Dragon's Era- No Man's Land

by Jacon Winfree

  The officer raised his brows at the word "lady," for Delilah looked like nothing of the sort, but he did as he was told. Fergus offered Delilah his arm, and took her aside. He did not wish to threaten her outright, but he wanted to know what she was doing here.

  "How long have you been in Amaranthine?"

  "I never left," she said, her voice soft and sad. "I had someone here. When news came that Father was dead, I knew that at last I could escape. Thomas was killed in a skirmish, and I had no one I cared about left at Vigil's Keep. I thought that the King would send men after me. I came to Amaranthine. I only wanted to be left alone."

  "Who were you staying with? Esmerelle?"

  She glanced up at him, with an expression that told him she thought he was mad.

  "No! Not Bann Esmerelle! That vile woman? I wanted that part of my life to be over: the politics, the scheming, the 'noble' way of life. I'd had enough. It was enough to get away from Father's evil. I... got married."

  "You're married?" He echoed. Some officer of the guard? Some landless knight? "To whom?"

  "No one you would know," she whispered. "A shopkeeper. A good man. I adored him. He's dead."

  Well, that was absolutely the craziest story yet to come out of the Blight Year. Rendon Howe's daughter, eloping with a shopkeeper? Was she in her right mind? Or perhaps life as a Howe really had become so foul and horrible that anything was better than staying in Vigil's Keep.

  "Who knew about this? Seneschal Varel?"

  "No! No one knew! There was no one I could trust. They never would have let me marry Albert. I slipped away and hoped they believed me dead."

  "Well, they did. Do you know that Nathaniel is now a Grey Warden?"

  "Yes, I saw Nathaniel only a few days ago. I'd feared he was dead, too, but there he was... He wanted me to go back with him to Vigil's Keep, but I couldn't leave Albert. We're expecting a baby..." She plucked at the coarse blanket, tears running down her gaunt cheeks. "I don't know what happened to Nathaniel. He wasn't with the Wardens who burned the city. He must still be at Vigil's Keep. He'll come for me, I'm sure..."

  "Well, he's not here yet. You're bloody lucky you weren't snatched up like the women the thugs took. They'd expect you to pleasure them for a fish head, and thank them afterward."

  "Oh, Fergus, please..."

  "Stop crying! I can't stand it! Look here, I'll take you with us, and get you to Nathaniel eventually, if he's still alive. I'm not going to Vigil's Keep. I'm going to Denerim, to tell the King about this bloody outrage. Get in the boat. Habren will have something you can wear."

  "Habren?"

  "Yes, Habren, my wife. Teyrna of Highever."

  Ignoring her expression —which he guessed meant that she liked Habren no better than Elissa had— he found a pencil and parchment and wrote his wife a quick note, and gave it to the boatswain to deliver. Too bloody bad if Delilah didn't like Habren. He could not leave a woman he had played with in childhood on a beach, with nothing but a blanket. A pregnant woman, at that. Mentally, he groaned at the prospect of sailing to Denerim with two women vomiting the entire time.

  Habren-

  Delilah Howe was living in hiding in Amaranthine. She had a bad time with the darkspawn attack and the fire in the city. She's not to blame for what her father did, so I'd like you to be kind to her. Have your ladies wash her and find something decent for her to wear. Her brother Nathaniel is apparently at Vigil's Keep, and we're not going there now, but we'll try to get them reunited as soon as possible.

  Fergus

  There was some muttering among the other survivors at Delilah's special treatment, but Fergus was not in the mood to put up with complaints. The boat left, returned with yet more soldiers, and by then Fergus was ready to deal with the thugs.

  "I am Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever!" he shouted. "Release the women you're holding at once!"

  A rough voice bawled back through the shed door. "You try to come in here and we'll slit all the wenches' throats!"

  "That would be stupid," Fergus pointed out, "Because then I'll certainly hang every man in there. However, if you release the women and come out and face justice, I'll only hang the ringleaders. What'll it be?"

  As expected, the shed exploded with the sounds of a fight, as the men turned on each other. Fergus gave a nod, and his men burst in through the back of the flimsy structure. Women shrieked and men swore, but it was all over fairly quickly. Soldiers gave the women blankets to cover themselves with —for they had all been stripped mother-naked— and Fergus spoke to those of them who were not too shocked for words.

  "Point out the men who abused you," he said, "and I'll deal with them."

  The trial took a bit of time. The men were given a chance to speak up for themselves, but there was little they could say in their own defense. Nearly all of them had been party to the rapes. The ringleaders were briskly strung up, and then Fergus asked the women what they wanted done with the rest. In Fereldan law, a victim had some say in such a case. They could demand execution in aggravated cases involving mutilation and torture; they could demand marriage; they could demand coin for the offense; they could demand the attacker be flogged, they could demand a combination of the two latter options. In this case, those who were not executed were fined what they had on them—including their weapons and armor— given a thrashing, and then marched toward the south and told to keep going, if they knew what was good for them. Imprisonment was clearly not feasible.

  A few other guards showed up, tempted by the soup kettle and encouraged by Fergus' handling of the rough elements. The confiscated arms were turned over to them, and some of the civilians were deputized to help maintain order.

  "Has anyone seen or heard anything of Bann Esmerelle?" Fergus asked.

  No one had. No one was even sure she had been in the city during the attack. One guard thought he had seen her riding for Vigil's Keep the day before the disaster, but was not sure.

  The ruins were still smoking and many of the buildings dangerously unstable. The Wardens had told everyone to stay out, but of course people would want to see what had happened to their homes. Fergus hoped that at least part of the Keep would remain. And then there was the Chantry.

  "What about the Revered Mother? Has anyone seen any of the priests? Any Templars?"

  "Bless you, no, Your Grace," replied an old woman. "I heard the darkspawn got into the Chantry and slaughtered them all, poor souls. The Wardens said there was a great lot of Taint to be cleansed in there."

  "Wardens!" jeered the crowd.

  Fergus did not want to defend them, but Taint was surely something they knew about. "Then stay away from the Chantry. You don't want Blight disease to add to your troubles. I'll get the rest of the supplies ashore, and I'll send my smaller ship back to Highever for more. For some guards, too, to keep you all safe. They'll be here in a few days. With what you have, you should be able to hold out. Once the ruins cool down, I think the Keep is your best chance for temporary shelter. You have my leave to make use of whatever is still standing. I'm going to see the King about what happened here, and get help from him as well. We'll get some proper roofs over your heads long before winter!"

  "Maker bless you, Your Grace!" cried an old man, and other voices rose in thanks.

  They raised anchor, hoisted sail, and moved on. Things were decidedly tense in the ladies' cabin with the addition of Delilah. Habren had been obedient enough about providing Delilah with decent clothes, but no doubt had been insufferably inquisitive and superior. Fergus was not going to rebuke her for that, since he thought himself that Delilah had been a complete idiot about the entire episode. Running away with a shopkeeper? Turning her back on her duty as the daughter of the Arl of Amaranthine?

  If she had presented herself to the Landsmeet, and thrown herself on the King's mercy, it would have been far more difficult for Eamon to give Amaranthine away to the Grey Wardens. Without the presence of the Grey Wardens, it was entirely possible that
there would have been no attack by the darkspawn, and in turn no destruction of the city of Amaranthine. Delilah's childish elopement might be responsible for thousands of deaths. It was pointless to upbraid her for it, for what was done was done, and besides, she was as sick as Habren within a few hours. He was convinced, however, that Elissa would never have done anything so foolish and selfish.

  Two days later, they sailed into Denerim, and Fergus carried Habren upstairs to their bedchamber at Highever House. Delilah was helped to a guest room by Habren's attendants. Fergus immediately sent word to Bryland House to see if the arl was in residence, and then to the Palace: begging the attendance of the Royal Mage for his wife and another lady, who were pregnant and ill, and requesting the honor of an audience with the King at His Majesty's earliest convenience.

  The Royal Mage arrived quite soon, and to Fergus' surprise, she was brought to Highever House by the King himself. The elderly lady was shown upstairs at once.

  Alistair seemed glad to see Fergus, and was quite kind in his inquiries about Teyrna Habren's health. Fergus invited him to his private study, and poured wine for them both.

  "She's expecting? Congratulations! You both must be really happy about that."

  "We are, Your Majesty. I thank you. I am very conscious of the honor you do me by coming to my house—"

  "Oh, please! None of that ceremony. Call me Alistair. I'm glad to see you. I've heard terrible rumors from the north. What's going on?"

  In carefully measured words, Fergus told him of the destruction of Amaranthine, and his own attempts at relief there.

  "One of the Amaranthine nobles was there, an old friend of my father. I brought him with me. He's elderly, and went to bed, but I can have him called so you can hear everything from his own lips—"

  "Oh, I can hear it tomorrow, when the old fellow is up to it. I wanted to talk to you first. I'm sure the Warden-Commander did what he thought was right."

  "No doubt, Your-—Alistair. But if I recall, the darkspawn also rampaged through the streets of Denerim, and you did not find it necessary to burn the city to the ground with its population inside. Am I wrong to hold Warden Caron to the same standard? Why was his fortress with a few hundred people at most in it worth more than the city of Amaranthine and the thousands who lived within its walls? You did not choose to defend you and yours rather than the people of Ferelden."

  Alistair blushed, aggravated and flattered at once. He hedged. "Situations are always different... I don't know all the facts."

  "Neither do I, I asked Warden Caron to explain them to me, and he refused, saying he owed no one an explanation. That is not a helpful attitude. If he will not answer to me, his liege lord, he must answer to his King, who will be able, being a Grey Warden himself, to judge whether what was done was wise strategy, a callous atrocity, or a panicked overreaction."

  Fergus refilled the King's cup. "I don't want to make this a Landsmeet matter, though it's inevitable that it will be raised this spring. The country doesn't need that kind of turmoil. What is your own impression, if I may ask, of Warden Caron? My own was that he did not much care about the people he would be ruling."

  "I wish Eamon were here," Alistair muttered. "Or maybe not. I don't know. Yes, I met the man just after the attack on Vigil's Keep. I went there to welcome him, but found the place a shambles. He said he had things under control, so I left him to it. He didn't seem to want any advice. I suppose he puts the Grey Wardens first, which he's supposed to, as a Grey Warden. I can see that it's hard on the people who get in between him and the darkspawn."

  "Quite." Fergus grimaced. "I wanted to discuss this with you, and to request that you call Warden Caron to Denerim before you. Not only is there the matter of his conduct to review, we must also devise a plan for the relief of the survivors. As their lord, it is his responsibility, but so far he has done nothing. I brought food, tents, and blankets, and organized some sort of guard to protect the people from bandits and wild beasts, but the situation is dire. A major city has been destroyed, and its dockyards with it. Amaranthine is vital to Ferelden's economy. It's a major trading hub. The dockyards must be rebuilt as soon as possible."

  Alistair looked harassed. "What if he says no?"

  "Then he is a rebel," Fergus said coldly. "And we know how to deal with rebels in Ferelden." He relaxed, and poured more wine. "I don't think he will dare say no to you, however. He probably thinks that you will give him special treatment and not hold him to account. I know that the Wardens have secrets, but he has no excuse to keep them from you. Other things have happened that I found peculiar, including the presence of Rendon Howe's son among the Wardens. I would love to know how that happened."

  "Really? Howe's son?"

  "Yes. His eldest son, Nathaniel, who was sent away some years ago to be educated in the Free Marches." He managed a rusty laugh. "Mind you, I was further surprised to find Howe's daughter among the survivors in Amaranthine, dressed in rags and without a penny to her name. I brought her here. She was always a gentle creature, much mistreated by her father. I found out that she had run off with a shopkeeper and was living with hiding with her husband for the past few months. The poor fellow was killed, so she's a widow, and quite destitute. Since she was thought to be dead, her rights to Amaranthine were completely overlooked."

  "She's the other... er...expectant mother you mentioned in your note?"

  "Just so. How she's going to provide for the child, I don't know. If Nathaniel is still alive, I'm sure he'll want to help, though I don't know what the Wardens will say about that. Do you suppose they'll let her live there at Vigil's Keep? It's surely a big enough place."

  "Howe's daughter..." Alistair mused. "Does she look like him?"

  Fergus burst out laughing. Alistair grinned, and then laughed too. Fergus shook his head.

  "No, not at all. Dark hair and grey eyes, yes, but that's not unusual in the Fereldan nobility. A pretty enough face, though very... quiet. Her parents hated each other, and they used their children as pawns in their battles. It was fairly miserable for them."

  "I can believe Howe being a rotten father," Alistair declared. "Rotten in every way! I'm sorry for her. I'm sure the Warden Commander can find a place for her. I'll make a point of speaking to him about it. And Wardens get a stipend, so there'll be at least a little money coming in. Maybe I can have the housekeeper at the Palace put together some sort of... package... for her... clothes... you know. Women's things. The Palace is full of all sorts of things nobody ever uses."

  "That would be very kind," Fergus approved. "Habren gave her some clothes, but of course she has nothing else. Oh, and we'll see she has linen for her baby. It's a hard thing for a child to grow up fatherless."

  Alistair stared into his wine cup. Fergus, taking the hint, filled it again, and Alistair took a long swallow. "Don't I know it!" he muttered.

  Fergus paused, sensing an opportunity. "Alistair...do you have any idea why King Maric chose to keep you such a secret? Did he ever tell you why?"

  "Never. I mean... we never spoke. I mean I never spoke to the King. Ever. Sometimes he visited Redcliffe, but I only saw him from a distance. I guess he was being discreet."

  Well, that was certainly important intelligence. At that moment, Fergus would have sworn that Eamon had completely invented Alistair's royal birth. How could Maric never speak to his own son? Incredible.

  "Never even spoke to you? I don't understand that. I don't mean to rail against King Maric, but I can't understand a man doing that to a child. It's not right."

  Alistair made a face. "It's not important any more. I knew that I was an embarrassment. Arlessa Isolde had fits whenever she saw me, because she thought I was the Arl's, so it was just as well she hardly ever did. That was one good thing about sleeping in the stables. It was warm too, with all that straw."

  Fergus stared at him, winded. "Are you saying that Arl Eamon, your guardian, left you to sleep in the stables?"

  "Yes, I am saying that.
It could have been worse. I always got fed. Once I was sent to the Templars, I even learned to read and write." The handsome face crinkled in a smile. "You look upset."

  "I am. I'm horrified. I'm going to speak plainly. I'm horrified that you don't seem to realize how outrageous and wrong his treatment of you was. No ward of my father's was ever treated in such a way, and we had pages and squires and fosterlings in and out of Highever all my life. Some of them were... natural sons of knights and nobles. Some of them died with the rest of the family in the massacre. But that's what they were: family. I don't understand how Eamon thought he had a right to treat any fosterling— much less the King's own son— in such a way."

  "It's over now. I shouldn't have brought it up. People always get upset." Alistair reached for more wine. He was quite tipsy by this time, and some of the wine splashed out on the table, red as spilled blood. "Saladin was always nice to me."

  "Did he offer you proper quarters at Rainesfere?"

  "No, but how could he? He's always done what Eamon told him to, and offering to take me off Eamon's hands would have looked like criticism."

  "True enough."

  "Speaking of Saladin," Alistair's face turned mischievous. "I should have told you why Eamon's not here. He's dealing with a situation in Redcliffe. Two situations, actually. Two delicate situations."

  "And they are...?"

  "Well, Arlessa Isolde is expecting again! Hard to believe, I know, but she is. She's gone home to Redcliffe to rest, because Denerim is just too exciting for her," Alistair said this with a suspiciously straight face. Fergus bit his lip, and nodded judiciously. Isolde had made a lot of excitement for herself by her obnoxious behavior. Perhaps Eamon realized that he needed to mend some fences.

  "Very sensible of him."

  "Well, part of it's because she just can't deal with people at the moment, and that's related to the other delicate matter."