Post by Admin on May 24, 2021 1:44:39 GMT
The throne room of Vigil's Keep was quiet, even the usually drunk Oghren snoring softly in front of the Cask where he had fallen in another predictable, drunken stupor. The Commander eyed him carefully before her gaze swept around the room; Velanna perched carefully against the pedestal to her left, the rather misanthropic elf scribbling away inside the journal she had been given earlier that very day. The Commander could not see Sigrun's tattooed features which were currently hidden behind one of the books she had picked up from one of the bookcases behind her, the soft fluttering of pages turning only reaching the Commander's ears every once in a while. The man now known as Justice remained standing, his vigilant stance hardly ever wavering considering he himself was not mortal and the body he inhabited no longer needed rest; the Commander trusted Justice to be certain, but sometimes his presence was unsettling at the very least. To the spirit's left sat Anders, the mage's chin propped against his chest comfortably. His back was settled in what appeared to be an uncomfortable position, his even breathing betraying his slumber. His quiet and ever-present kitty, Ser Pounce-A-Lot, looked to be rather content as he remained curled up in Anders' lap and dozed off as well. A hint of a smile tugged at the Commander's lips at the rather endearing sight, her eyes finally landing on the final member of the party. Nathaniel looked positively exhausted, the heir to the Howe animosity and muddied name leaning haphazardly against the wall where his mother's painting hung. Nathaniel's desire to sleep was slowly overtaking his silent vigil to remain awake, the Commander holding back another grin when his head fell forward towards his chest before he caught himself and tried to blink the sleep away from his eyes.
It was quite the motley group she had assembled, but she had done the same the last time she had required help from others who seemed willing. Given, there wasn't quite a difference among the races in this group than there had been in the previous, though she figured she wouldn't always find a qunari warrior waiting to be rescued from merciful citizens like those at the Chantry in Lothering. Overcome by a wave of nostalgia, the Commander's daydream was abruptly halted when the Seneschal of Vigil's Keep began to speak.
"Commander," Varel, the Seneschal of the Keep, commanded her attention. "Now that we've repaired the Keep to a more livable condition, we should consider how best to go about things now," Varel finished, the Commander nodding her assent and indicating that Varel should continue. "News has been sent to Denerim of the darkspawn invasion of Amaranthine and the Keep, though we've yet to receive word back from the capital," Varel continued, the Commander appearing disinterested but soaking in every word Varel spoke. "Also, a rather strange missive arrived for Your Ladyship earlier this eve," Varel seemed hesitant to continue, the Commander's piercing gaze now alert and focused solely on Varel. "The private who normally deals with letters addressed to you said it was brought by a rather shady character, and she expressed her concern to me before the Vigil was attacked," Varel paused, the Commander giving him a look he knew all too well: a look which clearly stated she wanted to see this missive and hear no more about that matter until she read it.
Varel handed the Commander the rather plain piece of parchment with a sigh, a slight grin altering the Commander's features before she broke the unknown seal and set to reading the letter.
My dear Grey Warden, I have heard some unsettling news from some of the Crows that a rather craven and ambitious noble has hired some of the assassins to make an attempt on your life. Not that I am unaware of your battle capabilities, but I thought perhaps you would appreciate the sentiment regardless, no? As you are no doubt aware, I have returned to Antiva, and it seems the Crows have forgotten my treachery if only for the time being. In fact, serving with you during the Blight seems to have the Crows scrambling; they are trying to recruit me yet again, though I suppose I will now be worth more than a mere three sovereigns, eh? I have turned them down thus far, and I don't imagine that will change in the future, though I cannot predict it as I have pointed out to you on many occasions. Who knows, perhaps we will meet again without the pretense of an assassination attempt? I think it would be refreshing, especially after all the bloodletting during our travels. Or, as it happens, I may be traveling to Amaranthine and drop in on you if given enough time. Sounds good, no? I do hope to see you soon, my lovely Grey Warden.
The letter was simply signed "Zevran," a fully formed smile now present on the Commander's lips. "Commander?" Varel's voice brought her back to reality, the Seneschal's features grim.
"It is nothing to worry over, Varel," the Commander assured him, deft fingers curling the parchment before placing it into a nearly-empty pack. "For now, however, I will rest. I will be of no use to anyone weary," the Commander commented, Varel uttering a 'My Lady' and inclining his head respectfully before she left the throne room for the solace of her own bedchambers. Considering all the damage the darkspawn had wreaked upon the Vigil during the siege, the Commander's room was sparse and not nearly as decorated as it once had been. A plain bed lay in the far corner, an armor stand situated to the right of the door. Off came the Commander's helm first, tangles of scarlet hair tumbling to her shoulders. She nearly grimaced when she realized just how much blood and gore had splattered onto her skin, fingertips wiping some of the muck away from her cheek. The next order of business involved removing boots that felt tight and left blisters on her feet after a long day of fighting monsters and traveling to so many locations. Once free of them, the Commander released an audible sigh, her toes wiggling just enough to remind her that they weren't sticking together or going to become numb. A similar process occurred for her fingers when her gloves released them, the Commander wishing with a sigh that she could at least wash all the grime off of her body. While chambers for bathing were present in the Keep, the Commander knew they would be nearly worthless now; no doubt they would be filled with darkspawn blood or something equally as disgusting which would render a wash moot.
As inviting and enticing as the bed was to her tired bones, the Commander instead looked to the desk that was covered with letters and hastily-written notes other soldiers or citizens had insisted she read. She assumed most were expressing the desire for compensation in regards to some sort of property damage, especially with those who lived in the countryside Lord Eddelbrek was so keen on defending. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if the people knew the darkspawn were planning an attack. It was a terrifying thought, but a nonsensical one as well. The darkspawn were one of the few things everyone in Thedas could agree upon: they must be destroyed. Lighting another candle for further reading, the Commander slipped into some more comfortable clothing before taking a seat at the desk and leafing through the letters. Thoughts of Denerim and Alistair entered her mind the moment she saw a seal on one of the letters, the design intricate and reminding her very much of what she left behind when choosing to come to Vigil's Keep in the first place. The dull ache in her chest subsiding, the Commander instead focused on the task at hand.
Some time later, the Commander stifled another yawn as she placed another read letter into a gradually growing stack, a chill running down her spine as a draft made itself known. The candle had already burned to half its original size, the Commander honestly not surprised at how long she had remained at the desk whilst reading complaint after complaint about matters that she couldn't bring herself to care about, let alone take an interest in at all. Raking a hand through her sweaty and matted hair, the Commander finally placed what would be her final letter for that evening onto the stack of read papers, the joints in her shoulders popping unpleasantly when she stood and began to stretch.
The silence resonating in the room reminded Lady Cirrenes Cousland of how truly alone she felt; she hadn't known most of her party for very long, and while she respected and trusted them to an extent, it just wasn't the same camaraderie she felt while traveling with the group she had christened as the 'original.' The letter from Zevran had been a nice reprieve from all the darkspawn-slaying, however, and Cirrenes could hope for at least a visit in the near future. Here, in the comfort and quiet of her own personal space, the Commander of the Grey Wardens, the Hero of Ferelden, and the unofficial Queen at that, could take time to relax and retake her identity, something she hadn't been entitled to for too long now. She had been thrust rather abruptly into the thick of the Blight, had overcome the Joining, the treaties, Teyrn Loghain, Arl Howe's treachery, her family's deaths...and yet, so much remained to do. She hadn't had the opportunity to properly grieve for her parents, and now it felt too late to do so even were she to push herself to tears. There was no need to worry her party or other Grey Wardens, and falling apart wouldn't reflect well on her reputation regardless. The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders, and sometimes it threatened to tumble down upon her and crush her without remorse.
Deciding to end her thoughts with that lovely visual, Cirrenes pulled the blankets back before slipping onto the mattress, her head finding the pillow before she found blissful oblivion. As with most Grey Wardens, Cirrenes dreamed of the darkspawn, the strange, pseudo-intelligent talking beasts plaguing her thoughts the most before thoughts of monsters left for something more pleasant. She recognized her old campsite, all of her companions in their rightful places by the fire. "Something stirs still," a familiar voice spoke at her side, a sharp intake of breath accenting her surprise.
"Duncan...is that you?" Cirrenes could barely speak, the other amorphous figures paying her no heed.
"Not exactly, no. I haven't the time to explain everything right now, but you must be aware that killing the Mother and Father has caused something of a chain reaction with the rest of the horde," Duncan began to elaborate, Cirrenes hanging on to every word the seasoned man gave. "The other mothers have, for some reason, begun breeding more quickly than we could have ever anticipated. It will not be long before the Deep Roads are completely overrun, and the dwarves require aid to keep what few thaigs they still possess under their control," Duncan then paused, his stance turning stiffer the longer Cirrenes watched him. "I fear I must go now. It will not be long before they are upon me. Warn the other Grey Wardens, and not only those remaining in Ferelden," Duncan warned grimly, Cirrenes nodding once in understanding, her dark eyes hardening as Duncan's ethereal form fizzled away into nothingness.
The Commander woke with a start, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of her face before she wiped them away with a swipe of her hand. Why all the darkspawn business? Why now? Why couldn't the Blight have ended all the tragedies, if only for a few years so the Grey Wardens could regain their bearings? Pushing these unhelpful thoughts from her mind, Cirrenes wasted little time in replacing her comfortable clothing with her armor, two swords strapped to her back evenly. The sun was no doubt high in the sky; her internal clock had adapted sufficiently over her travels during the Blight, especially while she and her party had been stuck in the Deep Roads. She would need to speak with her comrades before causing a panic concerning her dreams which may be construed as indigestion rather than an ominous portent of things to come. "My lady," Varel greeted her as she entered the throne room, her bleak expression obviously not lost on those who looked in her direction. "You have a visitor, Commander," Varel announced, the door to the room opening and revealing the one whose letter Cirrenes had just read the night before.
"Had I known of the state of the Keep, I would have waited until it got back onto its feet for a grander welcome," Zevran gave Cirrenes a patented flirty smile, a similar expression weaving its way onto the Commander's face before she enveloped the elf in an embrace.
"Well, looky here. If it ain't the painted elf himself. What've you been up to?" Oghren interrupted, Zevran lifting an eyebrow at the presence of the dwarf.
"I would ask the same of you, my fine dwarven friend, but it seems I already know the answer," Zevran easily evaded the question, Oghren belching once before laughing a hearty guffaw.
"Ah, it seems we've been replaced," Zevran noted, his gaze sweeping the room in one turn of the head. "I am hurt, my Dear Commander," Zevran then placed a hand over his heart, Oghren rolling his eyes and stifling the urge to kick the elf in the shins.
"I was getting rather lonely, Zevran. You can't expect me to be satisfied with merely Oghren's company, can you?" Cirrenes then asked with a sly grin, Zevran laughing while Oghren stared, slack-jawed.
"Careful you shut your mouth, Oghren. It might kill the flies it would attract," Sigrun appeared at the other dwarf's side, Cirrenes' laughter subsiding into a knowing smirk.
"I see you finally found someone to keep him in line, eh?" Zevran noted deftly, Cirrenes lifting a casual eyebrow at the statement.
"If by kept in line you mean muttering some nonsense about wanting a pony and then passing out, then yes, very well. If not, then I'm not sure how to answer," Cirrenes and Zevran exchanged knowing looks, the elf's arm slyly rounding Cirrenes' shoulder. The Commander seemed not to care about the more intimate touch, though lifted an eyebrow in the elf's direction who merely looked past her towards the two dwarves.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm not torn between my ickle pike-twirler and sparkle fingers," Oghren groused, Cirrenes giving him a strange look. She understood well enough what Oghren was implying, but couldn't understand why he would make such an accusation. It was difficult to not be...attracted to Anders, given how remarkably alike he and Alistair were. Well, as similar as two men can be when one is a mage and the other a veritable templar.
"What the hell are you on about now? Are you ever not drunk?" Sigrun rolled her eyes, Zevran laughing yet again.
"You are well-versed in how to pick an interesting group, my Dear Warden," Zevran commented lightly, Cirrenes looking from Oghren to Zevran with a slight smile.
"That I am," Cirrenes inclined her head once and offered Zevran a sheepish smile, the elf laughing slightly before releasing his hold on her. "Though I find myself surprised you are here so quickly; I read your letter but last evening," Cirrenes confessed, Zevran merely waving off her comment with a shake of his head.
"I did send the letter from Antiva, and traveling in Ferelden is not swift for anyone, let alone a messenger carrying a letter. So, I am not surprised I nearly beat my own letter here," Zevran finished with an overly-dramatic flourish of his arms, Oghren loudly laughing until Sigrun elbowed him in the ribs.
"I hate to cut our greetings short, Zevran, but I must speak with my companions concerning Grey Warden matters; surely you understand?" Cirrenes murmured with a rueful smile, her dreams, or nightmares really, unable to be driven away by the presence of an old friend.
"Of course. Don't mind me, I can keep myself occupied," Zevran added with a wink, Cirrenes rolling her eyes at his blatant boast.
"Try not to break too many hearts before it's over," Cirrenes berated him jokingly, Zevran clicking his tongue at her reproval before stalking away towards the courtyard of the Keep. "Oghren, Sigrun would you both mind gathering the rest of the group? There's something we need to discuss," Cirrenes looked to the two shorter members of the Wardens, both looking at each other before looking at the Commander once again.
"Don't tell me you wanna recruit that damned elf. I can picture it now, he'll turn all the normals into prancing fairies in no time. And with dress-wearing questionables, who knows what might happen," Oghren grumbled, Cirrenes withholding her grin despite the probably accurate statement.
"No no. Though we do need to bolster our numbers, Zevran is not on the agenda," Cirrenes assured Oghren. Not today, anyway, she added internally, Sigrun finally answering for the both of them.
"Sure. Let's just hope Oghren's competent enough to understand what you're saying," the female dwarf noted sardonically, Cirrenes nodding her approval before disappearing into a small hall opposite of her bedchambers. A long, wooden table marred with scratches and embers filled the room, just enough chairs surrounding the surface for all of her party to sit comfortably and not be invading privacy.
"Did he drink some bad ale or something? He's even more grumpy than usual," Anders grumbled as he stalked into the room, Sigrun at his heels and sighing before shaking her head. Cirrenes had also noticed the strange behavior Oghren exhibited, though assumed it was from either more nightmares or just as Anders pointed out: bad ale.
"Damn dress-wearing girly-men mages," Oghren muttered, a gnarled hand gripping a bottle rather close to his chest before he sat down, Justice, Nathaniel, and Velanna finally entering before shutting the door behind them.
"Something on your mind, Commander?" Sigrun broke the silence, all eyes suddenly turning to Cirrenes.
"Not to alarm any of you, but the dream I had last night was...strange," Cirrenes began, Oghren ready to point out that every Grey Warden dream was strange. "Well, stranger than normal at any rate. It may not mean anything, but I think treating it as important rather than allowing it to be forgotten is in Ferelden's best interest," Cirrenes paused, Nathaniel's grim features turning graver the more she spoke. "In my dream, I saw no darkspawn, no archdemon. I was, however, in a believable illusion of the campsite I used during the Blight, my companions also there if only in form. But, before I could try to interact with them, someone spoke to me. The previous commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens was at my side, no more than a spirit but not entirely...it is difficult to explain," Cirrenes rubbed at her temples, Velanna choosing that moment to speak.
"Only mages may be aware in the Fade, Commander. How is it you were aware of all this in a dream?" she asked in her typical, condescending tone, Justice quickly intercepting the question.
"You'll recall, Velanna, when the Wardens were pulled into the Fade in the Blackmarsh, they were aware, though the circumstances are...dissimilar," Justice seemed content to remain in the hole he had dug himself into, Cirrenes finally answering Velanna.
"I cannot say, Velanna. I remembered this dream, and perhaps I only made sense of it after awakening? Regardless, he warned me of the darkspawn; I would assume he is somehow trapped in the Fade, unable to make it to heaven through some sort of interference by the darkspawn," Cirrenes finally finished, Velanna and Anders giving her similar looks.
"How would they get into the Fade? Weren't they cast out of the Fade by the Maker himself?" Anders asked, an apprehensive chuckle escaping his lips.
"This old Commander," Oghren began, settling into his chair, his eyes trained on the Commander. "He's the one who recruited you and took you to Ostagar, right?" Oghren finished, Cirrenes slowly nodding her answer.
"Duncan died on the battlefield at Ostagar, at King Cailan's side," Cirrenes supplied quietly, the Commander finally taking a deep breath and continuing. "Duncan warned me that we need to alert more Wardens, since the ones in Ferelden are so few," Cirrenes continued, Nathaniel leaning forward onto the table.
"You intend to contact Weisshaupt?" he stated more than asked, Cirrenes giving him a singular nod before sitting straighter in her chair.
"I also think we should begin actively looking for recruits. I thought we could split up into twos and threes and travel to cover more ground and with any luck find more hopefuls," Cirrenes continued, her fingertips tapping along the wooden surface. "We could send messages along to the major cities and have them post notices for all those who are interested to make things a bit easier," Cirrenes continued, her dark eyes finally glossing over her silent companions.
"I would be willing to seek out my clan and others nearby for any who wish to join," Velanna volunteered, her voice betraying her reluctance.
"I appreciate it, Velanna. Does anyone else have any suggestions?" Anders immediately shaking his head.
"Don't look at me! It's not like I traveled with a bunch of maleficars and apostates you know," the blond mage chuckled sheepishly, Velanna and Nathaniel both rolling their eyes.
"You could talk to the King in Orzammar; I bet there'd be tons of idiots ready to join; they'd probably even host a Proving for the legendary Grey Wardens," Oghren added, Sigrun looking thoughtful before adding her thoughts.
"You could always look in Dust Town too, since the casteless aren't allowed to fight in the Provings; some are more than just thieves who like what they're doing, you know," Sigrun commented further, the dwarf sitting back in her chair thoughtfully before a more evil grin took over her features. "What about that elf that was here earlier?" she then asked, Cirrenes' eyes widening.
"Zevran?" the Commander repeated in a baffled tone, the thought never finding a serious foothold to manifest fully. "I don't think he's the type, to be perfectly honest. He's a great fighter, to be sure, but still...," the Commander's voice trailed off, her eyes squeezing closed tightly before reopening and looking at the rest of the group.
"I suppose I should begin writing then, shouldn't I?" Cirrenes attempted at some levity, her lips turning in a weary smile before she stood and dismissed the group.
"Commander," Nathaniel murmured, his dark eyes finding hers. "Why not send word to the King? Surely he could be of help, especially so close to the Commander of the Grey," Nathaniel pointed out, Cirrenes withholding the sigh that threatened to escape her lips. Nathaniel had a point, but her relations with Alistair had been strained to the point of breaking ever since her decisions at the Landsmeet.
"I had already thought to ask him, but thank you for reminding me," Cirrenes offered him a half smile, Nathaniel lifting an eyebrow at her strange demeanor but saying nothing.
Taking a few steps closer to the door, Nathaniel turned his head; "Was it strange, seeing that man and speaking to him as though he were still alive?" he then asked in a rather subdued tone.
Unbalanced by the question for a moment, Cirrenes avoided eye contact before meeting his eyes and nodding solidly. "Seeing him remaining in the Fade gives me a false hope that he can be saved, but I know that is not so. Still, acknowledging that fact has yet to slay my hope regardless. It makes me feel like an ignorant child yet again," Cirrenes shook her head with a bitter chuckle.
--
"So, the Grey Warden has been having worse nightmares, is it?" Zevran pondered on what Oghren had revealed, both of them sporting a mug of ale and sitting at a table inside the eating facilities of Vigil's Keep. "It seems to me that our lovely leader always bears the burden of such leadership alone, even when not entirely necessary," Zevran noted astutely, the elf downing the ale in a single motion.
"Heh, she's always been like that if you'll remember," Oghren remarked languidly, Zevran laughing heartily at the comment.
"Indeed she has. Though, I must say I am surprised that you remember, Oghren," Zevran replied with a sarcastic smile, Oghren making an undignified noise in the back of his throat.
"I wasn't always drunk, elf. Maybe you were too busy ogling everyone at camp to notice," Oghren shot back rather wickedly, a delighted cackle escaping the dwarf's mouth a few moments afterward.
"So this drinking habit isn't something he's just picked up I see," Anders noticed with a grin as he strode over to the table, Oghren and Zevran both lifting their gazes to better view the mage.
"Hardly," Zevran rolled his eyes, Oghren muttering a curse under his breath.
"Sodding nughumpers. Are you here for an intervention, or to drink your sodding ale?" Oghren hid a few more choice words behind his mug, the dwarf subsequently gulping down the remains of his alcohol.
"Somebody's got his knickers all in a twist," Anders replied with a grin, the mage taking a seat much to Oghren's chagrin. "I don't believe we've been introduced," Anders then turned to Zevran, the mage shaking the look Oghren cast in his direction to better look at Zevran.
"A sodding assassin and a dress-wearing mage," Oghren continued to gripe, Zevran pointedly ignoring his dwarven companion to better assess Anders.
"If you want to go home for a while, I don't think the Commander would mind, you know," Sigrun interrupted, Oghren scowling at her before moving from the table to refill his mug. "I guess that's probably why he's grumpy...," Sigrun's voice trailed off, both Zevran and Anders grimacing before Oghren returned.
"Thank you for that lovely visual," Zevran lifted his glass to Sigrun, Anders visibly cringing. "And to whom should I address my thank you?" Zevran then added as an afterthought, the assassin deciding he should better know his Grey Warden's new comrades.
"Sigrun," she answered simply, a few laughs escaping her lips moments later. "And sorry about that. Oghren's been off today. Maybe Anders did something to his ale," Sigrun stated flatly, the mage in question gaping at Sigrun before retorting.
"And just why would I want to go anywhere near what that ale factory drinks?" Anders exclaimed rather indignantly, Sigrun lifting an eyebrow at Zevran before rolling her eyes.
The conversation quickly degraded into silence, Oghren apparently choosing not to join the trio after refilling his tankard with ale. "So, you traveled with the Commander during the Blight," Anders stated, Zevran waiting for the mage to get to his question. "Is she much different now than she was back then?" Anders finally asked, Sigrun sitting closer to the table in rapt attention.
"I have been here but a few hours, so I could not give a completely accurate assessment of your fine Commander," Zevran answered a bit wistfully. "Perhaps Oghren would be the better comrade to ask. He has been here longer than I, to be certain," Zevran paused, Anders and Sigrun disappointed by the lack of information.
"So, the Commander is married to the King, right?" Sigrun finally spoke, Zevran's lips twitching but ultimately staving off the smile that nearly appeared.
"I'm afraid it is so," Zevran concurred, the elf visibly unhappy about the occurrence. "Though, I'd wager they are not on good terms," Zevran then added, his audience of two both giving him imploring looks. "You see, when they challenged Loghain at the Landsmeet, Alistair wanted to kill the man for what he had done to the Wardens. Understandably, of course. The Commander, however, listened to an Orlesian Warden and decided to give Loghain another chance to redeem his once-good name. How she convinced Alistair to go through with the marriage while he was pouting I will never fully understand," Zevran muttered the last sentence under his breath. "He tried to usurp the crown at the Landsmeet I hear, tried to kill Loghain since he was to be king. Cirrenes would have none of it. No doubt the nobles viewed Alistair's try as a power struggle, and I would stake my life that they trust Cirrenes more than the bastard prince now sitting on the throne," Zevran finally finished his tale, Sigrun frowning and Anders uncertain of just how he felt.
"It wasn't a marriage of convenience, though? They were lovers before that fiasco, or so I've heard from Oghren," Sigrun was understandably skeptical of any information Oghren provided, but it proved to be true in this one instance.
"'Tis true, though I did try my hand at wooing your lovely Commander," Zevran added with a debonair smile. "I suppose you can surmise just how successful I was," he then sighed, eventually getting to his feet once he drained his tankard clean. "If you will excuse me," Zevran then took his leave, Sigrun and Anders exchanging a look.
"You think he'll try to go after the Commander again?" Sigrun asked with a chuckle, Anders' eyes widening.
"If he does, I doubt he'd have any luck. She's married now, isn't she? She wasn't tied down during the Blight, and he had plenty of opportunity then," Anders pointed out, the realization alone forcing a sigh from his lips.
"True, but don't you remember what Zevran said? They haven't been on good terms for a while, and with her being here and the king in Denerim...," Sigrun's voice trailed off implicatively, Anders lifting an eyebrow at the dwarf.
"Why, Sigrun, are you condoning that the Commander partake in adultery?" Anders asked mischievously, Sigrun merely laughing at his question.
"Of course not. I'm just saying, there's the possibility," Sigrun stated before getting to her feet, the change in height from sitting to standing not all that noticeable. "I should go practice for a while. It seems like we haven't had any action here in a long while," Sigrun noted a bit solemnly, Anders thankful for the lack of 'action' as Sigrun had called it.
Finally gaining a moment to himself, Anders groaned rather loudly, the mage slinking down into his chair until the back of his head rested against the top of the chair. "Meow?" Ser Pounce-a-Lot noticed his owner's attitude, Anders reaching a hand out to pet his cat in the meantime.
"I swear. Why is it I always want things I can never have? First, freedom from the Circle. That was incredible enough, certainly, but this...this will never happen. But, at least I have you, don't I, Ser Pounce-a-Lot?" Anders smiled at the kitty in his lap, another meow quickly answering Anders' rhetorical question. Of course, she gave me you too, didn't she? Anders inwardly groaned once more, the futility of his situation little more than frustrating.
--
Alistair, I hope this letter finds you well. It seems the darkspawn have finally retreated back to the Deep Roads, though Amaranthine will need considerable repairs. Worry not, dear husband, for I and the Grey Wardens will not neglect to see to the rebuilding.
I am sorry to trouble you when you are no doubt drowning in politics with Eamon breathing down your neck, but I have a small favor to ask of you, should you be willing to indulge me. Last evening I dreamed of something that will alarm you, though I dare not include blatant details in this missive.
Regardless, I would ask that you keep an eye out for anyone in the guard or other comparable places that would make for a suitable Grey Warden. As you are no doubt aware, our numbers in Ferelden are still far too few to remain complacent, and so I am looking for recruits.
Should you wish to find me for some reason, I will be traveling to Highever in the coming weeks to visit Fergus. My hope is to find a recruit there, but I suppose we shall see.
In other less life-threatening news, Zevran has arrived in Amaranthine and remains here at Vigil's Keep with Oghren and myself. Oghren at first asked whether I would conscript him; the idea was preposterous, of course, but still very tempting at the same time. Perhaps I shall mention it to him and see how he reacts...
If it is not too much trouble, I would also ask that you have the major liaisons and establishments post notices concerning the Grey Warden recruitment. I would assume the Chantry, the Blackstone Irregulars, and the Alienage would yield the best results.
I do not know when I shall see you next, husband, but I pray the Maker keep you safe.
Yours Always,
Cirrenes
Nodding at her finished letter, Cirrenes released a loud sigh; the letter seemed so impersonal, so particularly foreign, that it did not seem as though her own hand had written it. Though, she blamed Alistair in part for the awkward tone of the letter. He had never truly forgiven her for sparing Loghain only to allow him to defeat the Blight and be named hero once again.
Honestly, she wouldn't have been surprised if Alistair had compared Loghain to Howe, and insisted that he be allowed to murder Loghain since she had done the same to Howe. Duncan was a good man, a caring individual who had dutifully met the demands of the age in which he lived. Cirrenes was by no means trying to belittle his image or his memory, though Alistair had accused her of such when she had 'betrayed' him at the Landsmeet.
She would not stoop to Loghain's level. She had a reputation to uphold, a goal to meet, and Maker help her she would not kill someone when there was a chance he could still do some good in the world. Howe had been unable to be swayed from the very start; he had tortured innocents, whispered the poison into Loghain's ear as all of Ferelden became a bloody battlefield.
No, Loghain was not a lost cause, not like Howe. She firmly believed that, and whether or not Alistair agreed was honestly not her concern. She was justified, she knew, and if her husband could not be swayed by reason, then she would simply allow him to stew in his misery. Nothing she could say would assuage the pain, and he had to make peace eventually, or so she hoped at any rate.
It was only moments later that Cirrenes noticed she had gripped the letter tightly, tears pouring down her cheeks alarmingly. She wouldn't pretend Alistair's accusations hadn't hurt, hadn't made her rethink why she ever had loved him. His words had cut deeper than any darkspawn's sword, any mercenary's blade.
Nearly jumping from her position on the bed, Cirrenes hastily wiped away her tears when she heard a few knocks on her door, Zevran speaking through the barrier though Cirrenes could not make out any words he spoke. "I would like to be left alone, Zevran," Cirrenes informed him quietly, the assassin hesitating outside of the door before sighing.
"Crying for a king who resents you does not become you, Cirrenes," Zevran attempted to console her, the Commander clenching her jaw to keep more tears from flowing. She needed to be strong, and by Andraste's blood, she would be. She had to be; not only for herself, but for all those people and Grey Wardens who counted on her to keep them safe. The responsibility had never weighed so heavily. "You are strong, my Grey Warden, but hiding from the pain will not lessen or release it," Zevran spoke from experience, Rinna coming to mind but moments later. "Let me in," Zevran instructed quietly, Cirrenes standing and twisting the doorknob before collapsing into the elf's arms.
It was quite the motley group she had assembled, but she had done the same the last time she had required help from others who seemed willing. Given, there wasn't quite a difference among the races in this group than there had been in the previous, though she figured she wouldn't always find a qunari warrior waiting to be rescued from merciful citizens like those at the Chantry in Lothering. Overcome by a wave of nostalgia, the Commander's daydream was abruptly halted when the Seneschal of Vigil's Keep began to speak.
"Commander," Varel, the Seneschal of the Keep, commanded her attention. "Now that we've repaired the Keep to a more livable condition, we should consider how best to go about things now," Varel finished, the Commander nodding her assent and indicating that Varel should continue. "News has been sent to Denerim of the darkspawn invasion of Amaranthine and the Keep, though we've yet to receive word back from the capital," Varel continued, the Commander appearing disinterested but soaking in every word Varel spoke. "Also, a rather strange missive arrived for Your Ladyship earlier this eve," Varel seemed hesitant to continue, the Commander's piercing gaze now alert and focused solely on Varel. "The private who normally deals with letters addressed to you said it was brought by a rather shady character, and she expressed her concern to me before the Vigil was attacked," Varel paused, the Commander giving him a look he knew all too well: a look which clearly stated she wanted to see this missive and hear no more about that matter until she read it.
Varel handed the Commander the rather plain piece of parchment with a sigh, a slight grin altering the Commander's features before she broke the unknown seal and set to reading the letter.
My dear Grey Warden, I have heard some unsettling news from some of the Crows that a rather craven and ambitious noble has hired some of the assassins to make an attempt on your life. Not that I am unaware of your battle capabilities, but I thought perhaps you would appreciate the sentiment regardless, no? As you are no doubt aware, I have returned to Antiva, and it seems the Crows have forgotten my treachery if only for the time being. In fact, serving with you during the Blight seems to have the Crows scrambling; they are trying to recruit me yet again, though I suppose I will now be worth more than a mere three sovereigns, eh? I have turned them down thus far, and I don't imagine that will change in the future, though I cannot predict it as I have pointed out to you on many occasions. Who knows, perhaps we will meet again without the pretense of an assassination attempt? I think it would be refreshing, especially after all the bloodletting during our travels. Or, as it happens, I may be traveling to Amaranthine and drop in on you if given enough time. Sounds good, no? I do hope to see you soon, my lovely Grey Warden.
The letter was simply signed "Zevran," a fully formed smile now present on the Commander's lips. "Commander?" Varel's voice brought her back to reality, the Seneschal's features grim.
"It is nothing to worry over, Varel," the Commander assured him, deft fingers curling the parchment before placing it into a nearly-empty pack. "For now, however, I will rest. I will be of no use to anyone weary," the Commander commented, Varel uttering a 'My Lady' and inclining his head respectfully before she left the throne room for the solace of her own bedchambers. Considering all the damage the darkspawn had wreaked upon the Vigil during the siege, the Commander's room was sparse and not nearly as decorated as it once had been. A plain bed lay in the far corner, an armor stand situated to the right of the door. Off came the Commander's helm first, tangles of scarlet hair tumbling to her shoulders. She nearly grimaced when she realized just how much blood and gore had splattered onto her skin, fingertips wiping some of the muck away from her cheek. The next order of business involved removing boots that felt tight and left blisters on her feet after a long day of fighting monsters and traveling to so many locations. Once free of them, the Commander released an audible sigh, her toes wiggling just enough to remind her that they weren't sticking together or going to become numb. A similar process occurred for her fingers when her gloves released them, the Commander wishing with a sigh that she could at least wash all the grime off of her body. While chambers for bathing were present in the Keep, the Commander knew they would be nearly worthless now; no doubt they would be filled with darkspawn blood or something equally as disgusting which would render a wash moot.
As inviting and enticing as the bed was to her tired bones, the Commander instead looked to the desk that was covered with letters and hastily-written notes other soldiers or citizens had insisted she read. She assumed most were expressing the desire for compensation in regards to some sort of property damage, especially with those who lived in the countryside Lord Eddelbrek was so keen on defending. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if the people knew the darkspawn were planning an attack. It was a terrifying thought, but a nonsensical one as well. The darkspawn were one of the few things everyone in Thedas could agree upon: they must be destroyed. Lighting another candle for further reading, the Commander slipped into some more comfortable clothing before taking a seat at the desk and leafing through the letters. Thoughts of Denerim and Alistair entered her mind the moment she saw a seal on one of the letters, the design intricate and reminding her very much of what she left behind when choosing to come to Vigil's Keep in the first place. The dull ache in her chest subsiding, the Commander instead focused on the task at hand.
Some time later, the Commander stifled another yawn as she placed another read letter into a gradually growing stack, a chill running down her spine as a draft made itself known. The candle had already burned to half its original size, the Commander honestly not surprised at how long she had remained at the desk whilst reading complaint after complaint about matters that she couldn't bring herself to care about, let alone take an interest in at all. Raking a hand through her sweaty and matted hair, the Commander finally placed what would be her final letter for that evening onto the stack of read papers, the joints in her shoulders popping unpleasantly when she stood and began to stretch.
The silence resonating in the room reminded Lady Cirrenes Cousland of how truly alone she felt; she hadn't known most of her party for very long, and while she respected and trusted them to an extent, it just wasn't the same camaraderie she felt while traveling with the group she had christened as the 'original.' The letter from Zevran had been a nice reprieve from all the darkspawn-slaying, however, and Cirrenes could hope for at least a visit in the near future. Here, in the comfort and quiet of her own personal space, the Commander of the Grey Wardens, the Hero of Ferelden, and the unofficial Queen at that, could take time to relax and retake her identity, something she hadn't been entitled to for too long now. She had been thrust rather abruptly into the thick of the Blight, had overcome the Joining, the treaties, Teyrn Loghain, Arl Howe's treachery, her family's deaths...and yet, so much remained to do. She hadn't had the opportunity to properly grieve for her parents, and now it felt too late to do so even were she to push herself to tears. There was no need to worry her party or other Grey Wardens, and falling apart wouldn't reflect well on her reputation regardless. The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders, and sometimes it threatened to tumble down upon her and crush her without remorse.
Deciding to end her thoughts with that lovely visual, Cirrenes pulled the blankets back before slipping onto the mattress, her head finding the pillow before she found blissful oblivion. As with most Grey Wardens, Cirrenes dreamed of the darkspawn, the strange, pseudo-intelligent talking beasts plaguing her thoughts the most before thoughts of monsters left for something more pleasant. She recognized her old campsite, all of her companions in their rightful places by the fire. "Something stirs still," a familiar voice spoke at her side, a sharp intake of breath accenting her surprise.
"Duncan...is that you?" Cirrenes could barely speak, the other amorphous figures paying her no heed.
"Not exactly, no. I haven't the time to explain everything right now, but you must be aware that killing the Mother and Father has caused something of a chain reaction with the rest of the horde," Duncan began to elaborate, Cirrenes hanging on to every word the seasoned man gave. "The other mothers have, for some reason, begun breeding more quickly than we could have ever anticipated. It will not be long before the Deep Roads are completely overrun, and the dwarves require aid to keep what few thaigs they still possess under their control," Duncan then paused, his stance turning stiffer the longer Cirrenes watched him. "I fear I must go now. It will not be long before they are upon me. Warn the other Grey Wardens, and not only those remaining in Ferelden," Duncan warned grimly, Cirrenes nodding once in understanding, her dark eyes hardening as Duncan's ethereal form fizzled away into nothingness.
The Commander woke with a start, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of her face before she wiped them away with a swipe of her hand. Why all the darkspawn business? Why now? Why couldn't the Blight have ended all the tragedies, if only for a few years so the Grey Wardens could regain their bearings? Pushing these unhelpful thoughts from her mind, Cirrenes wasted little time in replacing her comfortable clothing with her armor, two swords strapped to her back evenly. The sun was no doubt high in the sky; her internal clock had adapted sufficiently over her travels during the Blight, especially while she and her party had been stuck in the Deep Roads. She would need to speak with her comrades before causing a panic concerning her dreams which may be construed as indigestion rather than an ominous portent of things to come. "My lady," Varel greeted her as she entered the throne room, her bleak expression obviously not lost on those who looked in her direction. "You have a visitor, Commander," Varel announced, the door to the room opening and revealing the one whose letter Cirrenes had just read the night before.
"Had I known of the state of the Keep, I would have waited until it got back onto its feet for a grander welcome," Zevran gave Cirrenes a patented flirty smile, a similar expression weaving its way onto the Commander's face before she enveloped the elf in an embrace.
"Well, looky here. If it ain't the painted elf himself. What've you been up to?" Oghren interrupted, Zevran lifting an eyebrow at the presence of the dwarf.
"I would ask the same of you, my fine dwarven friend, but it seems I already know the answer," Zevran easily evaded the question, Oghren belching once before laughing a hearty guffaw.
"Ah, it seems we've been replaced," Zevran noted, his gaze sweeping the room in one turn of the head. "I am hurt, my Dear Commander," Zevran then placed a hand over his heart, Oghren rolling his eyes and stifling the urge to kick the elf in the shins.
"I was getting rather lonely, Zevran. You can't expect me to be satisfied with merely Oghren's company, can you?" Cirrenes then asked with a sly grin, Zevran laughing while Oghren stared, slack-jawed.
"Careful you shut your mouth, Oghren. It might kill the flies it would attract," Sigrun appeared at the other dwarf's side, Cirrenes' laughter subsiding into a knowing smirk.
"I see you finally found someone to keep him in line, eh?" Zevran noted deftly, Cirrenes lifting a casual eyebrow at the statement.
"If by kept in line you mean muttering some nonsense about wanting a pony and then passing out, then yes, very well. If not, then I'm not sure how to answer," Cirrenes and Zevran exchanged knowing looks, the elf's arm slyly rounding Cirrenes' shoulder. The Commander seemed not to care about the more intimate touch, though lifted an eyebrow in the elf's direction who merely looked past her towards the two dwarves.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm not torn between my ickle pike-twirler and sparkle fingers," Oghren groused, Cirrenes giving him a strange look. She understood well enough what Oghren was implying, but couldn't understand why he would make such an accusation. It was difficult to not be...attracted to Anders, given how remarkably alike he and Alistair were. Well, as similar as two men can be when one is a mage and the other a veritable templar.
"What the hell are you on about now? Are you ever not drunk?" Sigrun rolled her eyes, Zevran laughing yet again.
"You are well-versed in how to pick an interesting group, my Dear Warden," Zevran commented lightly, Cirrenes looking from Oghren to Zevran with a slight smile.
"That I am," Cirrenes inclined her head once and offered Zevran a sheepish smile, the elf laughing slightly before releasing his hold on her. "Though I find myself surprised you are here so quickly; I read your letter but last evening," Cirrenes confessed, Zevran merely waving off her comment with a shake of his head.
"I did send the letter from Antiva, and traveling in Ferelden is not swift for anyone, let alone a messenger carrying a letter. So, I am not surprised I nearly beat my own letter here," Zevran finished with an overly-dramatic flourish of his arms, Oghren loudly laughing until Sigrun elbowed him in the ribs.
"I hate to cut our greetings short, Zevran, but I must speak with my companions concerning Grey Warden matters; surely you understand?" Cirrenes murmured with a rueful smile, her dreams, or nightmares really, unable to be driven away by the presence of an old friend.
"Of course. Don't mind me, I can keep myself occupied," Zevran added with a wink, Cirrenes rolling her eyes at his blatant boast.
"Try not to break too many hearts before it's over," Cirrenes berated him jokingly, Zevran clicking his tongue at her reproval before stalking away towards the courtyard of the Keep. "Oghren, Sigrun would you both mind gathering the rest of the group? There's something we need to discuss," Cirrenes looked to the two shorter members of the Wardens, both looking at each other before looking at the Commander once again.
"Don't tell me you wanna recruit that damned elf. I can picture it now, he'll turn all the normals into prancing fairies in no time. And with dress-wearing questionables, who knows what might happen," Oghren grumbled, Cirrenes withholding her grin despite the probably accurate statement.
"No no. Though we do need to bolster our numbers, Zevran is not on the agenda," Cirrenes assured Oghren. Not today, anyway, she added internally, Sigrun finally answering for the both of them.
"Sure. Let's just hope Oghren's competent enough to understand what you're saying," the female dwarf noted sardonically, Cirrenes nodding her approval before disappearing into a small hall opposite of her bedchambers. A long, wooden table marred with scratches and embers filled the room, just enough chairs surrounding the surface for all of her party to sit comfortably and not be invading privacy.
"Did he drink some bad ale or something? He's even more grumpy than usual," Anders grumbled as he stalked into the room, Sigrun at his heels and sighing before shaking her head. Cirrenes had also noticed the strange behavior Oghren exhibited, though assumed it was from either more nightmares or just as Anders pointed out: bad ale.
"Damn dress-wearing girly-men mages," Oghren muttered, a gnarled hand gripping a bottle rather close to his chest before he sat down, Justice, Nathaniel, and Velanna finally entering before shutting the door behind them.
"Something on your mind, Commander?" Sigrun broke the silence, all eyes suddenly turning to Cirrenes.
"Not to alarm any of you, but the dream I had last night was...strange," Cirrenes began, Oghren ready to point out that every Grey Warden dream was strange. "Well, stranger than normal at any rate. It may not mean anything, but I think treating it as important rather than allowing it to be forgotten is in Ferelden's best interest," Cirrenes paused, Nathaniel's grim features turning graver the more she spoke. "In my dream, I saw no darkspawn, no archdemon. I was, however, in a believable illusion of the campsite I used during the Blight, my companions also there if only in form. But, before I could try to interact with them, someone spoke to me. The previous commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens was at my side, no more than a spirit but not entirely...it is difficult to explain," Cirrenes rubbed at her temples, Velanna choosing that moment to speak.
"Only mages may be aware in the Fade, Commander. How is it you were aware of all this in a dream?" she asked in her typical, condescending tone, Justice quickly intercepting the question.
"You'll recall, Velanna, when the Wardens were pulled into the Fade in the Blackmarsh, they were aware, though the circumstances are...dissimilar," Justice seemed content to remain in the hole he had dug himself into, Cirrenes finally answering Velanna.
"I cannot say, Velanna. I remembered this dream, and perhaps I only made sense of it after awakening? Regardless, he warned me of the darkspawn; I would assume he is somehow trapped in the Fade, unable to make it to heaven through some sort of interference by the darkspawn," Cirrenes finally finished, Velanna and Anders giving her similar looks.
"How would they get into the Fade? Weren't they cast out of the Fade by the Maker himself?" Anders asked, an apprehensive chuckle escaping his lips.
"This old Commander," Oghren began, settling into his chair, his eyes trained on the Commander. "He's the one who recruited you and took you to Ostagar, right?" Oghren finished, Cirrenes slowly nodding her answer.
"Duncan died on the battlefield at Ostagar, at King Cailan's side," Cirrenes supplied quietly, the Commander finally taking a deep breath and continuing. "Duncan warned me that we need to alert more Wardens, since the ones in Ferelden are so few," Cirrenes continued, Nathaniel leaning forward onto the table.
"You intend to contact Weisshaupt?" he stated more than asked, Cirrenes giving him a singular nod before sitting straighter in her chair.
"I also think we should begin actively looking for recruits. I thought we could split up into twos and threes and travel to cover more ground and with any luck find more hopefuls," Cirrenes continued, her fingertips tapping along the wooden surface. "We could send messages along to the major cities and have them post notices for all those who are interested to make things a bit easier," Cirrenes continued, her dark eyes finally glossing over her silent companions.
"I would be willing to seek out my clan and others nearby for any who wish to join," Velanna volunteered, her voice betraying her reluctance.
"I appreciate it, Velanna. Does anyone else have any suggestions?" Anders immediately shaking his head.
"Don't look at me! It's not like I traveled with a bunch of maleficars and apostates you know," the blond mage chuckled sheepishly, Velanna and Nathaniel both rolling their eyes.
"You could talk to the King in Orzammar; I bet there'd be tons of idiots ready to join; they'd probably even host a Proving for the legendary Grey Wardens," Oghren added, Sigrun looking thoughtful before adding her thoughts.
"You could always look in Dust Town too, since the casteless aren't allowed to fight in the Provings; some are more than just thieves who like what they're doing, you know," Sigrun commented further, the dwarf sitting back in her chair thoughtfully before a more evil grin took over her features. "What about that elf that was here earlier?" she then asked, Cirrenes' eyes widening.
"Zevran?" the Commander repeated in a baffled tone, the thought never finding a serious foothold to manifest fully. "I don't think he's the type, to be perfectly honest. He's a great fighter, to be sure, but still...," the Commander's voice trailed off, her eyes squeezing closed tightly before reopening and looking at the rest of the group.
"I suppose I should begin writing then, shouldn't I?" Cirrenes attempted at some levity, her lips turning in a weary smile before she stood and dismissed the group.
"Commander," Nathaniel murmured, his dark eyes finding hers. "Why not send word to the King? Surely he could be of help, especially so close to the Commander of the Grey," Nathaniel pointed out, Cirrenes withholding the sigh that threatened to escape her lips. Nathaniel had a point, but her relations with Alistair had been strained to the point of breaking ever since her decisions at the Landsmeet.
"I had already thought to ask him, but thank you for reminding me," Cirrenes offered him a half smile, Nathaniel lifting an eyebrow at her strange demeanor but saying nothing.
Taking a few steps closer to the door, Nathaniel turned his head; "Was it strange, seeing that man and speaking to him as though he were still alive?" he then asked in a rather subdued tone.
Unbalanced by the question for a moment, Cirrenes avoided eye contact before meeting his eyes and nodding solidly. "Seeing him remaining in the Fade gives me a false hope that he can be saved, but I know that is not so. Still, acknowledging that fact has yet to slay my hope regardless. It makes me feel like an ignorant child yet again," Cirrenes shook her head with a bitter chuckle.
--
"So, the Grey Warden has been having worse nightmares, is it?" Zevran pondered on what Oghren had revealed, both of them sporting a mug of ale and sitting at a table inside the eating facilities of Vigil's Keep. "It seems to me that our lovely leader always bears the burden of such leadership alone, even when not entirely necessary," Zevran noted astutely, the elf downing the ale in a single motion.
"Heh, she's always been like that if you'll remember," Oghren remarked languidly, Zevran laughing heartily at the comment.
"Indeed she has. Though, I must say I am surprised that you remember, Oghren," Zevran replied with a sarcastic smile, Oghren making an undignified noise in the back of his throat.
"I wasn't always drunk, elf. Maybe you were too busy ogling everyone at camp to notice," Oghren shot back rather wickedly, a delighted cackle escaping the dwarf's mouth a few moments afterward.
"So this drinking habit isn't something he's just picked up I see," Anders noticed with a grin as he strode over to the table, Oghren and Zevran both lifting their gazes to better view the mage.
"Hardly," Zevran rolled his eyes, Oghren muttering a curse under his breath.
"Sodding nughumpers. Are you here for an intervention, or to drink your sodding ale?" Oghren hid a few more choice words behind his mug, the dwarf subsequently gulping down the remains of his alcohol.
"Somebody's got his knickers all in a twist," Anders replied with a grin, the mage taking a seat much to Oghren's chagrin. "I don't believe we've been introduced," Anders then turned to Zevran, the mage shaking the look Oghren cast in his direction to better look at Zevran.
"A sodding assassin and a dress-wearing mage," Oghren continued to gripe, Zevran pointedly ignoring his dwarven companion to better assess Anders.
"If you want to go home for a while, I don't think the Commander would mind, you know," Sigrun interrupted, Oghren scowling at her before moving from the table to refill his mug. "I guess that's probably why he's grumpy...," Sigrun's voice trailed off, both Zevran and Anders grimacing before Oghren returned.
"Thank you for that lovely visual," Zevran lifted his glass to Sigrun, Anders visibly cringing. "And to whom should I address my thank you?" Zevran then added as an afterthought, the assassin deciding he should better know his Grey Warden's new comrades.
"Sigrun," she answered simply, a few laughs escaping her lips moments later. "And sorry about that. Oghren's been off today. Maybe Anders did something to his ale," Sigrun stated flatly, the mage in question gaping at Sigrun before retorting.
"And just why would I want to go anywhere near what that ale factory drinks?" Anders exclaimed rather indignantly, Sigrun lifting an eyebrow at Zevran before rolling her eyes.
The conversation quickly degraded into silence, Oghren apparently choosing not to join the trio after refilling his tankard with ale. "So, you traveled with the Commander during the Blight," Anders stated, Zevran waiting for the mage to get to his question. "Is she much different now than she was back then?" Anders finally asked, Sigrun sitting closer to the table in rapt attention.
"I have been here but a few hours, so I could not give a completely accurate assessment of your fine Commander," Zevran answered a bit wistfully. "Perhaps Oghren would be the better comrade to ask. He has been here longer than I, to be certain," Zevran paused, Anders and Sigrun disappointed by the lack of information.
"So, the Commander is married to the King, right?" Sigrun finally spoke, Zevran's lips twitching but ultimately staving off the smile that nearly appeared.
"I'm afraid it is so," Zevran concurred, the elf visibly unhappy about the occurrence. "Though, I'd wager they are not on good terms," Zevran then added, his audience of two both giving him imploring looks. "You see, when they challenged Loghain at the Landsmeet, Alistair wanted to kill the man for what he had done to the Wardens. Understandably, of course. The Commander, however, listened to an Orlesian Warden and decided to give Loghain another chance to redeem his once-good name. How she convinced Alistair to go through with the marriage while he was pouting I will never fully understand," Zevran muttered the last sentence under his breath. "He tried to usurp the crown at the Landsmeet I hear, tried to kill Loghain since he was to be king. Cirrenes would have none of it. No doubt the nobles viewed Alistair's try as a power struggle, and I would stake my life that they trust Cirrenes more than the bastard prince now sitting on the throne," Zevran finally finished his tale, Sigrun frowning and Anders uncertain of just how he felt.
"It wasn't a marriage of convenience, though? They were lovers before that fiasco, or so I've heard from Oghren," Sigrun was understandably skeptical of any information Oghren provided, but it proved to be true in this one instance.
"'Tis true, though I did try my hand at wooing your lovely Commander," Zevran added with a debonair smile. "I suppose you can surmise just how successful I was," he then sighed, eventually getting to his feet once he drained his tankard clean. "If you will excuse me," Zevran then took his leave, Sigrun and Anders exchanging a look.
"You think he'll try to go after the Commander again?" Sigrun asked with a chuckle, Anders' eyes widening.
"If he does, I doubt he'd have any luck. She's married now, isn't she? She wasn't tied down during the Blight, and he had plenty of opportunity then," Anders pointed out, the realization alone forcing a sigh from his lips.
"True, but don't you remember what Zevran said? They haven't been on good terms for a while, and with her being here and the king in Denerim...," Sigrun's voice trailed off implicatively, Anders lifting an eyebrow at the dwarf.
"Why, Sigrun, are you condoning that the Commander partake in adultery?" Anders asked mischievously, Sigrun merely laughing at his question.
"Of course not. I'm just saying, there's the possibility," Sigrun stated before getting to her feet, the change in height from sitting to standing not all that noticeable. "I should go practice for a while. It seems like we haven't had any action here in a long while," Sigrun noted a bit solemnly, Anders thankful for the lack of 'action' as Sigrun had called it.
Finally gaining a moment to himself, Anders groaned rather loudly, the mage slinking down into his chair until the back of his head rested against the top of the chair. "Meow?" Ser Pounce-a-Lot noticed his owner's attitude, Anders reaching a hand out to pet his cat in the meantime.
"I swear. Why is it I always want things I can never have? First, freedom from the Circle. That was incredible enough, certainly, but this...this will never happen. But, at least I have you, don't I, Ser Pounce-a-Lot?" Anders smiled at the kitty in his lap, another meow quickly answering Anders' rhetorical question. Of course, she gave me you too, didn't she? Anders inwardly groaned once more, the futility of his situation little more than frustrating.
--
Alistair, I hope this letter finds you well. It seems the darkspawn have finally retreated back to the Deep Roads, though Amaranthine will need considerable repairs. Worry not, dear husband, for I and the Grey Wardens will not neglect to see to the rebuilding.
I am sorry to trouble you when you are no doubt drowning in politics with Eamon breathing down your neck, but I have a small favor to ask of you, should you be willing to indulge me. Last evening I dreamed of something that will alarm you, though I dare not include blatant details in this missive.
Regardless, I would ask that you keep an eye out for anyone in the guard or other comparable places that would make for a suitable Grey Warden. As you are no doubt aware, our numbers in Ferelden are still far too few to remain complacent, and so I am looking for recruits.
Should you wish to find me for some reason, I will be traveling to Highever in the coming weeks to visit Fergus. My hope is to find a recruit there, but I suppose we shall see.
In other less life-threatening news, Zevran has arrived in Amaranthine and remains here at Vigil's Keep with Oghren and myself. Oghren at first asked whether I would conscript him; the idea was preposterous, of course, but still very tempting at the same time. Perhaps I shall mention it to him and see how he reacts...
If it is not too much trouble, I would also ask that you have the major liaisons and establishments post notices concerning the Grey Warden recruitment. I would assume the Chantry, the Blackstone Irregulars, and the Alienage would yield the best results.
I do not know when I shall see you next, husband, but I pray the Maker keep you safe.
Yours Always,
Cirrenes
Nodding at her finished letter, Cirrenes released a loud sigh; the letter seemed so impersonal, so particularly foreign, that it did not seem as though her own hand had written it. Though, she blamed Alistair in part for the awkward tone of the letter. He had never truly forgiven her for sparing Loghain only to allow him to defeat the Blight and be named hero once again.
Honestly, she wouldn't have been surprised if Alistair had compared Loghain to Howe, and insisted that he be allowed to murder Loghain since she had done the same to Howe. Duncan was a good man, a caring individual who had dutifully met the demands of the age in which he lived. Cirrenes was by no means trying to belittle his image or his memory, though Alistair had accused her of such when she had 'betrayed' him at the Landsmeet.
She would not stoop to Loghain's level. She had a reputation to uphold, a goal to meet, and Maker help her she would not kill someone when there was a chance he could still do some good in the world. Howe had been unable to be swayed from the very start; he had tortured innocents, whispered the poison into Loghain's ear as all of Ferelden became a bloody battlefield.
No, Loghain was not a lost cause, not like Howe. She firmly believed that, and whether or not Alistair agreed was honestly not her concern. She was justified, she knew, and if her husband could not be swayed by reason, then she would simply allow him to stew in his misery. Nothing she could say would assuage the pain, and he had to make peace eventually, or so she hoped at any rate.
It was only moments later that Cirrenes noticed she had gripped the letter tightly, tears pouring down her cheeks alarmingly. She wouldn't pretend Alistair's accusations hadn't hurt, hadn't made her rethink why she ever had loved him. His words had cut deeper than any darkspawn's sword, any mercenary's blade.
Nearly jumping from her position on the bed, Cirrenes hastily wiped away her tears when she heard a few knocks on her door, Zevran speaking through the barrier though Cirrenes could not make out any words he spoke. "I would like to be left alone, Zevran," Cirrenes informed him quietly, the assassin hesitating outside of the door before sighing.
"Crying for a king who resents you does not become you, Cirrenes," Zevran attempted to console her, the Commander clenching her jaw to keep more tears from flowing. She needed to be strong, and by Andraste's blood, she would be. She had to be; not only for herself, but for all those people and Grey Wardens who counted on her to keep them safe. The responsibility had never weighed so heavily. "You are strong, my Grey Warden, but hiding from the pain will not lessen or release it," Zevran spoke from experience, Rinna coming to mind but moments later. "Let me in," Zevran instructed quietly, Cirrenes standing and twisting the doorknob before collapsing into the elf's arms.