Chapter 29: The Strong Tree
Svenya / Maerwynn
"Maerwynn," my father sat in a favored chair in his study, and gestured to another ornately carved chair, "would you care to take your ease?"
"I have spent most of the past day in a cell in the dungeon. I would prefer to be returned there." I refused, my voice devoid of emotion. Inwardly I felt empty and my clothes were stained with Rian's blood. There was nothing he could do to me that compared with what had already occurred.
He sighed as if speaking to an uncomprehending child, "Ungrateful wretch! You always were obstinate, blind to the larger scope of the world. You were ever a thorn to me."
"Such is the state of all roses," I answered flatly.
He shook his head, "You were never a rose, my dear. Even before your unfortunate….mishap"
"Is that what you have told yourself all these years," I inquired, "that it was a mishap, a blunder that you made in an ill-advised moment."
"How else should I view it?" he smiled thinly.
There was no use discoursing the points of my father's egotism. In his view we were possessions to be maneuvered and manipulated to achieve the ends that he desired. Though the years had mellowed him to the point that he no longer flew into a rage at the mere suggestion of insubordination, but that did not make him less dangerous. His cunning remained and the cold demeanor meant that he pondered the cruelty of his actions and they would be far more exacting.
"I presume that you did not come to speak with me." He asserted this with his demeanor betraying nothing of his underlying motives. He seemed too calm and not in the least surprised at my presence.
"You have surmised correctly, Father," I assented warily, wondering where this line of discussion was leading.
"Then you came to see your mother," he continued, his eyes had a dull gleam that caused me a deep sense of dread, "and based on her current state of health, it is also reasonable to surmise that you have assisted her."
I stared at him and refused to speak.
"For years I considered what would happen if your mother should be threatened. Bruna had to be aware of how to reach you, but your Uncle Trian would never allow me to take her from his household or trespass on his lands. An open fight with your Uncle would have been unwise…" he smiled again, "but I had to do very little. When your mother spoke against my actions with the Chantry and I confined her to her quarters I had not anticipated her falling into such a sleep. Once again, Bruna would never come here for fear that I would detain her, but your brother Murchad thought I would remain unaware when he slipped away one night, charging the servants to maintain he was ill and could not leave his bed. The young fool honestly believed that they would keep his secret in the face of my wrath."
"You knew…" I glared at him in disbelief.
His smile extended and he steepled his fingers before his lips in an expression of thoughtful amusement. The bastard had foreseen what Murchad would do to save Mother. He also assumed that I would return if she were ill.
"Now that you have returned to us," he gloated, "we should decide what must be done with you."
"By `we' you mean `you.'" I rejoined, my voice laced with disgust, "Are you even troubled by the death of Fendril?"
"Are you?" he countered grimly, "As for me, I resigned myself long ago to the fact that he was an oaf. He too was short sighted, thinking that this arling was enough. Thus it illustrates the benefit of having a spare. I had long suspected that Ronan would inherit. He has long plotted to replace Fendril and that dolt had been completely oblivious of his brother's machinations, much like my brother had been. In the end it appears Fendril saved Ronan the trouble. I am sure Ronan will thank you personally for your small role in your oldest brother's demise."
It was more than I could bear; I flew at him, knocking him backwards in his chair. Gripping his velvet tunic I shook him, trying to strangle him. I wanted to rid the world of his evil callousness. We were all pawns.
In the red haze of my anger I was oblivious to the hands taking hold of my arms to restrain me. The guards had heard the commotion and rushed to aid my father. I struggled, lashing out at the men who held me, I even managed to make a gash across one of their cheeks with my nails. Once I had been under the control of the guards, my father stepped forward and backhanded me.
At this moment the quiet callousness was gone, replaced by rage, his eyes blazing as he gripped a handful of my hair and bellowed, "Wench! You owe your existence to me! You are a possession, an object! The same as your mother and your brothers! I do not require your consent!"
He began to pace the room, panting as he tried to regain his composure. When he spoke again his voice was empty, "This was unfortunate. I had hoped that your years away might have gentled you. Apparently living amid the peasantry has merely turned you into a savage."
"Living independently of you offered me a sense of pride. I learned that not all men sought to dominate women or abuse children. I learned that some men treat women with dignity and there are choices available to those willing to work rather than live off the misery of others." I spat, feeling my face burn with the swelling where his hand had struck me, "Any savagery I possess I inherited from you!"
With this he gave a humorless bark of laughter and held up the mask that my brother had collected from me, "Truly? Then why wear this like some whorish Orlesian bard? Men are all the same. When they see weakness they exploit it. I am not the exception, I am the rule!"
"You pathetic little tyrant," I taunted, unable to regain control of my tongue, "your life is so narrow you know naught else. I have seen the whole of Thedas beyond you. I have known gentle men."
"Like the one whose corpse lies in the dust and whose blood has painted you scarlet? You have listened to romantic tales far too long, Daughter, but even in the tales such men do not last. They are dispatched by the strong and the ruthless, the ones who rule over them. Return to reality, for now you have returned to my realm and here I rule. No one defies me and lives." He roughly hooked his finger beneath my chin and forced me to look at him.
"Then it is a mercy that I have not long to live," I countered, smiling slightly, "for I will never live beneath you again! I will not yield to you!"
With that he snorted and released my chin, walking resolutely to his desk, "What about your mother? What about your brother, Murchad? Would you fight me at their expense? We shall see, Daughter, we shall see." He made a quick wave of his hand and the guards escorted me from the room.
Instead of taking me to the dungeons, the guards dragged me to my mother's quarters. Once they unlocked and opened the door I was thrown unceremoniously to the floor and slammed.
"They did not throw me in the dungeon?" I questioned incredulously as my mother rushed to my side to help me to my feet.
Mother sadly shook her head, "Mae, this estate is a dungeon."
A dark red gown made with thick brocade was brought for me by silent servants with downcast eyes to replace my stained clothes and I was tempted to refuse it. My mother coaxed me to change out of the clothes, warning me that my father would take his displeasure out on the servants. At that moment I looked at the woman who had brought the new gown and noticed that she seemed ready to cringe and her wrist showed obvious bruising just below her cuff. It was one thing for me to risk my father's wrath, but to cause these people to be subjected to it was unforgiveable. I found that I was trapped again. I could agree to small concessions for their sakes.
My mother helped me to bathe my face and sponge the blood from my body. The tunic I had been wearing had the dark brown stains and I tenderly removed it, folding it gently. When the servant moved to take the clothes I stopped her, "Please leave that behind. I want to keep it."
Placing a hand on my shoulder, my mother apologized, "I am sorry. He was a good man but you could not do anything to alter what happened."
"You do not understand, Mother," I rasped, tears welling in my eyes, "Rian was only here because of me. Uncle Trian did not want me to come here, he wanted me to return to Denerim to rally help from the king. What the Templars are doing here is a gross abuse of power. In my time travelling I found out what the Chantry is like elsewhere. The Templars are intended to serve the Chantry and the Divine. If the king of Ferelden chooses to do nothing, we still have hope of sending word to the Divine in Orlais. I slipped from Herfirien during the night, Rian tried to stop me, but I would not be dissuaded. He came to protect me."
"He must have cared for you a great deal." She looked at me with her soft eyes, knowing what this meant and I hated myself for not realizing the depth of Rian's regard until the end.
His confession of love hung on me, causing spasms of guilt that practically closed my throat. If he had cared less he might have let me go. If he had cared less he might still be alive. In the end, I had led him unknowingly into a trap, causing him to be another victim of my family. My Grandmother Carys may not have intended it, but I was equally cursed, luring men to their deaths despite my best intentions.
The tears coursed down my cheeks, but I would not sob or cry. The heaviness in my chest strangled my grief, making me mute. My mother read my despair and drew me into her arms.
"My Mae," she beseeched, "do not let your grief poison you."
"How can I not?" I choked around the prickling in my throat.
Leading me to a chair and kneeling beside me, she offered, "You walked the woods with Bruna. Did you ever see the inside of a rotted tree?"
"Yes," I answered, perplexed, "she could find the best herbs around rotted trees where sunlight crept through a hole in the forest canopy and the soil was usually richer there."
"Some trees begin to rot from within or are hollowed out while they are still standing. The tree can survive like this for many years and even bear fruit. However, when a strong enough wind blows, the tree has no substance with which to withstand it. The tree will splinter and fall. Your heart is what gives you strength. If you allow yourself to become hollow then your father wins." She stated this, looking at me with an intensity that I had not remembered in her.
"How can you be sure?" I asked, feeling the ache in my own heart acutely.
She smiled, the tears shining at the edges of her lashes, "Because it enabled you to find me. Only a strong heart could achieve that. You promised that we would find a way to live free of your father and I believe that you will make that possible. Do not lose hope."
"What if I can't?" I sobbed, "What if he only brings us more misery and visits that misery on those around us?"
"Listen to me," she exhorted, "whatever happens, do not let him use me or Merchad as leverage!"
I looked at her in disbelief, did she even know what she was asking and she continued, "He has used Bruna against you and, from what you have said, he allowed my condition to lure you back here. I do not know what he has planned, but if he threatens violence to me, do not give in."
"No mother," I wavered.
"Yes," she insisted, "What more can he strip from these bones now?" Her eyes were adamant and her hands gripped mine, the strength making an impressing on me how serious she was. It reminded me how she had been in the Fade: at peace, without worry. She had initially refused to return with me, but I convinced her to come with me, all for this. My father had twisted my regard to help trap us all. She asked me to be willing to be willing to allow Father to torture her or Murchad to prevent him from taking advantage of me. I could withstand alone, but I could not allow him to harm them on my behalf.
I leaned forward, placing my head upon her shoulder, too weary to speak. How could I hold onto my heart if I sacrificed everything it was tied to?
My father did not send for me or my mother during the next day or the day after. Simple meals were brought to us by frightened servants who refused to speak and we waited. To pass the time, my mother encouraged me to tell her the stories I had collected in my years away, before I settled in Lothering. I spoke of my late husband and son, causing her to weep. I also described our journey to reach Herfirien and what had occurred in the village that had been targeted by the Templars.
"You stole into a village being winnowed?" she gasped, "What possessed you to risk being caught by them? They would surely have executed you if you."
"Sellose believed we could help the villagers and Rian sided with him. With them at my back I could face a darkspawn horde, Mother. They are amazing men. I had never met their like prior to this." I insisted.
She smiled to herself as she carefully stitched at her needle work, "Ser Sellose is the one who taught you to use a sword?"
"Rian was injured for a length of our journey, making it necessary for me to learn how to wield a sword. Ser Grey had protested, but Sellose insisted on teaching me anyway. Eventually Ser Grey and I had a sparring match, but that was a disaster." I explained, smiling despite the fact that thoughts of Rian made my chest tight and the grief filled me all over again.
"Do you think Ser Sellose and Ser Grey will be able to rally support from the capital?" she asked, the implications suddenly occurring to both of us. If they convinced the king to send troops against the Cauldron Templars, perhaps they would be able to free us.
"I hope so," I confessed.
By then, we were into our third day of isolation, save for our meals. I paced the length of the room occasionally, my mind wandering to Sellose and Ser Lion, hoping that their return to Denerim would be less eventful than our trip to Herfirien had been. It at least it offered hope for Uncle Trian to have relief from whatever my father and Arl Boese had planned.
A heavy knock on the door broke the silence and caused my mother a look of fear. When the servants brought food their knocks were light, as if they feared to disturb us. This knock obviously came from a closed fist.
The guards that entered were sullen and stated, "Lady Maerwynn, we have been sent to fetch you to Arl Crewe."
I nodded, allowing them to lead me from the room, casting a single look to my mother before one of the guards closed the door. The guards made no move to place a hand upon me, as if they feared marring the gown, but opted to walk on either side of me. We approached my father's study and I was ushered inside, but my father was not alone. A Templar was with him, though he did not wear his helmet. He turned to me with an appraising eye but I refused to acknowledge him, looking instead to my father to discover his pleasure.
"This is my daughter, the Lady Maerwynn Crewe." My father addressed the Templar, extending his hand toward me as a gesture of presentation.
The Templar spoke not a word, but instead walked around me, examining me from every angle. My flesh beneath the fabric of my gown began to itch. The dark eyes disturbed me with their mixture of cold hunger and vague disdain. It seemed queer that I could both repulse and attract someone simultaneously.
"Maerwynn," my father addressed me and I focused all my attention upon him so that I could ignore the fact that the Templar was blatantly staring, "This is Ser Helyas Mannering, Knight Commander of the Templars."
A sudden knot formed in my stomach. I was trapped in a room with two monsters and no means of escape.
"I have heard a great deal about you," Manning finally spoke, but the tone was anything but pleasant. He was obviously not impressed by what he heard.
"Have you nothing to say, Daughter?" my father asked in a disinterested tone.
"Should I, Father?" I rejoined, unsure of what he was angling for that caused him to coax me to speak.
"Perhaps you could regale our guest with tales of your travels," offered Father, his eyes containing their cold light of interest that always boded ill.
I shrugged, trying to maintain a cool demeanor, "There is not much to tell. For a time I travelled before settling down with my husband in a farm in Lothering."
"And where is this husband now?" Manning asked, suddenly interested and my father looked mildly uncomfortable.
"He died during the Blight," I explained, fighting to ignore the lump that swelled in my throat, I would not give them my emotions. Let them speculate what they wanted.
Manningnodded before asking, "You appear to have been injured, my lady." He gestured to my face. Though the swelling had gone down since my argument with my father, there were black and blue traces from where he struck me.
"Do you refer to the bruises, Ser?" I inquired off-handedly, "Or perhaps you refer to the scars? Either tale could be related by my father. He is quite adept at explaining things that are unpleasant."
Manning smirked slightly at that before turning his attention back to my father, "You were right, she is quite spirited. No doubt she inherited her stamina and wit from you, Arl Crewe."
"She is witty enough that I am sure in time she will learn to curb her tongue," my father replied with mild annoyance.
"I have merely answered when spoken to, Father." I pointed out to him, "It does not require wit to answer honestly."
The Templar pointed another question at me, "So, you are witty enough to remain warm?"
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, my mind chiding me to remain careful in this man's presence. What else can you find in a snake's hole but a snake?
I returned without a discernable pause, "It would depend upon the nature of the cold, Ser."
"In my time in the Cauldron I have learned that it can become quite cold," Manning walked leisurely towards my father's desk as he spoke, "One could have frozen fingers or toes if one does not properly prepare and wear appropriate coverings. This for example could prevent one from suffering a frozen nose." With that he lifted up my mask that had been lying on my father's desk, his eyes showing displeasure.
"I suppose it might, Ser." I answered, "I myself wore the mask as part of my occupation. It is a common custom in Orlais for people to wear masks, particularly bards. I myself worked as a bard during my travels and found that the mask afforded a certain amount of mystery to my persona and attracted the curious."
"You practice Orlesian customs," he pressed.
"Some," I allowed, "though I also practice Avvar customs and the customs of the Chantry. We are a people influenced by many things. One learns to adapt."
Manning's mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace, "I have heard rumors that bards are spies."
"I have heard similar rumors, but that is usually reserved for the Orlesian courts and this is not Orlais." I stated, feeling that we were headed into dangerous territory and wondering where Manning was leading with this line of questioning.
"I find it strange," Manning's voice took on a tone of mock confusion, "that roughly a week ago a group of my men were attacked while performing their sacred duty. One of them claimed to have seen a woman wearing a mask, much like this one, helping villagers escape the justice of the righteous."
"That would be strange," I allowed, without a blink, "I myself have not witnessed any righteous justice as of late. I am sure the Maker will rain his wrath down on the transgressors in a manner that is appropriate to any crime that has been committed."
Father cast me a look of warning before he interrupted, "But we digress from my purpose for summoning you here, Maerwynn."
"What is your will, Father?" I asked flatly, not bothering to hide my distaste.
"Too long have you dallied in the wilderness: you require the guidance of a strong hand," he chided, "so I have arranged for you to marry Ser Mannering. This will illustrate my goodwill toward his order and create an alliance that will strengthen this family."
I gazed at my father in horror, but he was in earnest. He intended to tie me to this horror in order to jockey for favor. It took me a moment before I sputtered in indignation, "Has Arl Boese been taken? I am sure you have informed Ser Manning that he was my previous betrothed and the steps I took to avoid that noose. You must be quite aware that I would sooner marry Boese than a complete stranger with nothing to recommend him other than his armor and a reputation for terrorizing villagers."
"Boese has arranged for a different match for himself," my father explained tersely, "and I assumed you would not marry him, regardless. As for you pleasure in this situation, it does not matter: you will marry this gentleman!"
"You may decree it, but it requires much to force an unwilling horse on a trek it refuses to take," I countered.
"Indeed," Ser Manning agreed, "but your father and I have found a sizable carrot for the horse that will make a stick unnecessary, I believe."
I crossed my arms, "There is no carrot big enough!"
"Perhaps you would prefer to examine the carrot before you judge?" the man approached me and took me by my right arm in a harsh grip. I could feel the bruises blossoming under his fingertips as he steered me to the door and led me from my father's study, with my father following close behind.
Momentarily I thought that perhaps they would return me to my mother's room or bring me to Murchad and demand my compliance by threatening harm to them. Those suppositions were abandoned when we reached the stairs leading down to the cellars. We had to be heading to the dungeons, but why?
As we entered the hallway of containment cells, I noticed a low wailing. A woman had been thrown in one of the cells at the end of the hallway, but I did not get an opportunity to view her closely for we brushed past and headed to an area that caused me to break into a sweat. We passed the cell that Rian and I had shared in the deeper keep and headed to the bellows where the fire crackled and irons glowed red amid the coals. A man was shackled to a far wall, sagging despite his arms being elevated by chains and his head down, his breeches were torn and he wore no tunic. A guard stood by and when we entered he stood straighter while the man in chains did not respond, unaware of our entrance.
This room still haunted my nightmares and the smoke from the fire made me want to retch, but Manning kept a tight hold of my arm and stopped us just beyond the doorway. My father walked past us and went further into the room, positioning himself within reach of the irons that were heating by the fire and putting on heavy leather gloves that were normally reserved for blacksmiths. He nodded to the guard who picked up a nearby bucket of water and splashed its contents over the prisoner.
The man suddenly jerked against his shackles, coughing and sputtering. He shook his head, as if trying to shake himself free of the water and it was obvious that he had been unconscious and the shock of the water had revived him. When he calmed down enough to look at us squarely my heart leapt into my throat in recognition.
It was Ser Sellose.
He looked haggard and I fought within myself to remain calm. If I betrayed that I knew him he might meet the same fate as Rian. They had brought me here for a purpose and it made me sick to consider what their designs were for him.
"Do you know this man?" Ser Manning demanded harshly, shaking me slightly by the arm.
I did not get a chance to answer because Ser Sellose piped up with a tone of bravado, "Who is this? Don't tell me I am to receive visits from perfect strangers." He still sagged slightly, but he tried to brace himself on the floor.
"So you have never met?" my father asked Sellose in a pointed tone.
"I am certain I would remember her," he replied, this time his voice held a tone that said more than my father or Ser Manning could probably glean unless they knew him. He was worried for me but was trying to remain neutral. His eyes made a cursory glance over me and remained unimpressed.
Ser Manning went on to explain to me, "We found this man wandering the woods with a woman not a far ride from here. He said he had become separated from his party. We suspect he was one of the men responsible for interfering with the Templar winnowing."
"Are there any witnesses that can identify him?" I asked, hoping that I might be able to convince them to free him if they could not be certain he was there.
"No," Ser Manning frowned, "but though he is not dressed in a knight's attire, he carried a sword that would not be owned by any peasant. Interestingly enough, that sword shares a similar insignia on the hilt as the sword belonging to the man who accompanied you here: a man who, it is reported, claimed to be a knight of Denerim, a man who is now dead!" The last words he hissed at me, his lips close to my ear and I cringed at his close proximity and the punishing grip as it further tightened on my arm.
Throwing pretense aside, Ser Sellose jerked against his chains in our direction. His face suddenly very grim and his eyes glittered menacingly. He grimaced as the chains bit into his wrists and held him back.
On witnessing his response my father goaded, "Are you certain you have never met her, Ser?"
"There is no honor in manhandling an unarmed woman," Sellose fumed, his muscles flexing against his bonds.
"Very well," my father proceeded, "Since neither of you are willing to claim each other, let us conduct a test." He picked up one of the hot irons from the fire in his gloved hands and carried it toward me, "I am sure you recall these, my dear. They are probably the source of some very unpleasant memories for you."
"Get away from her!" Sellose bellowed, straining even harder on the shackles that held him up.
"Oh, I have no intention of using them on her," my father gloated in a venomous tone, "I will use them on you. If you mean nothing to my daughter she will have no issue in seeing these used on your body."
"Father, do not do this!" I cried.
"Have you decided to accept Ser Manning's proposal of marriage?" He turned to me again, still holding the red iron in his hand as if it were any other harmless object.
Sellose shouted at me, his eyes pleading, "Don't do it!"
"There is one bid for the fire. This first brand I will place on his upper arm." My father approached Sellose and brought the brand close to his skin on his right arm.
Now it was my turn to struggle against my captor and screamed, "Father DON'T!" but he did not heed me. Sellose gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out but could not help groaning with the intensity of the pain. The air filled with the sickening smell of burning flesh as Sellose's skin scorched under the brand that left red bubbling blisters when my father removed it.
"Is that your worst?" Sellose spat back between pants.
"Hardly," my father quipped before carelessly tossing the brand he had just used back into the fire and selecting another one. While the first had been a square and rather small, this one was larger and the metal was shaped to resemble a sword of mercy that the Chantry used in remembrance of Andraste's sacrifice on the pyre.
"This one was a gift from Ser Manning," my father explained to me as he noticed me staring at it, "and I believe this one should go over this man's heart. "
Before I could protest he turned and pressed the hot metal into Ser Sellose. Unprepared for the suddenness with which my father did it, Sellose screamed with pain, his cries allaying in intensity when the brand was removed. As my father had stated, the angry red mark was situated against Sellose's ribcage over where his heart should be, the flesh smoldering slightly.
My father discarded that brand back into the fire and turned back to me thoughtfully, "Any recommendations where we should proceed, Daughter?" He did not wait for a response before his words rushed forward, "Now that I look at your face I am inspired."
He picked up another brand and walked purposely forward, his arm leveling with Sellose's face. I felt the tears come and my voice was near hysterical as I shrieked at my father, all the while struggling against Ser Manning's punishing grip, "I yield! I YIELD! Stay your hand and do not harm him!"
Sellose swallowed hard as my father withdrew and approached me again, questioning, "What did you say, Daughter?"
Blinking back the stinging in my eyes, "If you swear not to hurt him further and release him, I will agree to marry Ser Manning."
"It is pleasant that you have finally come to see reason, my dear." My father smiled horridly and nodded to Ser Manning, "As I said before, she is witty enough to learn."
With that my father barked at the guard to unshackle Ser Sellose and take him to a cell. I was permitted to watch as he collapsed to his hands and knees once the chains that had held him upright were removed. Sweat dripped down his face and he looked weakened by the pain, but he managed to look up at me just as Ser Manning dragged me from the room and our eyes met. I sobbed to him since I could do nothing else, "I am so sorry! Forgive me."