Hawke paused. "I know he was in training to be a Templar, my lord," he said. "I know he didn't like it, and looked upon being conscripted into the Wardens as an escape. It's probably why he's so grateful to Duncan. I can't blame him, not wanting to be a Templar, seeing what the Chantry—" He broke off, not sure if he should tell the Teyrn about that particular dirty little secret.
"Hawke," Loghain almost laughed, "do you imagine I don't know about the Templars and their Nacronite addiction? So Alistair didn't want to be a Templar, and preferred dying of the Taint to having his brain addled. What about before that? Do you know where's he from?"
"He said he grew up in Redcliffe. He wanted to go there after we left Lothering, since he was raised there. Said he knew Arl Eamon, and that he was a good man and would help us out."
"And did you think this a good idea?"
"Why not? It sounded like free food and shelter, and somewhere to think, once I got my family squared away. I don't have any grand acquaintance, myself, though I wasn't sure how much help we could actually expect, since Alistair was just a stableboy there. Seemed a mite presumptuous to me, but if we'd been sent to the stables, we'd still be out of the rain. "
"Has he spoken of his family?"
"I don't think he has any. My first guess was that he was a Child of the Chantry, but then, when he was so sure Arl Eamon would do something for him..."
"Yes?"
"Well, I thought... maybe... he might be a bastard of Arl Eamon's. Maybe I'm defaming the arl, but it makes sense, with Alistair being sent off to a fancy Chantry school instead staying a servant at the castle..."
"Did you ask Alistair?"
"No, my lord. I haven't known him that long, and we don't... see eye to eye on everything. The Chantry trained him to be an excellent swordsman, but they also trained him to be afraid of magic. I certainly didn't tell him anything about my own family until he was in Lothering and found out for himself." He hesitated, and then said, "He's angry with you, my lord. He was very fond of Duncan, and blames you for what happened. Don't be hard on him. I don't think he's ever had much of anyone to care about."
Loghain stared at him a moment, and then looked away, out the window, for some time. Hawke waited, forcing himself not to fidget. Eventually, Loghain spoke again.
"I see. What about the Chasind girl? The witch?"
Hawke shrugged. "She's good in a fight. I'm not afraid to fight besides mages."
"No," mused Loghain. "You wouldn't be."
"Her mother was the one who patched me up. I've no idea how she got us down from the tower, really. Morrigan told us a crazy story about Flemeth turning into a huge bird—"
"Flemeth?"
Once again, he had the Teyrn's undivided attention. Loghain wanted to know every detail: what Flemeth had looked like, what she had said, why she so particularly wanted her daughter to accompany them.
Hawke said, "Oh, I'm sure there are secret reasons there. No idea what they are, as of now. She's a useful fighter, which is good enough at the moment."
"So you'll make her a Warden."
"I'm...not sure. I said that to keep the Templars from bothering her. I'd do that for anyone. I can't say I like the girl much, other than liking the way she fights. She's always trying to wind people up, she's rude to my family, and she's too free flaunting herself."
"Do you fancy her?"
Hawke considered that. "That would be more trouble than it could possibly be worth. I'm sure of that. Besides, for all her scanty clothing, it's not the first pair of tits I've even seen."
Loghain snorted. Hawke smiled tightly.
"Besides, I wouldn't know how to make her a Warden even if I wanted to. I don't know exactly what was in that potion they gave me, and Alistair doesn't know, either. No point is poisoning her. We were hoping to find some notes at the Compound. If Wardens can sense darkspawn, it would be useful to have a few more of us. We'd like to find some other things, too," he added, not quite looking at the Teyrn.
"Were you? The foreign correspondence, the enrollment log?"
"More like the account books and the pay chest. Alistair says we're supposed to be paid, but I haven't been yet."
Loghain barked a laugh. Hawke took a bit of courage from that.
"—and yes, the secrets, my lord. I'm sure there's more to know. Maybe it's in the correspondence. Maybe it's in some of the books. Maybe it's all in code. Maybe I could write to Ansburg, and see what they'd tell me, though I'd need to know the name of the Commander there."
Loghain leaned forward. "And what exactly would your plan be, young Warden Hawke? What were you thinking of doing?"
Hawke had thought of little else, other than how to justify his own and his family's continued exiArvidce. His speech was prepared.
"All right, my lord, it's this: I retrieved those ancient treaties Duncan sent me after. They're not with some modern country, but with the mages, the Dalish elves, and the dwarves of Orzammar. They were made with the Grey Wardens before there even was a Ferelden, so Ferelden can't use them directly. However," he pointed out to Loghain, "a Fereldan Grey Warden can use them to get us allies that aren't Orlesians or in the pay of the Orlesians. I can't see anything wrong in that. I don't know much about the Dalish, but the dwarves of Orzammar are said to be great fighters. And if we could get the whole of the Fereldan Circle to fight for us, and not just seven mages—"
Loghain was nodding slowly. He put out his hand.
"Show me."
Hawke hated handing them over, but there was nothing else for it. Loghain studied the yellowed parchments in silence. They certainly looked authentic. Duncan had believed them to be. Maybe they would do. He held his breath.
"It's not a worthless scheme," Loghain finally agreed, handing them back. "The dwarves are everything you've heard. The Circle of Mages... I'm quite prepared to give them considerable privileges if they do their duty to Ferelden, though I don't expect we'll get the cooperation of any of the other Circles around Thedas."
"I could try writing, my lord," Hawke said.
"You could try—and you will," agreed Loghain, thinking it over. "I'd give a great deal to see the look on the Orlesian Knight-Commander's face when he read such a letter. The worst they can do is say no. And I see nothing wrong with you writing to the Warden-Commander at Ansburg. Write to Nevarra, Antiva, and Rivain as well. Write to the First Warden in the Anderfels. Tell him that Orlesians aren't welcome here, but we wouldn't object to a few Wardens from other lands as advisers. Don't invite Tevinter. That could be a complication we don't need."
"Tevinter has Wardens?" Hawke blurted out. He reddened. "Sorry, my lord. Of course they must. I really don't know much about the Wardens. I was never much interested in them."
Loghain laughed again, more genuinely. "Neither was I, lad. It seems that you have some work to do. I'll assign you a secretary, and get the proper names to you. Write the letters first, and then we'll talk more about how to present the treaties."
Hawke sighed in relief. His head, it seemed, would stay on his shoulders another day at least.
Chapter 30: Hawkes Over Ferelden, Part 2
Oars dipped into the chilly waters of Lake Calenhad. The only available boat would carry six. The rest of Hawke's party waited impatiently on the shore. When they walked into Kinloch Hold, home of the Fereldan Circle of Magi, they would do so in force.
Loghain really wanted the mages on his side. It had not taken two days for him to put together a party to shepherd the last of the Wardens on their way.
Naturally, Hawke and Alistair were not allowed to travel unsupervised. They were being treated as persons of importance, but for all that, Hawke knew that they were actually important prisoners: to be killed if they stepped out of line. Alistair, too, more or less understood their position, but Hawke was worried about his state of mind. Loghain had no leverage over Alistair, other than the threat of Alistair's own death. He had no leverage over Morrigan, either.
He h
ad plenty of leverage over Hawke, however. Mother and Bethany had lovely rooms at the Palace, and Hawke and Carver had been permitted to have dinner with them the night before they left. Mother could not stop talking about their audience with that "lovely, gracious Queen Freya."
Carver was part of the Wardens' party, assigned by Loghain himself, who apparently thought that blood was thicker than water. Maybe so. Hawke thought Carver would do anything to protect Mother and Bethany, even if he had his differences with his elder brother.
They were led by none other than Ser Cauthrien Woodhouse, Loghain's most trusted lieutenant. With her were a dozen archers of Maric's Shield, under the command of Sergeant Tanna, a good-looking young blonde. Carver plainly fancied her.
Hawke had thought he'd go for Ser Cauthrien, whom Hawke thought very beautiful in a strong, raw-boned way, but perhaps the fact that Cauthrien also carried a greatsword had put his brother off. Aside from their core party of seventeen, there was a full company in reserve, which would back them up if things went sour. They were half a day behind, and were bringing their own boats.
They stepped off onto the small jetty. The boatman went back for his next load, predicting the wrath of Knight-Commander Greagoir. Ser Cauthrien ignored him.
"I don't understand how this can possibly work," Alistair complained. "The mages just can't decide to walk out of the Circle, after all. We'll have to get the Knight-Commander's consent, and he'll need to write to the Grand Cleric for that. She might feel she needs the approval of the Divine. It could take months."
Hawke shrugged. If the look on Cauthrien's face meant anything, he wouldn't wager on it taking months. More likely, they—and the mages— really would just walk out of here.
"Just think," Hawke muttered to Carver, looking up at the imposing tower. "Father grew up here."
"And escaped from here," Carver snorted. "He didn't think much of it. Looking at it, I'm impressed that he made it out."
It was getting late, and the wind off the lake was chilly. Hawke was restless, hoping they could get a supper out of the Templars, and not much fuss. If they put up a fight, Hawke would not put Loghain above laying siege to the place outright.
Another group unloaded, grinning and talking in whispers. Cauthrien gave them a suppressing look. A little apart, Alistair and Morrigan were conversing in low voices, their heads together. Considering how much they disliked each other, it made Hawke uneasy to see them making common cause together. He walked over, smiling, determined to break up their little chat.
"—and we could probably—" Alistair's head snapped up, as he noticed Hawke's approach.
"I don't know about you," Hawke said, keeping his voice down, "but I'll be glad when we get this lot sorted out."
Alistair made a face. "If we can. I know they should obey the treaty, but I don't know if they're really worth the trouble."
Morrigan smirked. Her throaty chuckle was just audible. "The Chantry's pet mages! Indeed, one wonders if they would not simply run from the darkspawn like the sheep they are?"
Hawke felt faintly defensive on their behalf. He had kept the secret that his father was a mage—and Loghain did not seem to have divulged it to anyone—but still, Father had spent years of his life in this place. There must be other strong mages behind those big bronze doors, other mages longing for freedom.
He said, "The mages at Ostagar were pretty brave. I seem to remember that one of them actually died to save us, when we were fighting that ogre."
Alistair scowled, ducking his head. "That's true. He was all right. I don't even know his name."
"Maybe we can find it out while we're here."
Once everyone was gathered on the island's muddy shores, they formed up, and at Ser Cauthrien's signal, Sergeant Tanna rapped with the hilt of her dagger against the great doors of Kinloch Hold.
The Templar on duty did not want to let them in. He foolishly tried to close the door in their faces. Cauthrien wasn't having that. The doors were shoved back by eager arms and shoulders, and Cauthrien crisply told the alarmed Templars their business there.
"I am Ser Cauthrien. I and my party are here at the behest of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, Regent of Ferelden, to consult with the First Enchanter. The Grey Wardens Liam and Alistair have treaties compelling the cooperation of the Circle of Magi in fighting the darkspawn."
"The Knight-Commander is engaged in important business, Ser Cauthrien," a Templar told her. "I don't know when he'll have time to talk to you. I suggest you wait at the Spoiled Princess until he sends word that he's at leisure to receive you."
A soft growl rose up from the soldiers.
"Did I say I was here to see the Knight-Commander?" Cauthrien asked, raising her brows. "I did not. I am here to see the First Enchanter. It is a matter of indifference to me if the Knight-Commander makes an appearance."
A few more Templars trickled into the entry hall, some puzzled, some indignant.
The senior Templar looked about him, and then whispered something to one of the youngest of the order, who quickly left the room.
"All right. I've sent word that you're here. It may take some time."
"We don't mind waiting right here," Ser Cauthrien said calmly, with a bright, false smile.
Knight-Commander Greagoir came down rather soon, but without First Enchanter Irving. He, too, seemed determined to toss them out like importunate beggars.
"I grow weary of the Grey Wardens' demands. We lost four of our mages at Ostagar—"
Hawke's temper flared. "I didn't see you there."
Greagoir focused on him, scowling. "How dare you!"
"Hawke—" began Ser Cauthrien.
"Hawke!" pleaded Alistair.
"I said," Hawke snarled. "that I didn't see you at Ostagar. I saw all of two Templars, and from what you just said, my guess is that they made it out alive. You sent seven mages. Seven fricking mages against a horde of thousands! Well, we were at Ostagar, and we know we need reinforcements! This treaty—" he shook the parchment roll in Greagoir's face "—obliges the mages to stand with the Grey Wardens against the darkspawn. It's not a matter of what you want or don't want. Nobody's asking you to do anything dangerous!"
"Enough, Hawke!" snapped Cauthrien. She shrugged. "Though I agree with every word you said. Knight-Commander, we want to see the First Enchanter now. We need to make arrangements for the mages to discharge their obligations."
"Irving is too busy—"
"I don't believe that anything he is doing is as important as protecting Ferelden from invasion by the darkspawn. If you will not take us to him, we will have to make our own way. Stand aside."
"The Grand Cleric will hear of this!"
"As you like." Cauthrien eyes held the Knight-Commander's, and he looked away first. She said, "Now will you show us the way, or not?"
He fumed briefly, obviously considering stamping off in a temper. They could fight, of course, but there would be a slaughter. According to Loghain's intelligence, there were between twenty-five and thirty-two Templars currently posted at the Circle, along with two priests. They were scattered throughout the building, but had the largest concentration on the ground floor and on the Templar quarters level.
Instead, Greagoir rapped out, "Follow me!" and gestured to the Templars to open the pair of big metal inner doors.
They were in.
It was very interesting. Hawke was struck by the smell, which told of bad ventilation, poor drainage, woolen robes uncleaned for years on end, and too many bodies crowded together. They passed the dormitories of the apprentices, and the children crowded forward, whispering in excitement, shrinking back when a Templar glared at them or raised the back of his hand. They saw the impressive library, and then went upstairs. The halls of the tower were neat circles, and at the end of one was the office of the First Enchanter, where a noisy meeting was in session.
Hawke remembered Bald Mage from Ostagar. His real name, Hawke discovered, was Uldred. He was the one who'd sugges
ted letting the mages handle the signal. For that reason, Hawke was inclined to be on his side. Apparently, the mages had had more than enough, and were agitating for some respect—and occasional exercise out of doors.
There was that white-haired mage. Hawke just remembered her name: Wynne. A very good healer when she was allowed to be. She seemed to be something of a Chantry loyalist, and didn't like all the talk about getting out and seeing something of world.
"You hypocrite!" shouted a young blonde girl. "The Templars let you out all the time! You go anywhere you like! I can't even remember the smell of fresh air!"
"Well, Gwyneth," said Wynne primly, "I have earned my privileges over long years. Perhaps when you are my age—"
"I don't want to wait until I'm old!" the girl shouted back. "I don't want to have to suck some Templar's cock to earn some 'privileges!' It's a basic right to see the sun!"
More screams and shouts. The stone floor itself vibrated with all the stirred up magic. The Templars began to look uneasy.
Morrigan murmured, nodding at the blonde girl, "I like her."
Hawke rather did himself.
The meeting might have turned violent, but Ser Cauthrien broke it up, shoving her way to the front.
"Hear me! I've here on the orders of the Regent in Denerim! You're needed to serve against the darkspawn! Warden Liam, present the treaty between the Grey Wardens and the Circle of Magi!"
So Hawke got up in front of that crowd, with Alistair slinking after him like a murderer. Hawke had prepared his words beforehand—had to, since both Loghain and Ser Cauthrien wanted to know exactly what he was going to say. It was a bit like being a dancing bear, but that didn't mean the message was a false one.
"The Circles of Mages signed a treaty with the Grey Wardens in the forty-third year of the Divine Age, agreeing that they would come to the aid of Thedas during a Blight. We call upon the Circle of Kinloch Hold to honor that allegiance—"
White-haired Wynne screeched a protest. "Teyrn Loghain murdered the Grey Wardens and our young King Cailan! How can you support him?"
Dragon's Era- No Man's Land Page 39
