his reign. He needs to present as a modern, yet conservative figure, not a trailblazer!"

"Non, such a decision would be a travesty! The style would be, er, how do you say, overkill!" the man insisted.

I laughed at that and nodded to Alistair. He sighed and rolled his eyes in response.

"Mademoiselle? You have a different opinion?" he asked haughtily.

This time, Alistair laughed. "The mademoiselle does not believe in 'overkill'," he said in his signature, dry style. "The mademoiselle believes in destroying, demolishing, crushing, grinding into little pieces, burning the remains and then plowing the ashes." He nodded to Helmut. "Second Warden. I trust your visit to Fort Drakon was enlightening?"

Helmut bowed deeply. It would appear that the whole 'Wardens bow to no king' was figurative, rather than literal. "Your Majesty. Indeed, your tower fortress is a marvel. Your hospitality has been peerless."

Anora nodded to me, as though between equals, and then gave a series of perfunctory commands and orders to the tailor, with an arbitrary delivery date that sounded ambitious even to me. The man paled, stammered his agreement, then muttered in Orlesian as he was escorted from the room.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair said, jumping down from his raised dais. He snatched his undershirt from a waiting valet and tugged it on quickly. "You have no idea how uncomfortable that was."

I grinned at him as Anora huffed, "Honestly, you need to look your best for the Landsmeet. You simply cannot attend in armour!"

Alistair gave his wife a goofy grin. "I did last time, and look where it got me!"

The Queen just gave him an exasperated look. "Last time we were facing a Blight and a civil war. Despite the lack of imminent apocalypse, this Landsmeet will form the political basis for your reign."

Alistair sighed. "I know, you keep telling me. I'll be ready." He turned back to Helmut. "Is the First Warden satisfied with the Ferelden Wardens?"

Helmut tilted his head to one side, considering. "Satisfied? Proud is closer. No Warden expected that a Blight could be defeated in such a short time with so few people. He is a little disappointed, as are we all. A Blight happens in our time and all we got to do was hear of how a pair of young Wardens ended it. Heinrich is very pleased. And," he paused, looking a bit abashed, "ashamed at his decisions."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Is there a reason you're telling me this?" Cassandra demanded.

Kathryn grinned at her. "A repressed woman like you? I thought you'd love the image of the Ferelden King stripped down to his smalls."

The Seeker's eyes flashed with rage, but there was a hint of colour on her cheeks that had not been there before. "Enough! What happened after the Wardens left?"

A shrug. "I finished off documenting the archdemon corpse, I wrote my report and prepared to go to the Circle."

"Then tell me about that." Cassandra waited through a moment of silence before sighing. "Please?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Excuse me, Warden-Commander."

I looked up from my bowl of stew. A vaguely familiar guard stood ramrod straight, her helmet under her left arm. "Yes... er, Mary, isn't it?" I asked, trying to remember her name.

The young guard nodded nervously. "Mhairi, Warden-Commander. The Arl of Redcliffe has requested your presence in his study at your convenience."

I glanced down at the almost-empty bowl. When uttered by a noble to a commoner or subordinate, the phrase 'at your convenience' meant 'right now, even if you have to get dressed on the way'. Eamon wasn't in a position to issue me orders though, which meant that I wouldn't respond until it actually was convenient to me.

"Let me finish here. I won't be too long. Do you want a bowl? It's pretty good."

The guard hesitated, but shook her head. "Thank you, serah, but I'm off duty at ninth-hour. I'll have something then."

I smiled and ate another mouthful. "As you wish. I've never found it entertaining to watch other people eat, that's all."

Mhairi nodded, but remained stubbornly at attention.

Mentally I sighed. It was one thing to keep Eamon waiting. It was another to torment an innocent messenger. I took two more quick mouthfuls and pushed the remainder away. "Very well, let's go."

Even though I knew the way, Mhairi meticulously led me to our destination. Once we reached Eamon's office, she bowed to me and assumed her position on one side of the iron-bound door.

I knocked lightly and waited.

"Enter," called a tired voice from within the room.

I twisted the iron handle and pushed the heavy door open. The Chancellor's study was empty, with the obvious exception of the current tenant. Eamon Guerrin sat in a padded leather chair at his enormous oak desk, which was covered with neat stacks of parchment and vellum. The heavy-set man finished writing on the sheet in front of him, blotted the ink and then folded the vellum neatly. He reached out and opened the lacquered box containing his wax sticks. He selected a stick – emerald green, I noted, used for his personal correspondence, rather than the official purple wax - before heating the end over a candle. With practiced precision, he dripped an economic dollop onto the letter where the edges overlapped and pressed his signet into the waxy puddle.

"You asked to see me," I said, my voice neutral. Well, as neutral as I could make it when I was talking to this man.

"Ah, Warden-Commander. Welcome. Please, come in and take a seat," the Arl said, without lifting his eyes from his work.

I nodded slightly and made my way over to one of the three chairs on the near side of the desk. The man had difficulty meeting my eyes. He always had, ever since I had harangued him on his ashes-blessed recovery. As was my habit when entering a room filled with bookshelves, I let my gaze drift over the spines, my elf-keen eyesight able to make out the titles from across the room. Noting that there didn't seem to be any new additions to Eamon's collection, I sat in the leftmost chair and waited patiently for the Arl to speak.

He didn't dally. "I understand that you are setting off tomorrow for the Circle of Magi," he said. "I would like to ask you a favour."

I reached out a hand. "You'd like me to personally deliver that letter to your son, avoiding the templar censors."

Under his unkempt beard I could see his jaw clench. It was always enjoyable to second-guess him.

"Indeed," he ground out, handing the document over. "I have not received any correspondence from Connor since he was inducted there. Given the recalcitrant nature of Greagoir and the templars at the Circle, I suspect my earlier letters have not been delivered to him. I fear for him, for his safety. Should your duties permit, I would request that you wait for his reply."

I narrowed my eyes. "I have no intention of spending any more time in that Maker-forsaken tower than necessary. I will make it a priority to find Connor and deliver your missive, but I won't wait for a reply if he procrastinates."

Eamon nodded, clearly unhappy. "Very well. I have instructed him in the letter to inform you of his condition and satisfaction with his accommodations. I," he cleared his throat, preparing to say something difficult, "ahem, I sincerely appreciate this, Kathryn. Thank you."

I nodded, accepting his thanks without comment. Our relationship had never been what you'd call cordial. "Connor will be fine, Eamon," I said, "I believe his Harrowing is many years away yet. It will be more difficult for him than most others, given his unfortunate experiences." I smiled conspiratorially. "But, as I'm no longer a member of the Circle, they cannot enforce their idiotic code of secrecy on me. I can give him some advice that will help. If the reforms with the Circle last, you will be able to bring him to Denerim afterwards."

"If they last," he said, wearily rubbing his forehead. "We can't even get them started. Even as Chancellor and with Their Majesties' personal approval, I cannot get permission to visit him. I wish we had other avenues available to us, but the Crown cannot open a dialogue with the Circle - our agents cannot cross to the island. Greagoir has cut off all access. It will be difficult enough for you to gain passage, any others you brought with you would be turned away." He shook his head. "Do you have a plan to gain entrance? If we are to force independence for the mages, it needs to be done quickly, while public opinion is still firmly on the side of the mages."

I nodded. "I have a few options. As a Harrowed mage of the Circle, technically I can return to the tower at any time. If that doesn't work, I can probably bluff or intimidate my way onto the island, and once I'm there I could claim to be recruiting for the Wardens. And if that doesn't work, I've got a letter from that idiot woman in charge of the Ferelden Chantry demanding I return to the Circle now that the Blight is over. I can use that to gain entry if I had to, but it would probably make leaving again problematic."

Eamon hummed what could be described as tentative agreement. "His Majesty is feeling pugnacious, given the treatment of his messengers, but please do not be overly antagonistic. We simply need you to open a channel for discussions, not negotiate our position."

I leaned back and crossed my arms. "And what if they insist that no one else is to be allowed access? If I am forced to be your negotiator, what are Alistair's requirements and what concessions he is prepared to give to achieve them?"

Eamon leaned back in his chair and crossed his own arms, mimicking my action. "You think that likely?"

I spread my hands. "It is possible, but how likely it is depends on Greagoir's orders from the Chantry. I cannot stay indefinitely, and if he is prepared to ignore any further negotiators, then it will be up to me to get something signed."

Eamon grimaced, knowing full well my negotiation skills were only of use in situations where sarcasm was the order of the day - or where weapons were already readied. "We do not have a strong position to begin the negotiations, and there is little we can concede they could not simply take. That is why I am hesitant to give you free reign."

I raised an eyebrow. "There are a couple of possibilities that could give you a reasonable opening position."

"I presume you are referring to your Right of Conscription?"

With a nod, I said, "That's one. Threatening to conscript every mage in the Circle, or every templar for that matter would, while legal, be a bit of a struggle to actually follow through with. But it is a valid negotiation point. However, I was referring to the Chantry's purview in controlling the mages."

"What of it?"

I grinned at him. "I went over every historical text I could get my hands on in minute detail while I was still an apprentice; I wanted to know anything that would help if I was ever in a position to leave." I rose and moved over to one of the bookshelves. I selected a leather-bound tome, and opened it to the first Article. I pointed the relevant passage out and how it could be used in negotiations with the templars. With a bit of legal dickering, Eamon agreed it was a possible negotiation point, and promised to draft a few royal documents that would be needed.

"I shall speak with Her Majesty and see if she will have anything to add. The documents will be ready before you leave tomorrow."

I nodded, wondering just what sort of changes Anora would make. Despite the rivalry the Queen and I had, I would readily admit that she had a magic all of her own when it came to politics. "Thank you. You do realise that Wynne could probably have gained entrance for your agents," I pointed out.

Eamon shook his head. "True enough, but Senior Enchanter Wynne is still in the Tevinter Imperium, and in her last missive she said that she will not be returning for some months."

I snorted. "How unsurprising. She was quite willing to push the whole 'duty to the Circle' line on me, but she takes off on a whim."

"There is also the fact that she is a staunch loyalist, and unlikely to champion the proposed changes."

I smiled and laughed softly at a memory. "Yeah, Avernus really had her number." I rose to my feet. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

"There is, regarding your appointment as Arlessa, but nothing so important that it cannot wait until you return."

I nodded. "Very well then, good night."

"Good night, Warden-Commander."

I left Eamon's office, nodded to the guard Mhairi, and headed off. I debated returning to the kitchen to finish my meal, but decided against gorging myself a second time. Instead, I made my way to my quarters. Thunder was still awake, lying on a thick blanket in front of the fireplace, his mighty teeth and jaws making short work of an ox thighbone. The sound of splintering bone echoed slightly in the large room.

"You look like you're enjoying that."

Thunder looked up at me and gave a deep, enthusiastic, "Whuff!"

"Good. Get some rest; it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The steely-grey light of pre-dawn filtered through the window when Thunder's insistent whining and nudging woke me. Still in the fog of waking-sleep, I fuzzily reached out and scratched behind his ears. "All right boy, I'm getting up."

I opened the door to let him out. The enormous mabari gave me a bark of thanks, and loped away. Experience had taught me that in the mornings, Thunder was keen to molest the kitchen staff for breakfast scraps and then go and infuriate the groundsmen obliged to keep the royal gardens clean. I refreshed myself and dressed in a comfortable shirt and leggings. I wasn't about to bother getting into my travelling gear until I'd had a Warden-sized breakfast.

I made my way to the barracks mess. As a royal guest I was permitted to sit in the official dining room, but while the food there was delicious, it was served in portions far too small to satisfy. With a few dozen palace guards on duty at all times, there was an enormous cauldron of porridge available in the mornings and an equally large pot of pea-and-mutton stew in the afternoon and evenings. When it came to food, Wardens went for quantity over quality as a rule. Going there meant that my usual portions wouldn't annoy the staff in the royal kitchen. Alistair could annoy them if he wished, but they were his servants, not mine.

I entered the mess, nodded to the elvish servants on duty and filled a bowl with porridge that was usually used to mix dough. I scraped out a few spoons of honey from the crock on the condiment shelf and sat down at one of the long tables. Slowly, I ate my way through the bowl of sweetened porridge, feeling more and more alert as the welcome heat filled my belly.

I was half way through my smaller, second bowl when a group of six guards entered the mess, four of them fresh-faced youths with a pair of experienced guards. I paid little attention to them, only enough to note that the older pair seemed to be giving the new guards something of an induction. The palace guards had been recruiting.

I returned my full attention to my breakfast. The peace was not to last.

"Hey, elf! This mess is for guards, not servants."

I glanced up at the speaker, one of the pair of older guards. I was not particularly surprised to note that he was speaking to me.

I snorted softly and shovelled another mouthful of porridge into my mouth.

He flushed red, but I noted that the four young recruits were looking at him with frowns. Interesting. They appeared to think his attitude was out of line.

"I'm talking to you, knife-ear! Get out!"

The three elvish servants preparing food dropped what they were doing and dashed from the room, the last two colliding with each other in their haste to leave. One of the new guards observed their retreat, a look of intense curiosity at the scene, before looking back at me. His eyes widened in realisation.

I swallowed and gave the bigot my full attention. "What did you call me?" I asked evenly.

He sneered at me. "What, are you deaf as well as stupid? This is our mess, and you're sitting at my table. Get out of here before I give you the thrashing you deserve."

I glanced around the room, pointedly noting the many, many empty chairs and tables.

"Uh, ser?" the guard with the wide eyes said in a hushed voice. "Ser? That's-"

"Shut up, recruit! This little knife-ear whore needs to know how things work around here." He grabbed the hilt of his belt dagger.

I sighed, and waved my hand in his direction. A shard of conjured stone slammed into his abdomen, doubling him over and hurling him away into the table behind him. Of the five other guards, four put their hands on their weapons. The lone exception was the one who apparently recognised me.

"Stop!" the young guard cried, grabbing two of his fellow recruits and holding them back. "She's the Grey Warden-Commander!"

The other three recruits gasped and stepped back. The second older guard whimpered audibly, and could not have paled more quickly had he been eviscerated.

I regarded the young, observant guard. "What's your name, recruit?"

"P-Pickering, serah, er, Warden-Commander, serah."

I nodded. "I like you, Pickering. You're more observant than the usual guard recruit. Develop that talent. If you were a few years older, I'd recruit you." I turned to look down at the obnoxious guard puking his guts up on the floor. There was blood in the vomitus. "You, on the other hand, are an idiot. If you'd drawn that weapon, I'd have killed you. Now, bugger off and see a healer so I can finish my breakfast in peace."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I somehow managed to finish my breakfast and make my way back to my room without being obliged to injure anyone else. I packed up my travelling gear, including my archdemon-scale armour. Instead of the armour, I pulled on an enchanted robe and strapped Spellweaver to my back. Thunder rummaged around his box in the corner for a moment before leaping over to me, carrying a spiked collar in his mouth.

I chuckled. "I guess you want this one, eh boy?" I said rhetorically. Thunder dropped the collar and barked an affirmative. I secured it around his neck, pitying anyone who got skewered by the vicious spikes. Once it was secured, he shook his neck and gave a soft bark of approval at how the spikes flashed around.

I secured my belt pouches in place and let Thunder pick up my pack. We left the only private room I'd ever had and made our way out of the palace to the marshalling yard.

The yard was filled with the sort of chaotic bustle that looked to be unproductive, yet still managed to accomplish much. I made my way over to a niche in the stone wall of the castle. Six guards stood arrayed around my magical barrier, behind which was over a dozen small, warded crates full of magically-sealed vials of archdemon blood. They was my -that is, Ferelden's - official allotment, plus the extra crates I'd stashed separately. I wasn't about to let the other Wardens leave Ferelden with less than its fair share of archdemonic ichor.

"Warden-Commander," one of the guards greeted me. "There's been quite some interest in your crates."

I sighed, and nodded. "I thought there would be. Having a half dozen guards stand over them was Alistair's idea, and he's still getting the hang of guard balance. Can you call over the wagon while I lower the barrier?"

He paled at my nonchalant use of the King's name, but nodded, and faced a different part of the marshalling yard. He raised a hand to his mouth and whistled. "Here it comes."

I reached out one hand to touch the magical barrier and concentrated. Wynne had taught me the basics of creating such a barrier during the many nights we spent together in camp, but Wilhelm's son Matthias had cheerfully shown me his father's research which made my barriers several steps above Wynne's best efforts. Through my fingertips, I sieved the magical harmonics, looking for the right combination.

There they were.

Twist.

Pull.

Unravel.

The barrier flashed and faded out of existence, leaving the crates exposed.

"That's quite a trick," one of the other guards said.

I smiled at him. "Yes, but it's a pain in the proverbial to keep up for long periods. Help me load the wagon?"

With six pairs of willing hands, loading the blood was done quickly. I took my travelling pack from my mabari and placed it in the back of the wagon. The wagon itself was already loaded with crates and sacks filled with supplies for the tower at Soldier's Peak. Avernus would be happy with his new supplies and toys.

Behind me I heard a familiar voice. "I heard you picked a fight with some of the palace guards." Each of the six guards with me gasped softly, before dropping to one knee.

I sighed, and turned around to see Alistair striding across the yard. Even within the walls of his own palace he wore Effort, the brightly burnished, silverite plate armour, and carried Starfang and Duncan's shield on his back. Anora's decision no doubt; ensuring that the visible evidence of His Majesty being a real, accomplished warrior was in front of everyone at all times. Personally, I'd have stuffed him into his brother's golden armour that we retrieved from Ostagar. But then, there were probably a dozen or more reasons why that would be a diplomatic blunder, and Anora was far more effective at shaping hearts and minds than I.

"You heard wrong," I responded flatly.

"Oh? I've got a guard sergeant in the infirmary with internal bleeding." He looked to the genuflecting guards. "Please, stand. Thank you. You are dismissed."

The guards rose, saluted and marched away. "Internal bleeding?" I echoed. "I didn't think I hit him that hard."

Alistair shrugged. "He was curiously silent on the cause of his injury, but the rumours are flying. Did you have to almost kill him? Recruitment is hard enough as it is."

Though his tone was light, there was a tension behind his words. I tilted my head back and levelled my gaze at him. "If one of your guards had told someone like, say, Isolde to 'get out', called her a whore and grabbed his dagger to threaten her with, he'd only have been hanged if he'd managed to escaped being decapitated on the spot."

He swallowed, and nodded in agreement. "True enough. I guess I should be glad he threatened someone capable of being so gentle with him."

I mirrored his nod. "Yes. Not only is he alive, he's also learned an important lesson about being observant." I chuckled at Alistair's expression. "Don't be too hard on him; rumours of his idiocy will take care of that." I paused. "Keep an eye on the recruit called Pickering though. He has potential."

"I'll do that. You think he'll make a good Warden?"

I nodded. "I think he would, but he's too young yet. But he will make you an excellent guard; I suggest you keep him. During the unfortunate incident this morning, he noticed things going on around him while the other guards were focused on bullying an elf."

He nodded. "Good to know. Oh, I've got some excellent news for you." He turned to face one end of the marshalling yard and waved an arm in the air.

I turned to look at what he was gesturing towards and saw a group of eight ox-pulled wagons loaded with lumber, tools and workers. A pair of men on horses who were directing the wagons waved back and rode over, a large mabari trotting between them.

They dismounted and bowed to Alistair. "Your Majesty," they said in unison. I scanned them over, noting that they had similar colouring and features despite their differences in size and gait. They were clearly both trained warriors, though the one with the close-trimmed goatee had the bulky shoulders and build of a man used to heavy armour, while the slender, clean-shaven man moved with a cat's grace and looked to favour lighter gear. Thunder eyed the new mabari, but did not consider the smaller, yet still impressive, war hound a threat. Both men both wore the same insignia on their breasts, though I didn't recognise it.

Alistair coughed, still not used to genuflection. "Fergus, Aedan, I'd like you to meet Kathryn Surana, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Kathryn, this is Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever and his brother Aedan," he introduced us. So, the man with the facial hair was the second most powerful noble in the kingdom. That fact must get stuck in Eamon's craw.

I nodded to the pair. "Nice to meet you," I said simply. Why had Alistair wanted to introduce me? He knew my opinion of nobles.

"My Lady," Fergus said, taking my hand brushing his lips over the back of my glove. "His Majesty has told me all about you." I noted that the Teyrn's brother flushed slightly at his brother's archaic greeting.

I raised an eyebrow. "Obviously he hasn't told you about how I turn people who call me 'my lady' into statues and position them under flocks of pigeons." Shale always had so much to say about it, I figured it would make a vivid, yet not particularly insulting threat.

Alistair slapped his palm to his face, and Fergus coughed and snatched his hand back as though burned. While both of them turned red, Aedan laughed uproarishly. "Well brother, it seems that your Orlesian manners do not always work."

Fergus didn't directly respond to his brother's jibe, but just looked at me, his expression horrified. Perhaps he was the type of person who thought that annoying a mage was a terminal mistake. "Please accept my most humble apologies, Warden-Commander. I meant no disrespect."

Alistair, still covering his eyes with his hand, said in a pained voice, "Kat, Fergus is your liege lord." He dropped his hand and clarified, "Amaranthine is an arling within the Highever teyrnir."

I raised an eyebrow. "You keep speaking of my elevation to Arlessa as though it is a fait accompli. I imagine that most of the nobles in the Landsmeet would prefer someone like Aedan here to assume control, assuming any of Howe's remaining relatives are not suicidal enough to stake a counter-claim."

That raised the eyebrows of the Cousland brothers. "You also did not mention her realistic grasp of politics, Your Majesty," Fergus said.

Aedan's lips twitched. "Given her colourfully impolitic mannerisms, I'd say that most people don't suspect it either."

I smiled at the younger Cousland brother. "I like you."

He gave me an extravagant bow. His brother, coming to the conclusion that I wasn't about to immolate him with magical fire for an imagined insult, gave a weak smile. "Well pup, it looks like you have another admirer."

Aedan's face fell. "If Your Majesty will excuse me, I'll go and see to the wagons." Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel, snatched up a set of reins and led his horse back to the wagons. To my surprise, the mabari followed him. I had assumed that the hound belonged to the Teyrn.

Fergus sighed. "Please forgive him, Your Majesty. During the attack on Highever he lost someone close. I shouldn't have brought it up." Fergus turned to face me. "And might I ask forgiveness from you as well, Warden-Commander."

I waved the apology away. "There is nothing to apologise for, Fergus. Just don't call me 'my lady', for the love of Andraste."

Fergus blinked at my use of his name. Alistair himself winced. "I did tell you that she was... informal."

Fergus nodded, looking more than a little unsure. "That you did. Quite, er, refreshing, isn't it?"

The King looked relieved. "Kat, Fergus brought a team of workmen to assist in the rebuilding of Denerim. With all the critical infrastructure works complete, he's taking them back to Highever, but has offered their skills on the way to help get Soldier's Peak habitable again."

That surprised me. Not that Alistair would fail to come through with the workers, but that another noble would offer them. "I... Really? Thank you very much!"

The Teyrn started looking a little less uncomfortable around me. "You are most welcome, Warden-Commander. I confess that I find myself most curious about this lore-filled fortress within my teyrnir. I am keen to discuss your plans for it; given its location I hope it will make a fine outpost for monitoring bandit activities or a logical stopover point for travellers between Highever and Denerim."

I smothered a grin and shook my head. "Until we get some better roads put in, or even a road put in, I doubt it will be a popular stop over point. It is an impressive fortress, but getting to it requires traversing some tunnels. Has Alistair told you about my plans for the Peak?"

Alistair rolled his eyes at Fergus' look of horror. "Informal doesn't even really begin to describe her, does it? And no, Kat, I haven't mentioned anything beyond Levi's hope to turn it into a trading post."

I decided not to mention the pair of maleficars in the tower then.

o_ooo000ooo_o