Chapter 23: Knight of Denerim
Ser Hadrian Forthwind
Svenya had been in slumber for an hour when we began to hear strange stirrings in the hall. The sound of heavy footsteps prowling the halls of the manor, Murchad seemed uneasy each time they passed the door and cast glances to his inert sister, glances willing her to wake so that we could be gone from this place. It was more than obvious that he did not intend to stay once this ritual was done and I doubt we would leave Svenya's mother at the mercy of this gloomy prison. The sooner Svenya found what she sought in the land beyond, the sooner we would leave.
Mainly I gazed down into her masked face, looking at her eye lids as they softly fluttered in her sleep. Her mouth would occasionally turn up or grimace with her soft lips. My fingers gently brushed a stray strand of her chestnut hair from her forehead when it wrinkled slightly with worry over whatever passed before her in the Fade. At one point she shifted and I fancied she whispered my name, though an idle fancy it was, I know.
Taking her free hand in my own, I traced the knuckles, memorizing the freckled constellations in the valleys between her fingers. The tips of her fingers were calloused from picking tunes on her lute, but they were joined by newer callouses and blisters that she had gained from studying the longsword with our king, though she knew not his standing. These were such cunning, clever, strong hands.
At court I had observed how reluctantly ladies soiled their hands with work. She was the more lady for her strength, for her willingness to touch and she was learning to be touched. I had noticed this as well. At the beginning of our journey she had held herself apart from us, but not in fear – or at least not in fear of us. It was not a lady's reluctance to soil her hands, but a reluctance of becoming too attached. As time passed, she began to be swayed towards us, she sat closer to us, she allowed Alistair to take her hand to steady her over the rougher rocks. She allowed Ser Grey to adjust her arm when she practiced her stance. She allowed herself to run her hands over my wounds or put salve on my bruises.
In her ministrations to me she was particularly gentle. Once, when I had barely known her, she had attracted my curiosity and I admired her candor. As time passed I came to rely on her ability to assist in tasks from the mundane to her unwavering perseverance in the face of natural obstacles. She willingly placed herself in danger to help protect me when it should have been me protecting her. In the midst of it all, somewhere I had become captivated by her in a way that surpassed attraction.
My mother had said that it was imperative for a knight to have a lady, one who inspired him to be honorable and true to his tenets. Somewhere during this journey, Svenya became my lady, the one who I would slay dragons to defend.
Ser Grey would choke on his outrage to hear it and deem me a fool full of romantic fancies…provided he did not gut me for desertion and dereliction of duty. My first quest as Svenya's knight had the potential to be to defend us both from the wrath of my commander. I did not wish to think what my king would say either, though I suspect he might be more forgiving.
As I sat there, holding her hand, she shifted again and vainly tried to moisten her parched lips with a careless swipe of her tongue. I released her hand long enough to reach for a ewer of water on a table beside the bed and fill a goblet. Carefully I lifted her head, inclining it so I could gently place the cup to her lips and help her to sip the water so she did not choke. Lowering her head back to the pillow, she seemed more calm and peaceful. I hoped this was a good sign that all passed well in the place beyond. I was not sure how I would assist her if she truly became distressed, though I would find a way to storm the Fade if necessary, that was a surety that could be erased by death alone.
Murchad came to the side of the bed, "The frequency of the guards passing this door is too great. All is not well, but I dare not stir beyond the door to investigate. Do you think she will tarry in the Fade much longer?"
"I do not know, Murchad," I confessed, "she offered me no way to gage and I dare not try to rouse her for fear I might shatter something vital in doing so or cause her injury."
He sighed, "I will return to the doorway."
As he turned to go, the door to the hall was kicked in from the other side and five men rushed in. Murchad jumped back before making a move to place himself between the bed where his mother and sister lay and these men, but he was unarmed. I unsheathed my sword and rushed to his side in the hope that I could deflect an attack, but how could I defend three unarmed people from five opponents. I cleared my mind, as Ser Grey had taught me, and looked about me, bracing my feet for a fight.
The men, after entering the room, made no move to attack, but instead appeared to be waiting. My confusion at this was soon answered as a larger man sauntered in from the hall, with a smirk and a hand on the sword hilt at his belt. Murchad let out a shaky breath before questioning, "Fendril, what is the meaning of this?"
"I could ask you the same, little brother. With father gone to Swidden the security of the manor falls too my capable hands. A guard reported this night that you had issues relieving yourself at your chamber pot. Your clumsiness does not surprise me, but the fact that you rarely stir in the night was enough to make me concerned for both you and Mother's well fare. There have been attacks on the Templars and unrest in the villages. Some luckless individual might be tempted to try their fortune robbing this house or might try to assassinate this family in some misguided act of vengeance. Now, tell me brother, what would you do if you were me?" the man laid out the words like honey laced with venom. He was far from harmless, as I could interpret from Murchad's continued tension in his shoulder as he stood beside me.
"Brother, it is safe to assume that I would probably act with far more tact and far less force." Murchad answered levelly.
"What need have I for tact," he chortled, "except when we have guests. Have you taken to clandestine meetings with men in our mother's room?"
"If I did?" Murchad's voice was flat, as one who has tired of pretense and games but must play along for fear of his opponent.
The man sneered, "It would not surprise me since no woman would probably desire a pasty weakling such as you. Father should have sent you to the Templars long ago. They have no need for physical love in the face of their holy passions."
"I question how holy their passions truly are," Murchad muttered under his breath, but the other man took no notice of it. He resembled a wolf pacing in a cage, sizing up its prey before it pounced. The entire time he spoke to Murchad he did not remove his eyes from me, watching for an opening that I would never give him.
His patience coming to an end, the man jerked his head in my direction, though he addressed Murchad, "Who is this farm whelp? He looks too red to be of the Avvars and too ready with a blade to be some random peasant. What is he doing in my house?"
"He is my friend," Murchad stated simply.
With that the man seemed to look past us and to the bed for the first time, before observing, "He is not your friend alone, it would appear." At that moment he moved as if to walk around us to go to the foot of the bed, but I side stepped and barred his path, holding the sword level with his chest.
"Well, the whelp seems to think he has teeth," the man snickered mirthlessly, before making a gesture with a flick of his wrist and two of the armed men advanced on Murchad before he enumerated, "I have teeth too, boy, but I don't need to cut my own on you. If you persist in blocking me I will have these men cut my worthless brother to ribbons. Do not assume that I will stay my hand because he is my brother. He is a third son and has little standing in this house."
Not wishing to cause the guards to attack Murchad, I stepped back and allowed the man to pass, but remained fully focused on him, prepared to rush him if he should attempt to harm Svenya.
"A lady in a mask…" the man mused with an ugly look upon his face, "sleeping soundly beside my dear Mother; such an odd place to choose to take her ease. Even my own father abandoned this bed long ago, finding greener pastures elsewhere. Though it occurs to me, we had reports recently from a Templar who was attacked in the woods during a winnowing when he accosted a masked woman assisting rumored apostates from escaping. This is quite a coincidence. I cannot help that my curiosity has been piqued by such a mystery as this. When a man sees a mask, he cannot help but wonder what lies beneath."
After saying this he reached a hand to snatch the mask back from Svenya's face. Something in me ignited and I flew at him, careful not to stab him, but striking him with my shoulder, knocking him back and away from her, placing myself in his way once again. The man looked startled but recovered instantly, drawing his own sword, "I grow impatient with you whelp! As my little brother will agree, patience is not something I possess in abundance and I will not suffer the insolence of a cardinal headed Jack in my own house. Seize him."
With that, the remaining guards fell on me, not with swords but with heavy fists in gauntlets. I dared not swing wildly to fend them off in fear that I might accidently strike Svenya or her mother in the confusion. I struggled against the arms, but they subdued me with little effort and, to emphasize his control, Fendril, stepped forward and backhanded me, causing me to taste blood on my lips. Satisfied he approached the bed again and I growled for the first time, "Harm her and I will end you."
"How do you propose to do that, whelp?" Fendril taunted over his shoulder before casually adding, "I will not harm her…yet."
I jerked against the guards again and almost regained my freedom, but they were strong and had me before I could move forward, but the action caused the wolfish man to pause and threaten, "If he gets loose again, it will mean your heads will decorate the gate come morning." With that he tore the mask from Svenya's face and gazed down at her with open contempt, "Just as I assumed, the prodigal has returned. I suppose it was too much to hope for that she should have been wiped out by the darkspawn along with half of southern Ferelden. That girl always did have an uncanny luck."
As if sensing the nearness of such foulness, Svenya whimpered in her sleep, shifting again. Her face looked disturbed, distraught and I wanted to go to her side and hold her hand again until the distress passed, but I was trapped in the waking world. Without the mask, I saw her pale face and I saw the scars that marked it on the right side in jagged lines burned beneath her eye, across the cheek and making spidery tendrils that reached in delicate strands to her jaw. Even her scars were lovely to me for they marked her as having withstood something so hideous that I only now understood on witnessing her brother, Fendril, first hand. Men like him are not thrust from the womb as such, men like him are created, poisoned by cruelty and malice. How she herself had withstood such poison I could not begin to fathom.
He must have noticed me looking at her longingly, for Fendril turned to me, "So, what think you of my family's gargoyle? The mask hides it well, but torn away you see her as she truly is. I presume that this is the first you have seen of my father's art. I was privileged enough to witness it firsthand. She was such a wild thing, like a horse that needed to be broken. She maintained her dense silences, though her eyes always said that she thought she was better, that she thought we were beneath her, but she could not keep silent when he put the hot iron to her face. Stupid wench!"
"She is the loveliest lady that ever lived as surely as you are the most hideous coward that ever drew breath," I snarled, my heart breaking at the thought of what she suffered at her father's hands in the presence of this wanton wretch.
With that, the ugliness surged forth from within and his face took on an aspect that bordered on demonic. He took two strides forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, spewing words directly into my face on foul breath, "Coward, am I? If you were not so beneath wiping my boots on I would slit your throat myself. I will not dirty my hands with so lowly a creature."
"I am Ser Hadrian Forthwind, knight of Denerim, defender of King Alistair the Just," I intoned, feeling something surge forth within me like a rising tide, "I am bound by my oath to defend the Lady Maerwynn. If you can stand against the righteous, coward, then I challenge you to meet me in equal combat until one opponent yields or dies. If I am victorious, you are bound to release us. If you win, then my life is in your hands."
"You mean your life is forfeit," he ground out, "for I will not suffer you to live. However, I will accept your challenge for such insolence will not go unpunished, even if it means I must acquiesce to such terms. We will fight at dusk, giving you the day to rest in preparation."
As if sensing what had happened, Svenya began to stir, sighing as she returned to this side of the Veil. I gasped her name, coming back to myself as I felt relief on seeing her wake. Her mother also began to stir and her pallor seemed to lessen.
Fendril went to stand at the foot of the bed, his smirk returning, as he greeted her in forbidding tones, "Welcome home, little sister."
"Fendril," she breathed, her voice seemed to fray slightly with panic as her eyes grew wide.
He smiled, but it did not meet his eyes, "Too bad Father is not here to greet you, he will be disappointed, though it would appear you have somehow managed to coax Mother back from the edge of the beyond so we are not bereft of both our parents."
She sat up, not taking her eyes from him, wary before saying, "I am sorry, Fendril, but I had not planned on an extended visit. It will be a shame to miss Father, but I have pressing matters elsewhere."
"Oh, have you more Templars to thwart?" he scoffed, "We heard of your activities, and I can only assume this clumsy lout of a knight was the one assisting you."
She shook her head, looking more worried, "He had nothing to do with that! He is a knight of Redcliffe and you would risk open war with a southern arling if he comes to harm."
"Redcliffe, is it?" he said, casting a curious glance at me, "I thought it was Denerim? Well, no matter. Who would know if I dispatch one knight? Who would bother sending an army through the mountains for that?"
"Do not presume to know all, Fendril," she warned.
He condescended, "Well, regardless of your wishes, this knight has challenged me to armed combat in the hopes of freeing you. As hopeless as that is, the thought amused me enough that I have decided to accept the challenge."
The blood drained from her face and Svenya turned stricken eyes upon me before looking to him again, pleading, "Leave him be, Fendril, I bed you!"
"Beg?" he seemed genuinely amused by this, "Now time has surely changed you for you to lower yourself so. There was once a time I would never have hoped to hear you beg. He must be truly dear to you. Is he your lover, then? One would deign to bed so hideous a creature."
"By Arlessa Carys' curse, Fendril," Svenya's mother interrupted, "do not go forward with this. Those words still live in my heart and mind just as she spoke them on that day to your Father when you were just a boy. Do not tempt Fate! Let us go. You and your Father have enough."
"Quiet, old woman," he roared at his own mother, "I am not some superstitious fool. That woman died at my Father's hand and her words died with her. I will meet this man tomorrow and when Father returns he can decide what he will do with the rest of you lot! Guards, make sure this knight has appropriate accommodations in the dungeon, along with my long lost sibling. My mother will remain locked in this room along with my milksop brother. If they are in the same place I do not have to worry arranging for more supervision for them than necessary." With that he exited the room, while the two guards that had been securing Murchad roughly hauled Svenya from the bed and the two of us were roughly ushered from the room into the darkness of nightshadowed halls in the wee hours before dawn.