disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra frowned at the implication. "Your allies did not trust you?"

The Warden winced. "Not really. Oh, they were quite happy to take advantage of the benefits I'd scored for them, but for the most part, no, I was like the uninvited guest at the party."

That intrigued the Seeker. Almost without exception, those counted friends by Kathryn Surana held a loyalty to her that rivaled the most fanatical priest held for the Chantry. Perhaps this was the path to convincing her. "Your allies do not appreciate you, then?"

A shrug. "Some do. Some don't. It doesn't bother me."

"No? Really?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Nope. I've long since come to the realisation that someone like me is never going to fit into anything remotely like civilised life. I'm more the kind of person you keep out of sight until the shit-storm commences. Then you let me out, point me in the right direction, and duck behind something until the screaming stop."

To her horror, Cassandra felt her lips quiver in amusement. "Quite," she said, trying to cover the loss of discipline.

The Warden spread her hands. "Consider this. The Maker may have turned his back upon us, but that isn't to say that he has no desire to see us redeem ourselves. Is it providence or coincidence that just when Thedas is to be challenged by a Blight someone like me turns up?"

"Someone like you?"

"Yes, someone like me. As much as I believe that magic is a gift of the Maker rather than a curse, my talents do not lend themselves well to peacetime pursuits. You don't need a mage like Anders or Daylen to face an archdemon. You need someone like me."

Cassandra nodded. "And once the archdemon was defeated, you should have been put away, out of sight?"

Kathryn grunted. "I might have preferred it. I was obliged to preside over petty squabbles and neighbours bickering with each other over a strip of land a couple of inches wide; not because I was good at it, but because I was the Arlessa." She tapped her chin. "You know, I suppose one good thing came from my abduction. It forced Nathaniel to assume control of the Grey Wardens. He performed immeasurably better than I as Commander."

That was not in question, Cassandra knew. Nathaniel Howe was as capable a man with a blade as he was with a sheaf of paper. He offended many, many people by refusing outright to accept the rank of Warden-Commander, instead insisting on being called Interim-Commander. "What immediate impact did your destruction of the Antivan Crows in Denerim have on your standing?"

The elf shrugged. "Mostly negative. Some people I'd helped in the past began to wonder if I should be reined in. Fergus helped immeasurably to ease the impact."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I slept for several hours until Thunder's excited barking woke me. "Get up, Kat."

"Sod off," I replied indistinctly from under the pillow.

Alistair ripped off the blankets. "Come on, get up. If you sleep too long now, you won't get to sleep tonight."

I peeked out from under the pillow. "Why do you care?"

He grinned at me, completely unrepentant. "Because I need a sparing partner, and you've volunteered."

I grumbled as the relatively cool air of the room gave me gooseflesh. "Who volunteered me?" I demanded.

"I did."

I glared at him. "Right then. Sparring, is it? Well then, let's go," I said, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air.

"Come on, grab a sword."

I glared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

He gave me the grin that I fell for. "Nope. Come on, you haven't had a decent workout for ages."

"I killed two dozen assassins just last night," I objected. "Which, I might point out, is more than you've managed in the last twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, but with magic. Come on, Kat. Grab a sword."

I sighed deeply, but he was quite right. I hadn't really fought with a blade in weeks. I moved over to the racks and selected a thin-bladed longsword, roughly the same length and weight as Spellweaver. The weapon was designed for practice – its balance was too far off to be efficient in actual combat. Your arm would just about drop off with all the extra effort you'd need to use.

Alistair selected a sword off another rack; a poor substitute for Starfang. Still, for bashing away at each other it was adequate.

"Ready?" he asked.

I took my time, casting a couple of spells that hardened my skin and shielded me from physical punishment. I knew first hand how much better it was to protect yourself against accidental strikes during sparring matches as opposed to healing yourself afterwards. I was still a bit put out by his high-handed treatment, but assumed the stance he'd originally shown me when I'd first started using a sword. "Go on then."

We both raised our blades to in front of our faces in salute, and then attacked.

As a sparring partner, Alistair was very courteous. He stood more than a foot taller than me, and his shoulders were almost twice my own width. He weighed more than double, and had far more experience with melee weapons that I ever would.

But these sessions were never about establishing dominance. They were for practise, for testing new combinations. For exercise.

For fun.

I swung, trust, parried and blocked. The ancient Dalish warrior-mage magic I'd learned channelled my magic through my body as physical strength, which enabled me to match, if not exceed him, in at least one area of a physical contest. Still, strength counted for less than you might think in a test of martial skill.

In minutes I was perspiring. The warm sunshine that I'd enjoyed earlier gradually became a little uncomfortable. My arm began to tire, and my fringe started sticking to my forehead, but the contest dragged on.

"You've improved," he said jovially, proving that despite his duties as king, he still made time to keep in physical shape. Either that or my efforts weren't enough to get him even mildly out of breath.

"For what it's worth," I retorted around my heavy breathing.

"Don't be like that! This is good for you."

I snorted at that. "Alistair, the big stick I carry around can blow the head off a darkspawn at a hundred paces." I paused to catch my breath. "Anything I can't take on with it isn't likely to be bothered by a three feet of sharpened silverite."

He laughed, clear and loud. "Maker, I've missed you, Kat."

I winced at that. "Is that why you've been hitting me with monotonous regularity today?" I asked, rolling my shoulder in an effort to regain feeling in my arm. "To make up for it?"

"No, that's just for fun."

I poked my tongue out at him.

He crossed his eyes at me.

We both burst out laughing. As our blades struck out at each other, I could feel the tension and stress of the past months slipping away. Focusing entirely on sparring was cathartic.

"I understand that Fergus told you about the odd rumours?" he said, executing a combination overhand strike followed by an underhand sweep.

"About me deciding to avenge my own murder? Yes. Sodding idiots."

He smirked at me. "Why idiots?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "Who'd believe something so patently wrong?"

He shrugged, easily blocking what I thought was quite a cunning move. It had blinded that templar idiot a few months ago. "There were some extenuating circumstances."

This I had to hear. "Like what? What could possibly justify believing that I'd risen from the dead?"

His grin morphed from amused to manic. "Because you did."

"I did not!"

"Not you," he clarified. "Shianni got fed up with lying on an uncomfortable cold stone bier under a veil. We probably should have given her a pillow or something. She just suddenly swore like a pirate, sat up and declared to the horrified witnesses that she'd had enough. She then promptly swung her legs off the bier, and stormed out."

I imagined the scene in my mind. "Ah."

"Ah indeed," he said, mimicking my voice. "One of Eamon's agents, who had been guarding your 'corpse', improvised and declared that you were obviously going to extract revenge for your murder. Thus, the rumours."

"The first person to claim that I'm Andraste reborn is getting an electrical enema."

He paled slightly. "Right. I'll… er… right."

I redoubled my efforts in trying to even score a hit on him.

"Kylon gave me his report on the Crow's nest a few hours ago," he said after a few minutes of silent and blissful, if energetic, activity.

"Really?" I panted, trying a combination I'd seen Nate use. Alistair easily picked it off, but I had him on the defensive for a moment. "What was the result?"

"The really valuable stuff was the documentation."

"You mean… ledgers and the like?"

He grinned. "Those too. But more like letters and other incriminating papers, held as blackmail or extortion material."

I snickered at the potential for havoc. "Does anyone we know feature prominently?"

"A couple," he replied. "Isolde has been a bit indiscrete in her letters back to Orlais, relating both harmless gossip and state secrets. It's put Eamon in a difficult position. Ceorlic isn't likely to enjoy the next landsmeet. And quite a few nobles are going to have to have explanations ready for my tax collectors."

"Good for you," I said, wiping damp hair away from my eyes.

"Speaking of…" he started, sounding apologetic. "I'm going to have to take some of the proceeds from last night. Running a country is expensive."

I raised an eyebrow. "You consider that money to be taxable income from my lands?"

He gave me a shrug. "As proceeds from criminal activity, technically I can confiscate the lot."

"Not if it's proceeds of war," I objected.

He winced. "Come on, Kat. My treasury is almost gutted, and raising taxes on what little trade is happening will slow the recovery. I need some of that money."

"You need to stop spending it all on stuff that doesn't return the investment."

His face darkened at that. "Maker's breath, the city was nearly destroyed because of the shoddy fortifications!"

I raised my off hand and sent a tiny zap of lightning at him, making him jump. Over his offended expression I said, "I don't mean that you should just stop spending on defence! But putting some investment into upgrading your highways would help trade move more quickly." As much as I could barely stand Woolsey, she knew her stuff, and I was determined to learn what I could from her.

He grunted, slapping my blade to one side and stabbing down at my thighs, I danced out of the way. "Eamon has suggested much the same thing."

I made a face. "Thank you so much for making me side with Eamon. I may never forgive you."

He actually cracked a smile at that. "If you were really so hard up for money, you wouldn't have left so much behind after your little rampage."

I raised my eyebrows at that. "I left some behind?"

He chuckled. "Mostly in the pockets of the corpses, but yes. You emptied their main vault, but there was another smaller one. Pickering thinks that it was used for operating the cell."

I nodded. "Pickering is a good man."

"He is," Alistair agreed. "I'd like you to take him with you when you go back to Vigil's Keep."

I stopped swinging and stepped back. He lowered his sword and looked at me questioningly. "You wouldn't want me to recruit him," I said, a statement rather than a question. "So you must want me to train him."

His face split into a wide grin. "Exactly! He's quite capable where knees to the groin and thumbs in the eye are acceptable tactics, but he needs some more experience in classical and formal combat. I don't know of anyone better equipped to give it."

"The army?" I offered.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't need a parade ground soldier or a vanguard warrior. I need someone who can defend themselves equally well in an alley against a thug with a brick and in a duel against a knight with a sword. It's not your teaching ability that I'm after; it's your talent for attracting diverse, unwanted attention."

With a mock snarl, I thrust my sword forward, which he easily parried. Once again, we settled into a routine of flashing blades. "Attract unwanted attention, do I?"

"Don't act all offended, you know it's true."

I huffed, something that was easy to do, given my panting. "I'm doing my damnedest to thin the numbers of people trying to kill me, Alistair."

"Then feel free to use all the help available," he replied reasonably.

I grunted at one nasty blow to my hip. "You're sounding more like Anora these days."

He gave me a hurt expression. "Now you're just being nasty."

For the rest of the session, I managed to score a hit or two on him, or more likely he allowed me to take some face-saving points. It didn't come close to the number of whacks he gave me when my defense dropped. But after perhaps half an hour of friendly sparring, we called a halt.

"Feel better?" he asked me.

"Much," I grudgingly admitted. "For a king, you make a great whacking post."

He laughed at my quip, replacing his sword. "Good. I need you in a better mood."

That sounded ominous. "Oh?"

He reached out and placed an arm around my shoulder, hugging me close. In a low whisper, he said, "I got a response from the Wardens about the talking darkspawn."

I blinked. "You did? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because she just arrived today while you were asleep."

"She?"

'She' turned out to be a Grey Warden mage. An elven, Orlesian, Grey Warden mage at that. But the instant her eyes met mine I just knew there would be no friendly camaraderie between us. There would be no polite greeting; not even an impolite greeting.

Alistair had organised for the three of us to be left alone in one of the large sitting rooms in the palace, with no guards around within earshot. Three comfortable armchairs were arrayed around a fireplace, for all use the flickering flames were.

Fiona sat down opposite me, icy disapproval still radiating from her like a roaring blizzard. I ignored the frosty gaze and simply examined her, trying to get a feel for the kind of woman she was.

Her hair was still dark, though it was much less thick and lustrous than was usual for a younger elf. The network of fine wrinkles that lined the skin beside her eyes and the edges of her mouth made me estimate her age at close to forty. Her eyes were hard, and held a history of pain and suffering.

Hardly unique among female elvish mages, then.

"Warden-Commander," she said stiffly. "The First Warden instructed me to brief you on operational matters regarding the Grey Wardens."

"No he didn't," I snorted.

Her head jerked back, as though I'd slapped her. "I beg your pardon?" she demanded.

"Woah, déjà vu," I murmured, touching my forehead lightly with the fingertips from one hand. "That's not the first time an arrogant Orlesian – sorry, repeating myself there – has said those words to me in that accent."

Alistair groaned.

She glared at me. "I see the reports of your attitude are perfectly accurate," she sniffed.

I snorted back at her. "Obviously not, if you think that I'd be insulted by that. Look, let's not beat around the bush. The First Warden has told you to do no such thing," I said, slower and more clearly; as though to a small child. "Helmut gave me an 'operational briefing' when he came to claim the archdemon blood. No, you're here because of my request for information on the talking darkspawn." She glared at me, but I ignored it and just kept on speaking. "I am quite capable of pretending to follow whatever fiction you deem necessary if all this stuff is secret, but don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I'm stupid."

Alistair coughed. "Um, I'm sure Fiona doesn't think that you're stupid, Kat."

"I can speak for myself, King Alistair. And I'm afraid that I must disagree. Warden Kathryn appears to have made some unwarranted assumptions." She raised her nose at me. "She is very much mistaken."

I rolled my eyes. "And I see the idiocy and arrogance of the Grey Warden hierarchy is well represented here. Look, Loghain and I ended the Blight and we heard nothing but platitudes for several months afterwards. I send a letter demanding to know everything the Wardens know about talking darkspawn and a few weeks later you pop up. Subtle, you're not."

"Wow," Alistair said, shaking his head. "Less than a minute. Well done, Kat. It takes quite a bit of skill to alienate an ally so quickly."

Despite how his words hurt, I just glared at Fiona. "Well? Tell me I'm wrong then. Tell me that you are not here to give me information on the speaking darkspawn. Tell me that you know nothing of them. Tell me that you believe that I'm making it up."

Fiona swallowed. "Very well. Yes, the Grey Wardens are aware of the existence of sentient, speaking darkspawn. They are exceedingly dangerous and unpredictable."

I frowned. "Not all of them. Not even most of them."

She glared at me again. "Do not contradict me," she demanded, obviously used to a bit more respect from others.

I rolled my eyes. This was getting tedious. "Right, because my direct experience with talking darkspawn that completely contradicts your statement is not justification for thinking you don't know what you're talking about. Sorry."

"Kat," Alistair almost whined.

"What direct experience?" Fiona demanded. "King Alistair's missive describes your encounter with exactly one speaking darkspawn at your Keep. And you reportedly killed it rather than converse with it. But we have no further reports from you."

I shrugged. "Well, no, probably not. When you have to give up on sleep and specifically schedule time out of your day to scratch yourself, things like reports don't tend to get done on time. I encoded and sent the most recent reports off to Weisshaupt a few weeks ago. You probably passed them on your way here."

She rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Answer the question. What direct experience?"

I didn't answer her immediately; choosing to think carefully about my answer. She had already shown that she had no qualms about letting her opinion of me colour her tone. "How about you answer one of mine first? Why you? Why were you sent?"

Wow. Not even Wynne could produce such an offended expression.

Alistair took a deep breath and raised his voice in a half-shout, "Both of you, stop it! This is ridiculous. Kat, Fiona was sent because she has actually met one of the talking darkspawn – one that called itself the Architect. Now, please, answer her question."

I raised my eyebrows at that. "You met the Architect? Where? And when?"

Fiona sighed and leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking very pensive. "I see that name is familiar to you. We expected that it would make another appearance, but not so soon after the Blight. I take it that you encountered it in your demesne?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes." Alistair's expression turned to one of shock at that revelation. I hadn't yet briefed him on recent Warden-related events in my arling. "But we encountered several of its disciples too. Darkspawn which it had given the power of thought and speech."

That caught her attention. "How many of these disciples has it made?"

I mentally tallied the encounters. The first one at Vigil's Keep. The pair at Kal'Hirol. The one called the First in Blackmarsh. The one who warned us about the attack on Vigil's Keep. The pair we encountered in Amaranthine, when Velanna got her new staff. The handful in the Mother's den. The one leading the siege on Vigil's Keep that Nate took down with his arrows. "I'm not entirely certain. A dozen, perhaps? We've killed about that many, if I haven't missed any. Not all of them were loyal to the Architect, however."

"What?" she demanded.

It was beginning to sound like the Grey Warden's expert on talking darkspawn was almost as much in the dark as I was. "The Architect performed the ritual that bestows sentience on a broodmother. He used Grey Warden blood in a perverted version of the Joining Ritual. She went off the rails and managed to poach some of the Architect's disciples to her own banner. Can I just say that, as a totally unrelated matter, a civil war among your enemies is something to pray to the Maker for?"

Fiona leaned forward. "The First Warden had hoped that you would not encounter the Architect. Despite your accomplishments, you are still just a young woman, not even two decades old."

Alistair's eyes widened, and leaned out of Fiona's peripheral vision and waved both hands at me frantically. I took a deep breath and sighed; he wouldn't want me to burn the bitch with magic, so I'd just have to do it with words instead.

"Oh, that's very true. It's so nice to once more have an extremely mature role model with long decades of life experience to guide my footsteps. Who knows what trouble I would get into without such a matronly figure to look up to?"

Alistair slapped a hand to his face.

Fiona scowled at me. "Very well. If that is the way you wish to play this, so be it. Your orders from the First Warden are as follows. Leave the Architect be. Do not attempt to confront it. Do not attempt to converse with it."

Oh, this was going to be fun. "Oh? Is it not a darkspawn within the borders of Ferelden? I am duty bound to attempt to kill any such beings on sight," I objected, putting a fake, eager tone in my voice.

The older mage actually sneered at me. "You would not stand a chance. I have witnessed this creature's power first hand. You are to report every piece of intelligence you have on the creature; its location, its allies, the extent of its movements. I have been authorised to assemble a capable squad of experienced Grey Wardens from all over Thedas, tasked with the elimination of the Architect."

I gave her a wide smile. "How many Wardens do you plan to include in your force?"

"That is not your concern," she retorted.

I waved a hand in lazy circles. "Just in rough terms – so that I can ensure there will be enough rooms to billet them all while they are accepting my hospitality."

Elven eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she answered. "I suspect at least twenty, but no more than thirty."

"That many?" I mused rhetorically, tapping on my chin with a finger. "Will any of my Wardens be included in this elite force?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do not be absurd. Even the most experienced Fereldan Grey Warden Joined a little less than three years ago."

The way she emphasised the words struck me as odd for a moment, before I realised that she was referring to Alistair. I filed that statement away for use later, when I would excoriate her for how wrong she was about so many things. "I take it that you do not believe that Grey Wardens with less than a few years' experience are capable of facing down a powerful darkspawn then?" I asked mildly.

She was quick enough to catch my meaning. "I do not dispute that you managed to kill the archdemon. But whatever stories you have told yourself, luck played a great deal in your success."

"Ladies," Alistair whined.

We ignored him. "You just can't admit it, can you? Alistair and I managed to raise armies, prevent a brewing civil war from erupting, and end the Blight while the rest of the Grey Wardens of Thedas sat on the sidelines, tutting their tongues and pointing out what happens to countries when their tithes aren't paid."

She sneered at me. "I find myself pleasantly surprised that you would deign to share accomplishments with anyone else," she spat.

"What are you talking about? I've never claimed that I defeated the Blight alone!"

Fiona pointed at me, the digit trembling. "You assumed command, in defiance of all protocol."

I glanced between her and Alistair. "Is that what's got your smalls in a twist? That I took command? Andraste's arse, you're an idiot."

"How dare you?" she screeched.

I touched a hand to my forehead, warding off the oncoming headache. She and Isolde not only had similar grating voices, but vocabulary as well. Velanna's screeching could leave both of them for dead, but at least she didn't have that thrice-damned, eternally-annoying Orlesian accent. "Is it an Orlesian thing to take offence at everything, or just when you're wrong? Either way, you. Are. An. Idiot." I pointed at Alistair. "He had no desire to lead. Nor any aptitude, at the time. Go on, ask him. If I insisted that he lead our little band of misfits, we'd probably still be wandering around in the Wilds looking for a clue."

Alistair winced, but reached out and laid a gentle hand on Fiona's forearm. "She's right. I had no desire to be in charge. Even now, being in command makes me uncomfortable."

Fiona blinked at him. "But you are m-Maric's son!" she blurted.

He grimaced. "Yes, Maric was my father. But I wasn't raised to lead. I grew up sleeping in a stable. Everyone knew I was a bastard, and after Eamon married Isolde, emotions ran high about me. Mostly because of the rumours that I was Eamon's bastard. He shipped me off to the Chantry to be educated."

Fiona's colour faded. "You- you slept in a stable?" she gasped softly.

Alistair nodded, his signature, self-deprecating grin firmly in place. "Hey, it was nice and warm. And the other stable hands didn't bully me too much. A lot of people have it worse."

I stared closely at Fiona's expression. She was genuinely shocked, but there was something there that seemed out of place. Her reaction had been beyond what you'd expect from a disinterested party. I decided to add a little more detail to gauge her reaction. "Eamon chose to raise Alistair that way to ensure he had no ambition for his brother's throne. Perhaps he was punishing Maric for the insult to Rowan. Perhaps he just had no idea how to raise a child. But the end result was someone who literally had to be forced to assume command."

"But I… I had expected that the son of King Maric would be raised in comfort," she said, an odd hitch in her voice.

"Oh, the stable was comfortable," Alistair agreed with a happy nod. "The straw was nice and dry, the loft warm and safe. The air could get a bit close at times, especially if one of the horses took ill, but you can't have everything."

Fiona's face was a study. There was something there that was personal, but what? "So what has Alistair being Maric's son got to do with you being annoyed at me?" I asked, probing at the weakness.

She snapped her head back around to face me. "I never said that!"

"Not directly," I pointed out. "But you brought up Alistair's parentage when I said he had no desire to lead. So clearly that fact is of some considerable important to you. So, I ask again, what is it about his father that makes you annoyed with me?"

She glared at me in silence.

I leaned forward. "All right, fine. If you want to keep being pissy at me, how about you explain how we should have followed a protocol neither of us knew existed? Or would you prefer to hold onto this idiotic grudge in the face of all logic. Feel free, but I'll consider everything else you say with the same value as I'd pay a drooling imbecile."

"I am not an imbecile," she declared hotly.

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't say you were, though the more you speak the less doubt I have."

"Kathryn!" Alistair chided.

"What?" I demanded. "She's got a chip on her shoulder because I did what needed to be done. Given our order's motto, the reason has to be personal."

"Enough!" Fiona said, slapping the arm of her chair. "I no longer wish to discuss this."

I leaned back in my chair with a scowl on my face. "Well what do you wish to discuss? The Architect? You keep saying that I can't deal with him, but you've not explained why you and your elite team are any better equipped."

"As I have said, I have faced him before."

"When?" I asked insistently. "Where?"

She sighed deeply, looking as though she really didn't want to relate the story. "A long time ago. I had not been a Grey Warden for very long. Less than a year. Our party ventured into the Deep Roads to rescue a Grey Warden captured by darkspawn."

I felt my heart thump. "Rescue a… Maric. It was Maric who led you. You were on the expedition to rescue," I paused, thinking back to Loghain's rant one night when I'd asked him to describe Maric. "Bragin? Bregin?"

Fiona's eyes widened slightly. "Bregan. Commander Genevieve's brother."

Suddenly, her attitude to me and her protectiveness of Alistair made a bit more sense. "Maric was your friend," I deduced. "The two of you fought together; side by side. That sort of history forms bonds of friendship stronger than just about anything. That's why you're so pissed at me for taking command from his son."

Her eyes shone brightly for a second, before she readily agreed. "Yes. Alistair is so much like… he reminds me of Maric very much."

Alistair looked at me curiously. "You know of a story about my father and never told me?" He sounded hurt.

I shook my head. "Not really. I only heard one side of it, and it was from a particularly biased source."

"Loghain," he growled.

"Got it in one," I said, pointing at him. "And as his perspective didn't exactly portray Maric in a flattering light, I figured you wouldn't want to hear it."

"In what light did it portray him?" Alistair asked, his voice insistent.

Taking a deep breath, I answered carefully. "Mostly… irresponsible. Loghain was left to run the kingdom while Maric took off without warning. And he ended up needing to be rescued - yet again - by Loghain."

Fiona appeared to be collecting herself. "That is… true. Only Duncan, Maric and I made it out of the Deep Roads alive. And we were then captured by the First Enchanter, who was in league with the Architect. Teyrn Loghain's army saved him." She looked up at me. "I do not know if you are aware of the creature's plans."

As much as it would be amusing and thoroughly satisfying to string her along, a voice in my mind told me to rein my indignation in. The voice sounded a bit like Nathaniel, oddly enough.

"Infect everyone with the taint? Yes, I know."

Alistair gasped. "What? But that would kill everyone!"

Fiona looked at me oddly. "Have you conversed with the Architect? I can see no other way for you to know of its plans."

I nodded. "I have. Twice in fact."

Her colour faded. "No, you… you did not agree to help it, did you?"

I frowned. "What? Of course not! What sort of idiot do you take me for?"

Relief flooded her voice. "Then how," she stopped and shook her head. "We are going about this backwards. Please, tell me of your encounters with the creature."

Not finding any disrespect in her request, I just nodded. "Okay. There's a place in Amaranthine called the Wending Wood. We were there sorting out an issue with caravans being attacked. We found an elf mage there whose sister had been taken by darkspawn. She joined my Wardens and we descended into the Silverite mines in the Wood." I shook my head. "We barely got a hundred paces past the entrance when we activated a glyph on the floor. We were all put to sleep."

Fiona closed her eyes, looking resigned. "Such tactics are familiar to me. Please, continue."

I took a sip of water. "I only have vague memories of it experimenting on me, but I do know that it drained me of a lot of my blood. When I finally woke up I was in a cell with the rest of my Wardens and the elf mage."

I actually spotted sympathy in Fiona's eyes. "The Architect has your blood?"

"Dear Maker," Alistair breathed.

"Yeah. Bastard used it too, the next time we met."

"How did- no, please, finish your story before we move onto the next."

I gave her a shrug. "Not much more to say. We escaped the cell, rescued the elf mage's sister, and slaughtered just about everything that moved in the mines on our way out. We saw it again when it set two dragons on us. It didn't take part in the fight; it just watched us slaughter the dragons. Once we killed them, it left. It took its dwarf companion, went into a rough-hewn corridor and collapsed the tunnel behind them."

Fiona seemed ready to continue, but something made her pause. "Dwarf companion?"

With a nod I replied, "Yep. Didn't say a thing, though I suppose that's not a surprise, given that she was wearing the same armour as a pair of the Silent Sisters I met in Orzammar."

Fiona seemed shaken for a moment, before dismissing whatever idea she had. "Never mind. When did you meet the Architect again?"

I held up a hand. "Hang on. I should tell you what we found in the mines. His entire laboratory, notes, equipment, bedroom, everything. He was living in Amaranthine for Maker knows how long since corrupting Urthemiel."

"What's that?" Alistair demanded.

I grinned humourlessly at him. "The Architect started the Blight. He somehow discovered the locations of the remaining Old Gods, and tried his little ritual on our friend the archdemon. It worked about how well you'd expect, and we had ourselves a nice little Blight to deal with."

Fiona swallowed, looking very nervous. "The locations of the last Old Gods is now a secret restricted to the First and Second Wardens only."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid that despite your position, I cannot give you that information."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. Alistair, who'd seen me do that many times before, winced. After a few moments, I grinned nastily. "So who was it? Bregan or Genevieve?"

Fiona swallowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Which of them gave the Architect the information? Normally I'd think it was Bregan, but from what Loghain told me, it was Genevieve who was the Commander. Though I suppose it's possible Bregan was the Commander before he went to his Calling."

She stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. "How?"

I rolled my eyes. "Come on! You just said that the information was no longer given out to the Commanders of the Grey, from which you can infer that it once was. Both of them were with the Architect when Loghain arrived to rescue Maric, so who was it who tattled?"

"Sorry," Alistair apologised for me. "Kat isn't exactly renowned for her tact. But she can ferret out a secret faster than anyone I know."

Fiona scowled at me, but answered. "Bregan. What he was subjected to for those weeks we will never know. But he willingly divulged that information."

I nodded. "And to ensure there's no repeat, Heinrich is keeping even more secrets to himself. Typical."

My disrespect caused a flush to appear on her cheeks, but there was no other outward sign of her disapproval. "Indeed. I am sure you can understand his position."

"Understand? Sure, I can understand why someone with limited mental gifts would think it good policy. Agree? Not so much. Anyway, it's a moot point. I already know where the last two Old Gods are."

Both Fiona and Alistair gasped in shock. "What?" the demanded together, their voices merging in quite a lyrical fashion.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure I mentioned that I had all the Architect's notes. What did you think was in them? Recipes for darkspawn stew?"

"Ew! That sounds awful," Alistair said.

Fiona however was much more focused. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Of course," I said dismissively; hoping to see a nice reaction.

I was not disappointed. Fiona almost exploded. "Imbécile! Who else knows?" she demanded, slamming her fist down onto the armrest of her chair.

"Again with the name calling," I said, resigned. "Are you aware that there's a difference between ignorance and stupidity? I have told some of my senior Wardens so that in the event of my death, the knowledge isn't lost. I haven't written it down specifically because I don't want that information to fall into the wrong hands."

"What about the original notes?" Alistair pressed, as Fiona struggled to compose herself.

"I excised the relevant passages with a razor, and replaced them with a note of my own describing what information they contained. That way, anyone studying them will know what they contained, and even know the phrasing the Architect used, but will not know the information itself. I burned the originals."

"Oh, well, that's good," Alistair said.

"No it's not!" Fiona snapped. "This information has not been given to any Warden-Commander of any nation in Thedas in twenty years. And now only the Maker knows how many Ferelden Grey Wardens know of it. For all we know every whore in Amaranthine knows."

I smiled sweetly at her. "Are you implying that my Wardens are loose-lipped when their little Wardens are at attention?"

"I do not know!" she snapped back. "But I must assume the worst."

"Why?"

She just about gaped at me. "Have you no concept of operational security?"

I looked over at Alistair, who wore an expression of desperate longing. Well, if he wanted me to try and play nice, he probably should have stood up for me a bit more. "Wasn't that the cause of most of the trouble we encountered?" I asked him, my voice all honey and roses. "You know, leaving the only Grey Wardens in a country ravaged by a Blight ignorant of how to end it?"

"Kat," he whined.

"Oh, shut it, Alistair," I snapped. "This little bureaucrat thinks that policy is more important that people. And that sort of thinking gets up my nose."

"How dare you!" Fiona raged.

"Aaaaaand she's back to generic objections due to running out of arguments," I sneered. "Look, you don't seem to have any useful information for me about these talking darkspawn. You certainly don't have any useful information about the Wardens. So just sod off and go back to the Anderfels, yeah?"

"Kathryn!" Alistair snapped.

Fiona ignored him and leapt to her feet. "I am not leaving, Warden-Commander! Not until the Architect is finally neutralised! I have waited too long for it to reappear, and I will not leave my duty unfulfilled!"

I grinned wildly at her. "Well then, you can go and catch the next boat, sister. Your precious Architect is dead."

Oh, that was so very, very satisfying. The look of disdain morphing into outright shock and disbelief was a memory that was sure to keep me warm during cold winter nights for years to come.

"W-what?" she stammered.

"The Architect is dead," I said slowly and clearly.

"Kat," Alistair said just as slowly. "What happened?"

My Wardens and I killed it," I replied flatly.

His eyes narrowed. "And again please, only this time with a little bit more detail."

I sighed. I really disliked remembering the helpless rage I felt at the time. "It used my blood to freeze me in place while trying to convince me of its plan. I told Oghren to go ahead and chop him in half. It didn't work, but I managed to break his hold over me. Two dwarves, two elves and a dog took it down."

He frowned at me. "Why didn't you brief me?"

I glared at him. "I would have yesterday when I arrived, but you were too busy getting pissy about me ordering the execution of a murderer," I retorted.

"You could have written me a report," he said sullenly.

I snorted. "You think I'd commit those events to paper for you to leave lying around here? Don't be daft."

"You killed it?" Fiona said, her voice wavering.

"Of course we killed it; it was a damned darkspawn! I kill those on general principles," I testily replied. "Try to keep up. Oh, and the five of us had collectively been Grey Wardens for a total of a couple of years. So that really says something about the quality of your so-called 'elite' force of twenty."

"You're sure it's dead?"

"Yes I'm bloody well sure," I snapped. "If two feet of volcanic aurum through the brain doesn't settle the question then I shudder to think what would be needed. Look, I'd say I'm sorry for destroying your life's goal, but we both know it would be a lie. Nothing you've said today has been of any use, even if it was correct. Maker, you even got the length of service wrong for the most experienced Fereldan Gray Warden."

Insults were a great way to snap a person back to the present. Almost as good as a hard slap across the face. Almost as satisfying too. "King Alistair is the most-"

"Er," Alistair hedged, interrupting her and holding up a hand. "I'm not, as a matter of fact."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He gave her an apologetic shrug and a wry grin. "Sorry, but I'm not. There's an old maleficar at Soldier's Peak who was a companion of Sophia Dryden. Um, she was the Commander two centuries ago who headed the rebellion against the Tyrant King. Somehow he's been using Blood Magic to stave off death for two hundred years."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing at her expression. Her entire world had come crashing down upon her in the last minute and a half, but I couldn't bring myself to feel sympathy.

I was obliged to relate the tale of the Architect's demise in detail. Fiona sat still, sullen and silent throughout the retelling, leaving the job of asking questions to Alistair. He had quite a few, not having any experience with any of my current Wardens, with the obvious exceptions of Oghren and Thunder. He was less bitchy about Nate than I'd have imagined, though on reflection it shouldn't have been a surprise. When it came to the crimes of Loghain Mac Tir and Rendon Howe, Alistair held Loghain more culpable than Rendon; whereas I felt the opposite.

Alistair called a short recess for us to dive into a meal. One thing about eating with the King, his kitchen staff knew how to put on a spread that would satisfy a Warden's appetite.

After an hour or so of good, hot, wholesome food, we returned to the fireside to continue my tale.

Fiona stared deep into her wineglass. She'd barely taken a single sip. "I wish to speak with your Warden Seranni," she said, without preamble. "I have questions I'd like her to answer regarding her time with the Architect."

Despite the authoritative tone, I nodded. "As you wish. Be aware however that she is yet to completely come to terms with what happened. If she declines to answer any of your questions, you will accept that."

Fiona's eyes flashed, but she nodded. "You are protective of your Wardens."

"I'd die for any of them. I'd kill for any of them."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

"It is a statement. If you choose to take it as a threat, then I have to question your intentions towards them."

With a deep, slow breath, she leaned back in her chair. "Very well. I accept your terms. I would also like to visit the ruins in which you killed the Architect. The First Warden would not accept mere news of his death. Only by sighting the corpse would he accept my assurances."

I thought about that. "He is that worried about it? About what the cursed creature's goals were?"

"Yes. As we all were. It is… was very charismatic. Given the chance, it could bend even the strongest will enough to agree with its goals."

Privately, I didn't agree, but there was little to be gained by voicing that.

The next morning I met with Eamon, to discuss the changes at the Circle. Though pleased with the final outcome of having Bryant as Knight-Commander, he was less than pleased with Zevran's description of the troubles Connor had been obliged to endure.

As much as I felt empathy for the lad, I couldn't help but contrast Eamon's sympathy for the plight of the Circle mages before and after Connor was housed there.

Fergus' valet Matthew arrived with a letter for me, which he delivered while I was in session with Eamon. It was addressed in an elegant hand, and sealed with red wax embossed with the Highever crest.

It turned out to be an invitation to luncheon with Fergus and some of his guests. The paper was thick and edged in gold leaf. I found myself wondering if I could scrape the stuff off.

"You must attend," Eamon murmured, seeing my expression.

"Must I?" I asked archly.

He sighed. "Yes. It is an introduction to a small number of other influential people in Denerim. Teyrn Fergus is extending your education and your network of acquaintances. Go. Listen. Learn. The more people you know and the more experience you have in dealing with them, the more effective you will be in your own arling."

I looked over at Matthew, who had steeled his expression to be as neutral as possible. "Is that right?"

"I would not presume to speak on my Lord's behalf," he said politely. "But the guest list does include some important people of the city."

I grimaced at the idea of trading small talk with a bunch of people with no chins, but nodded. "Very well. Please tell Fergus I will attend."

Matthew bowed. "I am sure he will be most pleased."

"I take it wearing armour would be a bit of a faux pas?"

"Quite so. A gown similar to the one you wore to the last Landsmeet would be somewhat more suitable than dragonscale." He bowed again, and left after receiving Eamon's permission to withdraw.

I grimaced as I turned back to Eamon. "That might be a bit of a problem. I left that gown back at Vigil's Keep."

He expressed surprise at that. "You did not bring any suitable gowns for social events?"

"No. I brought robes and armour. Sorry, I've never been invited to anything like this before."

"I see," he said, rubbing at his bearded chin. "In that case, let us adjourn and get you properly attired."

Properly attired involved a few dozen servants digging through various dusty chests for dresses my size. Unfortunately, 'my size' was not particularly common among human females over the age of about fourteen. The only gowns both suitable and of a size were some of Anora's - from when she attended formal functions with Loghain as a teenager.

A couple of dressmakers were able to adjust the various bits and pieces, and I ended up looking quite like a young princess. Apart from my ears and scowl, that is.

I had a few mismatched pieces of jewellery I'd brought to Denerim. I had planned to sell them; the economy in Amaranthine meant that the jewellers there did not have the means to buy the more regal pieces I'd looted from various places over the past year.

I'd never worn un-enchanted accessories before. I found myself tugging at the pearl and diamond choker around my neck in an effort to keep it from chafing.

Alistair graciously loaned me a carriage to transport me to Highever House. By the time I arrived and the footman graciously assisted me down, I was as nervous as I had been just prior to my Harrowing.

I suppose as a metaphor it wasn't un-apt. I was being thrown into a situation I had no experience in and little control over. I clenched my hands into fists to stop my fingers from arcing sparks.

Matthew met me at the main entrance. He greeted me by name and expressed some admiration for my appearance. From what little advice Eamon had given me, I assumed that it was a form greeting. Anora's old gown looked elegant, but it did not fit comfortably at all.

He led me to a sitting room where a handful of brightly dressed ladies and their more soberly dressed men were drinking from tiny glasses. Somehow, one of the glasses appeared in my hand. I drained it.

Fergus appeared at my side and began presenting me to his other guests. They included a strikingly pretty young woman who turned out to be his fiancé, a middle-aged widow and her ten-year-old son, whose family owned a major shipping business stretching all along the Waking Sea, an elderly man who had served the Couslands as their family's legal representative for half a century and the new arl and arlessa of Denerim.

I was not the last to arrive either, a few more trickled in over the next half hour. An Antivan couple representing the family of Fergus' first wife arrived next. A greying gentleman with a haughty daughter turned out to be one of the larger landholders in the Highever Teyrnir. A rat-faced wisp of a man was introduced as a poet and author, though I'd never heard of him.

My head was spinning with both the alcohol and all the new names. Not one of the people in the room could have stood against me in a martial contest, but that fact was of little import. They each held power and influence in their own way.

The Antivan couple seemed to hold Fergus in mild contempt, a fact that even to my ignorant eye seemed odd. I couldn't imagine that insulting your host in such a setting would ever be considered acceptable. I got the impression that though the marriage had been one of love, the business dealings were far more important to the families as a whole.

Fergus bore the barbs and stings with good grace. I wondered if I should stand up for him as he had for me against Alistair, but I caught him giving the pair a look of pity behind their back.

He wasn't annoyed at their behaviour. He seemed to be sorry for them.

The last guests arrived, and I felt my heart melt with relief on recognising them. Aedan, Alfstanna and her brother Irminric. The tortured templar appeared perfectly lucid, though he walked with the aid of a cane. He also clasped a trembling hand behind his back on occasion.

Alfstanna however looked to have thickened a little in the months since I last saw her. Her gown was cut rather demurely. I had a sudden suspicion. I glanced meaningfully at her belly and then back up at her eyes. She gave me a serene smile, which I returned.

I also gave Aedan a saucy wink. He had the grace to blush slightly, but sent me a silent, pleading look.

So, still a secret then.

A gong announced that dinner was served, and a manservant led us to a dining hall, where a table with sixteen chairs had been laid out. I desperately hoped to be seated next to Fergus or Aedan, or perhaps between Alfstanna and her brother, but no such luck. Fergus obviously wanted to force me to converse with others, and so sat me between the widow and the lawyer, opposite the Antivans.

I couldn't say what topics were discussed. I found myself flushing with embarrassment more than once at a foolish slip of the tongue. I found myself taking the lead from Fergus or Aedan, letting a small nod or smile from them encourage me to continue a specific line of conversation; where a frown or shake of their heads would have me changing the topic.

At one point the Antivan couple started babbling between themselves and looking at me in horror. Fergus spoke to them in a resigned tone, simply stating, "Yes, this is she." I wondered briefly what realisation could have caused such a reaction, but quickly came to a likely conclusion.

I wonder if they used Lucius or Ignacio for their dirty work.

At least I wasn't the only one to suffer humiliation. The landowner's daughter at one point made some gaff or another and was rebuked rather sternly by her father. The little boy seemed more interested in stories of warfare and killing, which his mother insisted were not proper civilised topics of conversation.

I drank a bit more than I should have, though I forced myself to stop once I'd passed the point of gaining courage. Unfortunately, that was also passed the point of declining lucidity.

The topic of magic was carefully skipped over time and again, but came to the fore when the young lad insisted on being shown something magical.

His mother exclaimed, "Mortimer Herrionton!" as though being reminded of his name would somehow adjust his behaviour. Fergus' eyes widened in fright momentarily; even in my hazy state I recognised that he was worried that I'd lose control and burn his mansion down around us all.

He never needed to worry about that. I would never, never allow my control over my magic to slip.

I addressed Mortimer's mortified mother, assuring her that I was not insulted by the request. I suggested that something harmless, yet sparkly would probably be acceptable. She glanced at Fergus for support, but nodded.

I was about to cast when something in Fergus' expression caused me to pause. After a second, I turned to look down the other end of the table. Aedan and Alfstanna both looked pensive and nervous, but did not object. "Irminric? Do you mind?" I asked politely. It wouldn't do to have a templar try and smite me. In my fuzzy state, I might not be able to fight it off.

Alfstanna's look of apprehension faded as I sought permission to spell cast from her brother.

Irminric appeared confused, however. He glanced up and down the table, seeking an answer. Alfstanna touched his arm and whispered in his ear. After a few seconds, understanding shone in his expression, and he nodded at me carefully.

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, composing myself. Cantrips like this were taught to apprentices as a matter of course, but as a mage's power grew so did the output of all spells. I scaled back the effort and created dozens of glittering butterflies. The sparkling creations fluttered around the room.

Mortimer was delighted, leaping from his chair and bounding around after them. But Irminric stiffened and began to tremble. I cancelled the spell just before Aedan called, "Kathryn!"

There were more confused and accusatory glares in the silence that followed than I'd ever experienced. It as sobering as having a bucket of iced water poured over my head. Irminric rose ponderously to his feet. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I find myself fatigued. With your permission, I shall retire."

Fergus also rose to his feet. "Of course, Ser Irminric." He turned to his manservant. "Please escort Ser Irminric to his guest suite."

Irminric shook off Alfstanna's hand. "I can manage," he said to her. The proud man followed the manservant out of the room without further ado.

Fergus' lawyer harrumphed next to me. "Can't see what all the fuss is about, myself," he said. "That little light show was jolly entertaining."

Alfstanna narrowed her eyes at him. "Mages are dangerous. Templars are needed to protect us from them."

Just about everyone drew back from me. I blinked as I looked around the arrayed, frightened faces. "What? She is perfectly correct that we are dangerous. I would argue against the contention that templars are needed to protect the population, but the first point is simply fact."

Alfstanna seemed both surprised and pleased that I agreed with her on one point, but miffed that I disagreed with the second. "Who do you believe should protect us from mages then, Kathryn?"

I shrugged. "Mages, of course. I can't tell you how offensive it is that people are using this gift of the Maker against his children rather than for their benefit. I make no distinction between mage and non-mage when ridding Thedas of threats."

That caused a bit of a stir, but Alfstanna was not deterred. "Can mages be trusted to police their own?" she retorted.

"It would be nice to be able to say yes, but no group can be fully trusted to monitor itself," I admitted.

My frank and honest answers seemed to open the floodgates for other questions. As much as it pained me, I kept my more radical notions firmly buried and responded with merely progressive ones. That mages should be entitled to manage their affairs with only minimal input and oversight from the Chantry. That the Rite of Annullment be retired. That other branches of magic be explored, rather than the limited, classical curriculum currently studied at the Circle. That mages be allowed to seek private employment.

Fergus' lawyer suggested that some sort of register could be established for mages, similar to the body that governed his profession. The poet waxed lyrical about the romantic plight of the mages, much to Alfstanna's disgust.

Fergus noted that the healer he had employed from the Circle had saved several lives in the course of his duties. That caused some positive murmurings, but I was glad he didn't mention Daylen's difficulties.

Aedan blandly stated that the healer he had hired had already proved her worth. He was gently touching Alfstanna's arm at the time, so there was some other context to the statement. She blushed slightly and nodded.

Slowly, as the conversation moved around to safer topics, I relaxed. The nervous tension I felt had made the evening stretch to a couple of years long. I was absolutely exhausted by the time the carriages were assembled to return the guests to their homes.

I was the last to leave. Aedan gave me a chaste hug and a peck on the cheek. Fergus took my hand and bowed. "You did well tonight, Kat."

I tittered a nervous laugh, hating myself for it. "I think I'll go and join the darkspawn rather than do this again," I said.

He smiled at me. "I hope you'll change your mind. The guests tonight will all go and relate stories of the powerful yet restrained mage they had dinner with and escaped alive and unharmed. Changing the hearts and minds of people is a long, slow process."

I nodded, but gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you Fergus. For everything."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea (x4!), MrPowell, Ie-maru, Arsinoe de Blassenville, XxXTwlight-SinXxX, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, Nate88, Sakura Lisel, SgtGinger, anon, timunderwood9 (x3) and unanimously anonymous. mostly.

Sorry I didn't get to PM most of you, I've had limited time and internet connectivity this past week or so. New job, kids on school holidays as so forth. Hopefully things will settle down again soon.