disclaimer type=standard
Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.
/disclaimer
o_ooo000ooo_o
Cassandra covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head slightly. "So Greagoir just attacked you with no warning? You expect me to believe that?"
Kathryn just nodded happily. "Yup, without warning sure, but it was hardly without reason. Anyway, you should have seen his expression at the end there. It was beautiful."
The Seeker looked sadly at the elf. "Do you not care that due to the unmitigated gall of the man, six people died unnecessarily at your hand?"
Instantly, Kathryn stopped laughing. "Not a bit. If you find me another six templars and line them up, I'll eviscerate them on the spot for you. At the time though..." She stared straight into Cassandra's eyes, apparently considering her feelings deeply. "You know what? Nope, not then either. I was more annoyed at the fact I had to spend time adding to my report about the incident."
The Seeker shook her head, but she could not begrudge the mage her attitude to the templars who had attacked her. And in the privacy of her own thoughts, Cassandra admitted that she had often felt more exasperated by the requirement to document the discoveries she made in the course of her duties, than by the deaths of any malcontents standing in her way. "Would you tell me how you manage to resist a templar's Holy Smite?" she asked as politely as she could manage.
Kathryn gave an insouciant flick of her hair. "Can I resist a Holy Smite?" she asked with a fake tone of surprised wonder. "I was under the impression that Justinia the somthing-th, your boss, made some sort of holy declaration that I could not. She said it was impossible, therefore I couldn't. Something like that."
Cassandra bit back her first response. "The Fifth. Justinia the Fifth. And that was a necessary falsehood. The very idea that a mage could shrug off a Holy Smite caused some discontent among the templars."
"Discontent?" blurted the mage. "After the rumour spread that Smites didn't work on me, if I so much as said 'boo' to a templar they soiled themselves."
Cassandra nodded slowly, carefully concealing her annoyance. "Just so. This ability is the subject of some debate among Chantry scholars. Please, how did you gain it?"
Kathryn sighed deeply, her damaged voice deepening. "I don't suppose it matters now. To tell the truth, I'm surprised the secret has lasted this long. During the Blight, we often battled what we Wardens call 'Emissaries'; darkspawn who use magic. Alistair's templar skills worked just as well on them as they do on mages, but one specific fight went poorly quickly when one Emissary resisted his Holy Smite and continued battering us with spells."
A cold shiver ran down the Seeker's spine. She had assumed that the resistance had been an ability unique to this mage. That a darkspawn of all things also possessed the ability was horrifying.
The Warden nodded at her, acknowledging her realisation. "Yep, it scared the pants off us too. In our campfire discussions, we thought that it may be an acclimatised resistance, rather than an inherent talent."
The Seeker frowned and shook her head. "That makes no sense. Where would a darkspawn mage encounter a templar to develop such a resistance?"
Kathryn actually looked quite abashed. "I know, I know. It was a case of willful ignorance; I didn't want to consider the idea that it was a talent. I really wanted to learn how to do it. So, every night in camp for the next six weeks, I had Alistair hit me with a Smite."
Cassandra blinked, completely taken aback. "You... deliberately had your companion call down Holy Smites upon you? Are you insane?"
The mage nodded glumly. "Yep. That I had him Smite me, that is," she clarified. "The other... maybe. Those six weeks were the most miserable time of my life. All the more so because I was just letting him Smite me, and hoping that I developed some sort of resistance to them. I was getting nothing but exhaustion migraines and bruises from hitting the ground. Eventually - even my stubborn idiocy has limits - I discarded that hypothesis and developed another; that a mage could 'fight off' a Smite."
"Fight off?"
"Yeah. A mage who has been told all their life that a Smite is the Maker's way of keeping them in check sort of winces when they know it's coming. Like you tense up at the sound of a birch rod whistling through the air before it strikes you. That's exactly the wrong tactic, a mage who does that has already given in to the Smite." A slow smile grew on the elf's face. "However, when you're used to the pain, you can force yourself to figuratively stand up and face it. You pit your mental discipline and strength against the those of the templar. If you are stronger, the Smite doesn't affect you."
Cassandra could not stop her jaw from dropping at a sudden thought. "The ability is learned? Wait! If that is the case, why were you so worried about the prospect of being struck the evening you arrived at Kinloch Hold?"
Kathryn sat silently for a moment before answering. "I have not had the pleasure of fighting off multiple templars at once."
"That's not the real reason, is it?"
Another long pause. "Not exactly."
Cassandra considered the elf. "You can't do it every time, can you? You said that you pit your mental strength against the templar's discipline. So it's not a certain thing."
The Warden made a face. "No, it's not. I'll back myself against any templar, face to face, one on one, but against twenty? No chance. It was why I didn't pull any punches and went for the kill." She paused, and gave the Seeker an evaluating stare. "You know, you are quite good at this interrogation thing. I've not met many Chantry priests or templars who can employ logic. Well, it doesn't matter any more if you tell anyone. I'm not the only mage who knows about it now."
"Not the... Who else knows about this?"
"The Wardens, obviously. I'd be remiss if I failed to show other Warden mages how to defend themselves. Didn't you notice how Anders never seemed to worry too much about templars? Even when they were sniffing around his clinic in Darktown?" Kathryn tapped her chin with one finger. "But I don't think I'm quite ready to tell you who else."
The Seeker bit the inside of her cheek in frustration, but let it go. It was far more important to calm the tension between them. "Well, would you explain this shapechanging ability? Leliana reported that the apostate witch you travelled with during the Blight taught you the skill, but her understanding was limited."
Kathryn nodded. "She did. The spells involved in changing your shape are quite simple to learn; they are no more difficult to master than any other complex spell routinely taught in the Circles. It is the knowledge of the animal form that is the difficult part - though I discovered that knowledge gained in the Fade can be used in the mortal world."
"The Fade?" Cassandra said, perplexed. "What do you mean?"
The elf sighed deeply. "To save the Circle during the Blight, we were forced into the Fade by a Sloth Demon. While there, I picked up the ability for my Fade-self to take the form of a mouse. While the technique to change form while in the Fade is completely different to shapeshifting in the real world, the knowledge I gained from running around a maze in rodent form stayed with me. Enough so that I can use the shapeshifting spells to turn into a mouse."
"You, you learned to turn into a mouse... while in the Fade?"
Kathryn sighed again, even more deeply this time. "No," she said, frustration colouring her tone. "Look, you're not a mage, so it might not make sense to you. In the Fade, a mage can... alter things. It just takes an effort of will. I learned to will myself into the form of a mouse, and the knowledge of how a mouse's body works stayed with me once we escaped. Morrigan was quite disdainful of the fact that I learned the shape that way, and took every opportunity to turn up her nose at my form."
"I see. And you picked up your other forms the normal way?"
"Yes, through study and examination. Thunder was obviously a great help, though he found the attention a bit odd at times. And I needed to examine the corpses of some female hounds before I could successfully change into a mabari. Changing gender adds a level of complexity that I wasn't prepared to test my skill against."
Cassandra gave a dutiful nod. "I shall take your word for it. How-"
Kathryn held up a hand. "I'm not here to give a lecture on the methodologies and intricacies of changing form. May I continue my story with what happened after I left the Circle?"
o_ooo000ooo_o
The templar named Aaron rowed Thunder and me over to the shore in almost total silence; nothing but the metallic clank of oar in oarlock, the splash of water on hull and, when I shifted slightly in my seat, an occasional terrified whimper. Something Thunder found most amusing.
Once at the docks, I wordlessly jumped out and helped Thunder scrabble onto the dew-dampened pier. Aaron waited until we'd reached land before deciding it was safe enough to get out of the boat himself.
It occurred to me that this wasn't the first time I'd travelled around Ferelden, stopping at the Circle, Orzammar and the Brecilian Forest. With any luck, I wouldn't be obliged to spend weeks sorting out life-threatening problems belonging to other people. Of course, this time I didn't desperately need their help.
I stomped my way over to the Spoiled Princess. Despite the relatively calm boat trip, my blood was still up, my heart still pounding audibly in my chest. I didn't expect much in the way of activity in the inn this early in the morning, but Eamon's agent William was sitting at one of the tables. Despite the early hour, he was impeccably dressed and sipping tea from a china cup. He looked up as I entered, daubed his upper lip with a napkin and rose to his feet in greeting. "Good morning, Warden-Commander," he said, his bow precisely the depth it should be.
I fidgeted uncomfortably. The fussy little man's exquisite courtesy made me feel like an unlettered oaf. I deliberately refused to use titles to annoy nobles, and it worked mostly because they expected it of others, yet didn't feel the need to return such courtesy. It amused Alistair, but infuriated most of the rest of his court.
William Larkworthy was a commoner whose raw oratorical ability had raised him to be one of Ferelden's most skilled ambassadors, diplomats and negotiators. A commoner who was unfailingly polite to everyone he met regardless of birth status, wealth, gender or race. It made me question why I never used titles. Was I being childish, or... no. Another time. "Good morning, William. The templar Aaron is waiting for you on the docks. Greagoir has agreed to enter into negotiations with you, though it may be a few hours before he is composed enough to accommodate you."
"Splendid. Well done. We feared for your safety last night, having heard a few muffled booms, but there were more of the same less than an hour ago, so we judged it simply the norm for an institution dedicated to training mages. Judging by your unexpectedly early return, I trust there was none of your cynically dreaded unpleasantness?"
I coughed. "Er, not exactly."
"Oh? Is the mood on the island disagreeable?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes," I said, drawing out the answer. "My arrival last night was definitely unwelcome. Those explosions you heard? That was me. I was attacked after I refused to disarm, undress, and submit to their mercy. And then I was attacked again this morning while waiting for the ferry."
He managed to keep his expression carefully blank. "I see. Were there any casualties?"
I swallowed. "A few."
Even behind his blank expression, there was considerable disapproval. "I see. Two? Three?" He took in my expression. "More?"
I winced. "Fourteen. Eight last night and another six this morning."
"Fourt-" he blurted, eyes wide, before getting himself under control He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I... I see. That will make things more difficult."
"You could always threaten to have me return to conduct the negotiations on your behalf," I said with a fake, jovial smile.
His expression barely changed, but he radiated disapproval. "The Arl of Redcliffe commissioned me to conduct these negotiations in good faith, Warden-Commander. I have no desire to cause His Excellency or Their Majesties any embarrassment due to failures on my part. I thank you for your efforts in gaining access to the island, but I feel I must insist that you take no further part in the discussions."
I waved a hand. "No fear. I'm putting as much distance between that blasted tower and me as I can." I pulled out a sheet of vellum and held it out to him. "I've written a report on what happened last night. Alistair needs to know before he gets a visit from the Grand Cleric in Denerim."
He made no move to take it. "Add the events of this morning, if you please. His Majesty will need a full accounting. I have a messenger waiting who will take word back to His Excellency."
I groaned inwardly, but nodded and sat down opposite him. I pulled out the report I'd written last night, took William's proffered quill, and added this morning's unpleasantness. I wrote down what I could and resealed the parchment. Eamon was going to have a fit.
That thought cheered me.
The weather on the first day of the trip north around the tip of Lake Calenhad was miserable.
Having grown up in the Circle, I'd never been allowed outside the tower. My trip south from the Circle to Ostagar with Duncan was an enchanting time, where the smell of grass, the joy of splashing in a puddle and the wonder of standing among rustling trees all mesmerised me. It certainly amused Duncan, who couldn't decide whether to laugh at my antics or pity me for my upbringing. But there was one thing I didn't like about the outdoors. The sodding rain. If you had a warm bath and dry place to sleep, snow could quite fun to frolic in for short periods. And snowball fights were an unexpected delight I'd taken to with gusto, much to Sten's bafflement. Warm sunshine was uplifting in a way few things could hope to match, and the stars were just incredible. But rain really soured my mood.
It helped that I was on horseback. Wearing a thick, woollen cloak merely meant that I was uncomfortably damp, as opposed to utterly miserable, like the soldiers marching in the rain behind me. The first camp away from the tower, there was a great deal of grumbling at the amount of effort required to re-oil chain or splint mail armour. Archdemon-bone was waterproof (actually, almost entirely element-proof), but the straps and buckles needed some attention.
The rain finally let up the next day, and Thunder amused himself chasing rabbits in the cool morning air. He did manage to catch the occasional bunny, but only those that didn't do something dastardly devious, like suddenly change direction mid-chase. Observing a lion-sized dog watch helplessly as he continued on down his chosen vector while his furry target made a sharp turn and raced away on a perpendicular line completely wiped away my sour mood. Even Captain Francois' grim features shattered, the edges of his lips twitching upwards. He covered it quickly, of course.
As we approached the crest of a small rise, Thunder's ears pricked up. He stood stock still and stared forward for a moment. He then turned his head and looked up at me, his eyes hopeful. He gave me a soft, pleading whine.
"What is it, boy?" I asked.
He barked happily, and raced away up the road and over the hill, his claws throwing up small clods of damp earth behind him in his haste. I urged my horse forward at a trot, still not comfortable riding it at faster speeds. I crested the hill to see Thunder wrestling with a midnight-black mabari halfway down the slope on the other side. The two dogs suddenly separated and began chasing one another across the muddy landscape, barking with joyous abandon.
Ahead was a small camp of armed men, bustling to break down. I shook my head and waited for my escort to catch up.
"It would appear we have some old friends waiting for us," I said over my shoulder with a smile.
Captain Francois nodded. "So it would seem, Warden-Commander."
We made our way down the small hill and into the camp. Soldiers nodded to us in greeting while breaking down tents and packing gear. "Kathryn!" Aedan shouted, giving me a friendly wave as he paused from adjusting some straps on his horse.
"Aedan," I greeted him with a nod. "Fancy meeting you here."
"I know! Totally unexpected and completely random," he replied with insincere innocence.
"You seem to be getting ready to move out," I said with a grin, looking around at the bustling soldiers.
"Oh, you know, camping in the one spot can become frightfully dull. Time to move on and all that rot."
I glanced around at the camp. "There's two night's worth of ash in the fire pit," I pointed out. "And those tents your men are packing away are still damp from yesterday's rain."
"There's nothing wrong with your powers of observation," he said easily, setting the last buckle and patting his horse's neck.
I chuckled at his banter. "I take it you're heading towards Orzammar."
Aedan sobered, and mounted his horse. "Yes. Almost all the usable metal in Highever was stripped for the war effort, there are barely enough pots and pans left to cook for everyone. I know that's not unique in Ferelden and the moment, but we've barely enough iron for the essential repairs to the city. And with all the citizens Howe abducted and sold to the slavers, we don't have the manpower to bring the disused mines on the coast up to speed. The Amaranthine mines have been unproductive due to the darkspawn in the area." He suddenly grinned at my, and once again I felt an odd feeling in my stomach at the sight. "That's something you're going to have lots of fun dealing with."
I frowned, ignoring the jest. "Don't the dwarves have ore merchants in Highever? They'd be able to set you up with a reliable supply."
He pursed his lips and glanced around. In a low voice, he replied, "We can't afford it; the mark up charged by the dwarvern agents is obscene. Fergus wants me to find a dealer in Orzammar and negotiate a contract directly. I studied father's account books, and they indicate that we might be able to get as much as a third more iron and steel, and maybe double the silverite, for the same price if we just get it direct from the source."
I nodded, and said, "And you just decided to take a break from this urgent diplomatic mission, and made camp at the northern tip of Lake Calenhad for a couple of days?"
He smiled at me. "Well, you were due to come by," he pointed out, as though my movements were a perfectly acceptable reason to temporarily abandon a duty. "I thought you'd like some company."
I jerked my head back at the playing dogs. "Thunder and Shadow certainly agree. And I suppose I could do with someone to chat with on the trip."
He inclined his head. "That's the spirit! I would be honoured to entertain you."
"Now," I said firmly, "what is the real reason?"
Aedan blinked at me, but laughed. "I suppose acting innocent won't get me anywhere, will it?"
I shook my head. "No."
He sighed. "We need your help. I need your help."
I sighed as well, but for a much different reason. Here we go again. Yet another noble with delusions of adequacy expecting me to drop everything and solve a problem both completely beyond their ability and nothing to do with me.
Aedan didn't notice my sudden surliness. "You are very well thought of in Orzammar, and I could use that. All I ask is that you accompany me for the initial discussions with metal dealers. I don't expect you to take part in any negotiations, but being in your company will open doors to me that would remain closed otherwise."
I blinked. Huh. Well that was unexpected. Aedan didn't want me to do anything except stand there, and he'd do the rest? Colour me impressed. Maybe I was being a bit too egocentric, but damn it, ever since Duncan levered me out from under the Circle's governance, it seemed that most of Ferelden couldn't survive without my assistance. "How are you intending to transport this ore?"
"Ingots, not ore; we can't refine it as well as the dwarves, and it needs ten times as many wagons to transport, with commensurate costs. To answer your question, we'll be using dwarvern wagoneers to start with, but I plan to commission some Highever or Amaranthine wagoneers to create a supply line to Orzammar eventually. We need to keep at least some of the tax revenue in the teyrnir's economy."
I rubbed my chin. "You don't think it would be easier, not to mention cheaper, to set up supply lines to the west coast of Lake Calenhad?"
That earned me a sidelong glance. "No. They need to go to the source."
"But if the metal could be picked up from there... Would it be cheaper? Easier?"
He frowned, trying to work out what I was saying. "Yes, I suppose so. Half the expense goes to outfitting the wagons for mountain travel. But why would I do that? The metal will come from Orzammar," he insisted.
"Did Alistair tell your brother why I'm going to visit Bhelen?"
"No, just that it was to help cement the good will between the Kings. Why? Is there more to it?"
I nodded. "Oh yes. I'm not supposed to talk about it until I get to Orzammar, but I suggest that you and your brother look around the western side of the lake for suitable places to set up supply depots. If you need a bit of direction, I suggest that just to the south of the most westerly tip of the lake. Yes, that would be an excellent place."
Aedan frowned. "There's nothing down there but darkspawn, the road to Redcliffe and the occasional abandoned farmstead."
"Not yet. But give it a few months."
The rains came down once again for most of the rest of the trip to Orzammar. Hunched under my woollen cloak, I allowed myself to be distracted by Aedan's incessant questions about the dwarfs, their Thaigs and their culture. Though I hardly considered myself an expert, the fact that I'd spent weeks underground with them meant that I knew far more about Ferelden's stout neighbours than the vast majority of my countrymen. I described my adventures in detail, and Aedan soaked it all up. He often interrupted me to ask pertinent questions, teasing out details I had forgotten or not considered important.
We spoke about the politics of the Assembly, the caste system, and the best place to get a decent drink.
By the time we reached the front gates of Orzammar, I was more than ready to get in out of the rain, and Aedan said he felt ready to get to work.
The guard at the front gate initially greeted us cordially, but warmed up when he noticed the griffons on my breastplate. He requested the our escort make camp past the market area outside, but waved Aedan, Thunder, Shadow and me through.
We descended down in the travelling box, to the Hall of Paragons. Aedan's first glimpse of the dwarvern Thaig was everything he'd hoped, delighted at the mechanisms for controlling and diverting the flow of molten rock. He spent a few moments examining the statues of the Paragons, noting names and accomplishments.
After his curiosity was sated, we moved on into the city proper. The merchant quarter was bustling, far more lively than the last time I had been here. It seemed that every third dwarf recognised me and gave a wave and a shouted greeting. I returned as many as I could, just glad that the taciturn race weren't of a mind to try mobbing me.
We made our way towards the Diamond quarter, but I noticed something about the crowd. There were a handful of branded dwarves among the faces. They were hauling a cart full of ore, or carrying boxes, or cleaning up nug droppings, but the casteless were visible, and working. We stepped aside to let a cart trundle past.
"That's new," I muttered to Aedan.
"What's that?"
With a nod of my head towards a bald dwarf whose face was more tattoo than naked skin, who was loading barrels into a waiting wagon. "The casteless weren't allowed to work the last time I was here."
An elderly dwarf merchant behind us scoffed and spat a gob of some sort of chewed root onto the lava behind him. I suppose it would be an effective garbage disposal method.
"Aye. King Bhelen's idea. Never though' I'd ever want to see dem brands out o' Dust Town, but dey're willin' to do da grun' work righ' enough. My boy's boys are out learnin' the trade instead o' hauling stock around. 'Slike another pair o' hands runnin' the store, ye ken?"
"You think it's a good idea?" I asked, puzzling through the odd speech.
He made a face. "It's profitable, I'll gran' ye. Gotta keep an eye on the dirty buggers, o' course. An' I'm no' happy abou' havin' te look at 'em all over the place. But aye, we ain't been this busy in years. King Bhelen's ideas are gettin' this Thaig movin' again."
We nodded, thanked the dwarf for his time, and headed into the Diamond Quarter. Aedan's eyes widened at the architecture, making him look like, well, like I did the first time I was here. We presented ourselves at the Palace gates, and we were admitted instantly.
We didn't even have time to sit in the antechamber before the doors ahead opened and admitted a familiar figure.
"Warden," the dwarf said neutrally, nodding in greeting.
I put on a false smile, spread my hands and with as much enthusiasm as I could muster shouted, "Vartag!" I added 'you disgusting, oily toe-rag' under my breath and behind my smile. I'd have said it out loud, but that would have been undiplomatic, even for me. "It's good to see you again," I lied. "May I present Aedan Cousland, brother of Teyrn Fergus of Highever." Aedan bowed deeply.
Bhelen's second accepted my false greeting and returned Aedan's bow. "Welcome to Orzammar, Warden. My lord. I am sure King Bhelen would be most eager to grant you an audience. However, he is currently mired in some complex negotiations with the heads of some surface merchant families."
I grinned. "And no doubt securing all sorts of promises and concessions his opponents had no intention of granting when the negotiations started."
Even through his unkempt beard I could see the dwarf's lips twitch. "No doubt," he agreed. "I am certain however, that he could be interrupted for important Warden business."
Well, I guess that could be translated as, what do you sodding well want? "Actually, I'm not here on Warden business, Vartag. At least, not directly. I want things to settle down before I begin recruiting. I have a proposal from Alistair to Bhelen; one that would take advantage of the current dearth of darkspawn and strengthen both Ferelden and Orzammar."
Vartag nodded slowly, his shrewd eyes flicking between Aedan and me. "I see. I shall inform King Bhelen of your arrival and your intention. Please accept our hospitality in the meantime." He turned to a guard. "Escort the Warden and Lord Aedan to the throne room."
The stout guard nodded, bashed his armour in salute and fell into step beside me. Without a word, we were taken to the large throne room where a vaguely familiar dwarf woman in a scarlet dress waited.
She bowed deeply to us. "Welcome, Warden-Commander. My lord of Highever."
Aedan and I dipped our heads in response. "Thank you." I looked her over, noting the small brand on her cheek. "Rica, isn't it?"
She smiled at me. "You remember. Yes, I am Rica, the King's consort. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you care for some wine?"
I nodded and sat down at the indicated table. Aedan sat at my left. "Thank you. How is your son?"
"Full of life and personality. He drives me to distraction, but I love him all the more for it." She picked up a dusty bottle and poured three glasses of scarlet liquid. "I'm afraid my education has not extended far into surface drinks. I hope this wine is satisfactory."
I laughed softly. "Given I was essentially raised by templars, I suspect that your knowledge far outstrips mine. Aedan here will be the person to ask."
With a smile, Aedan took one of the crystal glasses and swirled it around before raising it to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Antivan," he said after a moment. "From the Fortunys vineyards." He took a small sip, swirling the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. "From the year 9:10 or :12, I suspect."
Rica blinked, looking very surprised. "I am impressed, my lord."
Aedan graced her with his broad, genuine smile, which oddly sent a pang of jealousy through me. "My father insisted that my brother and I learn all we could about identifying wines. Please do not think that I am an expert, however. I only recognised this wine and year because it comes from a vineyard owned by my late sister-in-law's family. There were always several bottles of Fortunys wine available during our family dinners."
"It is still most impressive, my lord. I must focus my efforts."
He waved that away. "Despite what they would have you believe, most nobles and self-proclaimed wine experts are not that good at it. Most rely on the advice of their sommeliers."
I blinked, never having heard the term. "Their what?"
"An Orlesian word that means 'wine-steward'. Someone trained to manage a wine cellar, procure quality wines and match a specific vintage to a particular meal."
I gave him an incredulous look. "Nobles hire people to take care of their wine for them? Seriously? Like, for pay?"
He laughed, and after a moment of tension, Rica joined in. "It is more common in Orlais of course, where having the resources to have a sommelier on retainer is something of a social requirement in certain circles. And having good advice on what to eat with a wine adds to the enjoyment of both. This vintage for example, is best served with hearty, rustic food. I imagine a good spit-roast nug would be a good match."
My stomach growled audibly at the thought.
Both Aedan and Rica laughed at my rueful smile. "I can request such from the kitchen if you desire, Warden-Commander," the dwarf offered.
"Oh, yes please!" I said with delight.
The wine did indeed go well with roasted nug. Aedan gave our dwarvern hostess some pointers on identifying the vintage and origin of wines, and suggestions on what to serve with the different varieties. Bhelen's casteless consort soaked up the knowledge as well as Aedan had on our trip, with unending curiosity about the surface world.
Almost as soon as the plates were cleared, Bhelen entered with Vartag and a pair of elderly dwarfs in tow. We gave the proper greetings, and sat down around a clear table. After the traditional small talk, I started Alistair's spiel by talking about the dwarvern army and its success on the surface. "Your warriors were a force to be reckoned with," I complimented. "He's already given you an official thank you, but Alistair wanted me to thank you again informally. Gratitude doesn't honestly reflect itself through diplomatic dispatches."
Bhelen nodded graciously. "Indeed. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of warriors who returned. Your King has an almost dwarvern knack for battle tactics and strategy; and keeping troops alive."
I nodded, deciding not to point out that it was Loghain who was responsible for the army's tactics and the corresponding lack of casualties. "Alistair would like to improve relations between Ferelden and Orzammar, in the hope that we can work together to strengthen both our peoples."
Bhelen nodded, completely expressionless. "A worthy goal. With the Blight ended, the darkspawn have retreated from the surface once more. Any assistance we can get from our Brother King would be welcome," he said with diplomatic neutrality.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think that the darkspawn are the biggest threat the dwarves of Orzammar face?"
Vartag coloured, and opened his mouth to speak, but Bhelen shook his head slightly. "I am curious, Warden, what is it that you believe is the biggest threat we dwarves face?"
"Your declining population."
Bhelen actually cracked a small smile. "In the long term, I suspect you may be correct. Yet I hardly think the humans would be of any direct assistance there."
I chuckled at the unexpected jest. "True. But that's not what I meant. Have you asked the Shaperate for your population numbers recently?"
The dwarf King shook his head. "Things have been a little busy recently, Warden. What with the Blight and all."
"Yes, but even a cursory look shows some disturbing trends. Did you know that more of your people have died in the past five years at the hands of other dwarves than were killed by darkspawn? And that's including the Legion of the Dead."
"Our laws deal with such matters. Effectively."
I nodded. "They do, but not the underlying problem."
Bhelen's eyes narrowed. "What would you know of our problems?"
"An outsider can see things that others miss due to familiarity. Your population is small, yes, but the darkspawn have taken so much of your territory that there isn't enough room in Orzammar for you all. Deshyrs argue, plot and fight other deshyrs over what little territory remains. That is the biggest threat you face."
"You have a solution to offer, Warden?" Vartag snarled.
I nodded. "With the darkspawn population thinned out by their defeat on the surface, you have an almost unheard of opportunity. I have no doubt that there are several expeditions planned or in progress to scour the nearby tunnels now that they're relatively clear of darkspawn."
Bhelen snorted softly. "The deshyrs of Orzammar are predictable it seems."
I grinned at him. "They are indeed. But instead of simple expeditions, why not try something a little more ambitious? Permanently reclaim some of your lost territory. With larger territory, there would be more opportunities for hemmed in families." I handed Aedan the diplomatic pouch, and at my nod, he pulled out Alistair's missive and maps. With his longer reach, he was able to spread them over the table more effectively than me. "There are three Thaigs we know of under Ferelden territory, and the King's cartographers have identified probable Deep Road entrances nearby on the surface to each. The major problem in reclaiming those Thaigs is establishing and protecting stable supply routes." I gestured at the maps, surface and subterranean, side by side. Bhelen looked down at them, suddenly seeming a lot more positive.
"These are good work," he said admiringly, tracing some of the Deep Road paths marked on the Ferelden map.
"To secure supply lines in the Deep Roads, you'd have to assign over half your warriors to guard the shipments. And they travel through tunnels with any number of potential ambush sites. Alistair is suggesting that you use Ferelden territory to establish the supply lines, and perhaps even permanent trading posts near these Deep Road entrances. Once the initial supply caches were ready, you could march your troops through either the Deep Roads or across the surface. With no darkspawn to interfere with the supplies, the logistics of retaking and holding the Thaigs would be vastly simplified."
Bhelen poured over the maps as I spread them out. Even under the thick beard and his usual blank, negotiating face, I could sense his interest. Even Vartag's permanent expression of oily condescension had faded as the idea took hold.
I continued, laying out my high card. "Imagine that if instead of the short-term profit from these one-off looting expeditions, you could reclaim those three Thaigs in the next five years. With all that territory, and the mineral resources that would suddenly become available to exploit, your deshyrs would be more interested in establishing control over new areas instead of fighting each other over the old."
"And what would your King get from this arrangement?" Vartag asked pointedly.
I shrugged, gesturing at the missive. "It's all there. He'd get tax revenue from the increased trade, but his major benefit would come from the increased availability of material commodities. He needs coin of course, but also metal and stone." I waved towards Aedan. "Highever itself has a great need for your exports to rebuild."
Aedan nodded, his eyes alight, jumping to take advantage for his brother. "Highever is a deep water port and a major trading centre on the Waking Sea. Commodities shipped there could be transported almost anywhere in Thedas, opening markets in Rivain, Antiva and even Par Vollen. Materials that you need could be transported directly to these supply dumps - weapons, armour, timber, food, fuel. All the things you will need to fortify your Thaigs, but with a much shorter and safer supply chain. You wouldn't need to ship all your goods through the mountain pass."
"It will take time for such a venture to be profitable," Vartag said pointedly.
"Of course. It will also take decades to get Ferelden close to Alistair's vision. But we have only a small opportunity to bring these Thaigs back under dwarvern control before the darkspawn numbers grow again. The effort is expended now, the profit comes later. Of course, that leads into my ulterior motive too."
Bhelen looked up from the maps at me. "Oh?"
"Now that the Blight is over, I need to rebuild the Ferelden Grey Wardens. And to keep them in form I'm going to need access to darkspawn." I grinned nastily. "You really are selfish, keeping them all to yourself," I said, wagging my finger at him jokingly.
Bhelen actually smiled back. "Do not blame us. We let you have them and they came back after a year. Apparently, you're not particularly gracious hosts."
I laughed out loud. "Touché. But if your people can claim and hold these Thaigs, when the darkspawn do return in numbers, I guarantee that the Wardens will stand with you to hold the lines, and even work with the Legion of the Dead to send scouting parties and sorties deep into darkspawn-controlled territory. We will need the practise, not having consistent access to them on the surface."
Bhelen nodded, once more looking down at the maps, measuring distances off with his fingers. I noted that he was focusing his attention almost exclusively on the Aeducan Thaig. Alistair would be pleased at his deduction. "This is an intriguing proposal, Warden. Let me read over your King's missive and consult my advisors."
I nodded. "Of course."
I was surprised to discover that the Wardens maintained a small compound in the Diamond Quarter. I suppose that Wardens coming here for their Calling would want a comfortable place to stay before they headed out to their deaths.
I had some errands to run, and Aedan was more than happy to stay at the compound to wait for Bhelen's response. One of the older dwarfs who I'd taken as Bhelen's advisors was actually the head of a branch of the Aeducan family. As such, he had a personal stake in reclaiming the old Aeducan Thaig, and was keen to see it become a profitable venture quickly. Having Aedan's brother supply the Thaig with food, timber and fuel in return for the needed metals made sense, and the pair were keen to discuss the plan.
After all, with a lean treasury, Fergus would probably prefer to pay with goods rather than gold.
And, judging from the snippets I heard, the Aeducan family was keen to deal directly with the Highever Teyrn, cutting out the middle-dwarf to maximise their profits.
Thunder and I left our friends at the Warden Compound and headed out into Orzammar. The subterranean city had not physically changed since our last visit, but the mood certainly had.
Political stability suited the city's inhabitants. The changes Bhelen had enacted appeared to be working well. The merchants were well-stocked, the streets were orderly and the throng of dwarves all looked to be doing something important. There were several dwarves with missing limbs, but they were all proudly wearing armour and looked well-fed and healthy enough; they weren't begging to survive.
Familiar faces continued to call out greetings to me, which I returned. The Grey Wardens were held in high esteem here, especially after ending the Blight so quickly. The lyrium-addled trader whose name I couldn't quite remember stuttered a greeting, and took some of the loot I'd collected off my hands. Dagna's father even allowed me to deliver her message before he summarily ejected me from his store. His mood was definitely much improved since the last time I'd visited.
I browsed the many stalls in the Quarter; selling the rest of the trinkets I'd picked up on the trip and trying to get a feel for any lyrium shortage. There didn't seem to be one; I managed to buy a large pouch of lyrium dust quite cheaply, plus some other crafting reagents. Enough to refill my much-lighter potion bandoleer.
After a brief stop at Tapsters for a quick pint and a bowl of nug stew each, Thunder and I meandered our way into Dust Town.
There were still beggars, but far fewer than last time; mostly disabled rather than unemployable. The casteless certainly looked more prosperous, but that was only a manner of degree. It was still, by any measure, a slum.
It took a while, and talking to quite a few dwarves, before I managed to track down Rogek, Godwin's lyrium dealer.
"Aye, Warden. I've got some more stuff. But the tall streak of piss in that tower ain't been able to get his last delivery. It's no skin off my knuckles if he don't get it, I keep the finder's fee that way. But my usual delivery dwarf is out of pocket, and hauling around that stuff until he finds a buyer is mighty dangerous, what with those religious nutters in charge of the trade."
I frowned. "What's that got to do with me?"
"You? Nuffin'. But you might want to tell your friend that he needs to make right to my delivery dwarf, or he ain't getting another lot until I can find someone else to make the run."
I nodded as I handed over a pouch of gold in return for a sealed container. "Fair enough. What's your delivery dwarf's name?" I asked.
Rogek's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "None of your business, Warden," he snapped.
"Maybe it is," I said with a smile. "Once I start rebuilding the Grey Wardens, I'm going to need access to this stuff on occasion, and I don't fancy negotiating with the Chantry. I was just going to offer to buy it from him if he ever can't get it into the tower again."
"Is that so? This ain't the usual refined dust that you surfacers see. This stuff is raw, and takes a dwarf or a mage to work it proper-," he stopped at my expression, or possibly at the purple fire dancing on my upraised palm. "Oh. Er, right. I forgot. Well, I might just mention it to him the next time I see him. He's not one for advertising his services, get my drift?"
I nodded with a grin. "Understood. If I can't secure a supply for the Wardens, I might have some work for you."
He scoffed and spat on the ground, looking mighty suspicious. "Why would you bother with the likes of me? There's any number upstairs who'd be happy to set you up with a steady supply, and cheaper than what I can do it for."
"There's no supply issue at the moment?" I asked. "I heard there was some problems with getting it out."
He barked a laugh, which turned into a raspy cough. "Nay, with the darkspawn thinned out, new veins have become available. There's even talk of stockpiling it. Hope they do."
"Why?" I asked idly, wondering why there was a lyrium shortage at the Circle, but not anywhere else.
"'Cause I got some of my boys and girls guarding the warehouses. Nicking it from there is much easier than swiping it from the mining crews in the tunnels."
I returned to the Diamond Quarter deep in thought. Aedan was still engrossed in hushed, complex-sounding negotiations with several dwarves when I arrived back at the compound. I left him to it and claimed a bedchamber; one with a bath. The runes embedded above the bathtub caused hot or cold water to be released, and I briefly debated grabbing a notebook instead of taking the bath.
The prospect of hot water won out, and I lay back in the stone tub, luxuriating in the sensation. Not even the royal palace had such facilities. I closed my eyes and let my mind mull the problem.
The lyrium shortage. Well, the apparent shortage. There no such lack in Orzammar, but at the end of the supply chain, the Circle had it's ration cut by four fifths. So where was the lyrium going missing?
Well, I'd need to know how the supply line would work first. I had to assume that the Chantry was still getting its full, contracted amount. The dwarves would not settle for anything less than total compliance to the letter of the contract. Did it go to Val Royeaux first and then out to the various Chantries of Thedas, or was it shipped directly to the Grand Clerics and distributed from there?
Shipping it directly would be the most efficient way of distributing it, but the Chantry wasn't anywhere close to being the textbook-definition for intelligence. No, they were cowardly, suspicious and paranoid, so the shipment probably went directly to the Divine, or at least, to a place the Divine's trusted agents controlled. From there, it would be rationed out. It would be safe to assume that each ration would go to the Grand Clerics, and further distributed within each country from there.
So, assuming that was how the supply chain was set up, either the Divine or the Ferelden Grand Cleric was skimming; or even possibly both were. If on the odd chance the Ferelden Grand Cleric got her delivery straight from the dwarves, then she was the only probable culprit. Given the pitiful amount going through to the Circle, the skimming had to be sanctioned.
Or it could be getting stolen while in transit. There was plenty of banditry around, there always had been. Darkspawn were still roaming the country, and travel was dangerous. Was it possible that the lyrium shipments were being destroyed by darkspawn? That could explain both the supply problems and the reassignment of templars. Extra guards needed and so forth.
It made the simplest sort of sense, but something just didn't quite fit. For one, there was no hue and cry by the Chantry which, given the Grand Bitch's habitual delight in complaining about anything she could think of, didn't seem likely. Second, lyrium was compact and dense, a small pinch of dust was all that was needed to make the meanest potion. Godwin's box of lyrium fit in a robe pocket, but would supply him for weeks or months. Why would it take so many templars to guard such small shipments?
I growled in my throat and briefly dipped my head under the water. I didn't have enough information to make a meaningful conclusion.
A sudden thought brought me up short. I'd assumed that the templar reassignments had been in response to the lyrium shortage. If the shortage was manufactured by the Chantry, that made no sense.
What if what I thought was the cause, wasn't the cause. What if it wasn't the lyrium shortage that dictated the templar reassignments, but vice versa?
A horrible yawning sensation built in my belly. If it was the templars who were being moved around, and the lyrium usually earmarked for the Circle was being shorted to cover their addictions...
...then there were a bunch of experienced templars, numbers unknown, location unknown, motivation unknown, and with enough lyrium that they could remain there for an unknown period.
Shit.
That made much more sense.
What was I supposed to do now? I had no proof that the Chantry was up to no good, except for some tenuous deductions and a chip on my shoulder so large it was practically an entire tree. No one with the capability of doing anything would give my suspicions any credence whatsoever. I needed more evidence, or at least a better idea of the missing templars' purpose.
After stewing with those unwelcome thoughts in my bath a while, I noticed that the skin on my fingers was becoming wrinkled. I rose, exited, and ordered Thunder into the tub.
He did everything he could to try and guilt me out of giving him a bath; puppy-dog eyes, pitiful whining, a fake limp, a sudden onset of bone-aching weariness that required immediate sleep, but I was in no mood to be defied. While I was prepared to indulge his aversion to soap in the open air where I could make him stand downwind, here in the poorly ventilated buildings of Orzammar, he was bloody well getting a wash.
Once that monstrous task was complete, I dressed and grabbed a quill and a scroll. I spent an hour or so experimenting with the runes, documenting my discoveries. With that knowledge, I was confident that I could recreate the baths again, which would make Soldier's Peak, not to mention Ferelden in general, a much nicer prospect in winter. Plagiarism complete, I packed up my writing tools and made my way to the compound's communal area for something to eat. I found Aedan there, who sat in deep communion with a sheaf of documents. "Profitable day?" I asked, trying to put some levity in my voice.
He glanced up at me. "Kathryn! Yes, it has been. There's a long way to go of course, but the Aeducan dwarves are so eager to reclaim their Thaig that I'm being offered all sorts of concessions to do business with them exclusively, rather than look around for another syndicate. If Fergus is happy to barter goods and services for metal, we should do quite well."
I grinned at him. "You might want to send a messenger to a dwarf woman named Orta, a deshyr from House Ortan. Ortan Thaig is another one for which we located a probable nearby Deep Roads entrance, and it's in much better shape than Aeducan Thaig. Have a chat with her before you sign anything with Bhelen and Vartag. If nothing else, you might convince them to give you a better deal."
I didn't feel that getting a little petty revenge on Bhelen and Vartag was beneath me, after all.
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AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Rhagar, Eucharion, Nightbrainzz and Alifangirl21 - reading your reviews encourages me to write more. Thank you.