Chapter 1: Dreamscapes
-=-=-=-=-=-
Back to the Under...
Run...run from the Humans!
Come back to the dark...all is lost Topside.
Come home. Come home to your Mother!
Darkness.
The walls of the Underdark ran with the slime of a thousand aeons of rot. Decomposition assaulted his nose, making it pinch. His steady inhalations stuttered in his panic; his lips trembled, despite his courageous attempts to stay the shakes. It was all he could do not to break down in this damp pit; it was all he could do to keep himself from sitting on the decaying floor of this wet cave and wrapping his arms around his knees and wailing into the dark like a frightened, lost child.
He could taste the Fade in this claustrophobic chamber. He knew he walked the Fade, and yet...control was elusive. He could not control where his feet took him. He could not move his body with his considerable mind powers, could not tell himself to stop moving toward the horror that awaited him at the end of his walk. He wanted desperately to leave the Fade – something he once thought was as simple as walking to a door and opening it to the real world.
A tiny moan escaped his lips, and continued at each exhalation. Cold sweat popped out along his hairline and across his upper lip. Oh, he had lost control, and it terrified him – here where demons gamboled and vied for his already-damned soul, he was lost and moved by forces beyond his reckoning.
Just how long he walked, he did not know...it could have been a few minutes, or a few months, or centuries...but he finally made it to the end of the long underground road. The cavern had widened at the end of his trek to gargantuan proportions. Its sheer size made his breath catch in his throat.
At the center of the cavern, a monstrous sight awaited. Perhaps this horror was beautiful, once. Now, her very visage caused his bowels to turn to water.
She noticed the mage watching, as he stood before her; she grinned maliciously as his mouth quivered wetly, and he wrapped his arms around his belly to hug himself and rock on his heels – perhaps in some way giving himself comfort from the horror that jiggled and cackled before him.
She knew what he needed. Comfort like that could only be given by Mother herself.
"Welcome," she said to Anders. She ran her hands over her breasts, and he quailed miserably when a viscous black ichor ran from her nipples. She held her chitinous, bloody hands out to the hapless mage.
"Come to Mother."
-=-=-=-=-=-
Swimming up from the depths of sleep, Anders twitched violently. He gasped once before he realized he was finally awake. He took a deep breath. That never happened to him – he always had full control of himself in the Fade, and almost never had nightmares. Anders closed his eyes, and waited for his heart to stop trip-hammering in his chest.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. How do you feel?"
The tow-headed mage's eyes flew open. He turned his head on his sopping pillow, only to blink bemusedly at King Alistair. Despite being completely caught off-guard by the presence of the King in his bedroom, Anders nodded. "I'm all right...am I still dreaming?"
"Not as far as I can tell," said Alistair. "Why do you ask?"
As Anders' reality solidified around him, and the Fade – well, faded – he regained his customary cheek. "It isn't a regular thing for me to dream about the King of Ferelden, if you need ask...but you understand what I mean. What are you doing here?"
Alistair started slightly. He set what appeared to be a hand-puppet and a stuffed horse on Anders' windowsill, grinning in a hangdog way and flushing slightly. "Of course, I understand completely. The Queen and I have come to Vigil's Keep on State affairs, and decided to stay the night. It's a long journey back – and I don't trust the roads at night – so we've decided to leave fresh in the morning."
Anders frowned a bit. He drew his blankets to his chin in a defensive manner. "Erm, I understand all that, but what are you doing here...in my room?"
The King made a noise of understanding in his throat. "Mmm. Well, if there are fresh Warden recruits, we seasoned Grey Wardens keep an eye on them...at least for the first sleep. For the nightmares. They can be pretty bad, especially after the initial swoon. Your Warden Commander needed a babysitter, so I volunteered."
"Right." Anders sat up on his narrow cot, cradling his head as a wave of dizziness and nausea made his head spin. He fought what felt like a losing battle of attrition with his trembling muscles and roiling gut. "Is the hangover always this bad after the Joining?" His voice trembled uncontrollably. He hated the sound of it, and so took a deep breath to clear his throat. It helped stay the tremors, but his headache now felt as if an icicle had been driven into his right temple.
"It could be worse." Alistair stood, and stretched. "One of your number didn't survive the Joining. The young lady that accompanied Warden Commander Caron to Vigil's Keep...she didn't survive."
Silenced by this bit of information, Anders pressed his lips together. "Mhairi," he finally said in a hushed voice.
"Yes." Alistair spread his hands in commiseration. "I'm sorry about your friend."
"I didn't really know her well," said Anders. "But still..." He smoothed his sleep-fuzzy hair back from his temples, and squinted out the window. Buttery sunlight angled through the open-air window in Anders' Spartan bedroom. "What time is it?"
Turning his head to follow Anders' gaze, Alistair shrugged and waggled his head back and forth. "Four in the afternoon, I suppose. Almost supper time, I'll wager." Anders' stomach made a loud groinging sound, and Alistair laughed. "You'll find that your belly will be your best time-keeper now. It will never forget to tell you when it's suppertime."
"Good. I'm starving." Anders swung his legs over the side of his cot. He hooked a leather thong from his night table, and deftly tied his hair back. "What happened to Nate and the stinky dwarf?"
"They're both fine. The Commander just escorted Oghren to the dining hall, and before I checked in on you my wife told me that this Nate fellow was still asleep. I'm not sure why she wanted to keep vigil over this man...it's not like the Queen is a Warden, or anything." He pulled a face. "It was almost as if she knew who he was. He seemed awfully familiar to me, at any rate."
As he slipped his robes over his smallclothes, Anders kept his silence. He felt that the King of Ferelden should be kept ignorant of the other recruit for the time being. If anyone was going to tell burly, Archdemon-killing King Alistair that Arl Rendon Howe's youngest brat was one of the newest Warden recruits, it most certainly wasn't going to be him. Anders liked being alive, for one thing. Anders was certain that, although known far and wide as a gentle, kindhearted man, King Alistair would still be plenty miffed if a smart-mouthed new recruit clued him in that the son of the man that killed his best friend's parents was now a fellow Warden. Anders had heard through the Grapevine about Loghain, and knew how quickly Alistair had made the man's head and shoulders part company.
Instead of dropping the bomb, Anders shrugged instead. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
"Right." Alistair raised his hand to the bedroom door. "To dinner, then."
As Anders blearily ran his hand over his sleep-grizzled face and walked to his boudoir door, he remembered what his new Warden Commander had done for him in the face of Rylock, the female Templar that had pursued him for the past two weeks.
He nodded the tiniest bit to himself. She was all right, in his book. As soon as he found out what was expected of him and what his marching orders were, he would do what was asked...and if he was lucky, he'd find a pretty girl or three, have something to eat (as he was inexplicably starving)...and best yet, he'd get a real taste of freedom from the Circle for the first time in his life after his usefulness for these folks ran out.
-=-=-=-=-=-
The dining hall was nearly vacant, save for the double handful of people seated at the smallest of the half-dozen or more heavy oaken tables. Steaming tureens and overflowing platters made the table almost groan with their combined weight. The smell of supper alone made Anders' stomach grumble loudly again. He licked his bottom lip slowly. Food never looked so good.
"I can't wait to tuck in," he said, gazing upon the massive spread with something akin to reverence. Alistair laughed and clapped the mage on one shoulder. When Anders turned to Ferelden's liege, the King motioned to the table with his chin. Anders didn't need to be told twice.
As he sat down and grabbed a serving spoon, he nodded to the Orlesian Warden that had recruited him. She nodded in return, and asked what King Alistair had asked just minutes before. "Are you well?"
"I'm a bit wobbly, but otherwise I'm fine," he said. "More hungry than anything else. Is this normal?" He heaped potatoes on his sparkling clean plate. "I've never been this hungry, even when I was on the run and literally starving to death."
"Fall to, Sparkles," said Oghren, patting his belly. "The nosh is excellent."
Anders tucked in as Nathaniel finally entered the dining hall and blearily sat next to him. Oh, sustenance never tasted this good before. He rolled his eyes closed and chewed in a state of bliss. "Compliments to the chef."
"You're welcome," said Senechal Varel. The older man glanced at the Warden Commander, and grinned, a trifle uneasily. "I had help, but this recipe is my own mother's."
Anders remembered his walk in the Fade, and shuddered. He swallowed with some effort. "It's...it's good," he finished lamely. "My compliments to your Mum." He glanced at the woman that had just seated herself to Varel's right, and couldn't help but stare wide-eyed and slack jawed at the veritable eating machine.
Her belly pooched out past her pendulous breasts. The intricate braids that (Anders was sure) some hapless servant or five had helped her plait that morning were coming unraveled in her mad rush to eat everything in sight. She shoveled food into her maw at speeds beyond reckoning. Her plate had been piled high with things that even Anders couldn't stomach. She looked at Anders and twinkled around a mouthful of tripe.
"Good evening, Ser Mage," she muttered.
Anders blinked once in surprise. "Maker, you're huge."
"Ha," said Oghren, belching. "Watch out."
The half-expected slap upside Anders' head came complete with a small utterance of disgust. He turned his head with infinite slowness to his attacker, an ersatz grin stretching his chops. Nathaniel gaped at the mage, sneering. "Queen Anora is with child, you moron! Show some respect!"
Instead of sweeping from the room at the obvious insult in tears, Anora nodded ruefully at Anders. "Since the baby had begun to grow larger, my appetite has increased tenfold." She looked down at her half-denuded plate and snorted a self-deprecating laugh. "Now I eat almost as much as King Alistair."
"A woman after my own heart," said the King, winking at his wife. "It's impressive...I thought I was going to be the one to bankrupt the Kingdom with my appetites." He waggled his eyebrows at Anora, who flushed prettily.
Nathaniel and Anders watched this tiny show of affection between husband and wife, smiling. It was well-known that the Royals' marriage was a political one, but it was heartwarming to see genuine affection between Alistair and Anora.
The King cleared his throat, smoothing his fine silk brocade doublet. "Right. Had your fill, love?" When Anora patted her lips with a napkin and nodded, he stood and held his elbow out to her. "Well, then. It's time for your beauty rest, my Queen...not that you need any in my opinion, but still." He nodded to the table. "Until next time."
The royal couple left for their quarters, amidst farewells and chuckles and a drunken wolf whistle from the dwarf. Alone, the Wardens, their vassals, and various help fell into a companionable silence, filling the quiet with lip-smacks and grunts and the occasional belch as they filled their bottomless bellies.
Leonie, the Warden Commander from Orlais, drained her wine goblet in one gulp. She set her goblet down with a heavy metallic thunk and looked at Anders. "So," she began, breaking the silence, "Rylock mentioned you were a wanted apostate. That's the only reason you were on the run?"
"Mm-hmm," Anders said, digging enthusiastically into a pot-pie. He shoveled half into his mouth at once, and mumbled around the pastry. "I escaped the Tower seven times. The Templars and I...there's no love lost between the twain."
His new Commander raised her eyebrows until they brushed her hairline – no mean feat, as they rode close to her gray eyes. "Good grief. It's a wide-eyed wonder they haven't executed you by now."
He chewed his now-tasteless pot-pie, while his eyes flashed minutely at Leonie. "Wonders never cease, do they?"
She refilled her goblet, and met his gimlet gaze with her own. "They do not."
He frowned at Leonie. "Well!" he said, after taking a quick breath and flashing Leonie a false, sunny grin, "I have you to thank for my freedom. Were it not for you, my bonny dear, I'd be at the bitter end of a hangman's noose. After I'm done doing whatever you need me to do, I will find greener pastures...preferably in another country so as to remain unseen by Ferelden's Circle."
Leonie and Varel exchanged a brief glance, and Varel rose from the dining table. "Excuse me," he said to the new Wardens, and turned to the other soldiers still seated at the table. "All right, men. Hup! Dinner is over, and each of you have something else to do."
When the table was vacated, Leonie dropped her eyes to her dinner plate. "What makes you think you are truly free?"
His eyebrows drew together sharply. "Are you telling me I'm trapped here, too?"
Leonie drained another goblet. "Oh, no...you're free to go whenever you like. You'll be Tainted for the rest of your short life."
"Uh-huh," said Anders, his dander up. "So the Grey Wardens will come and get me if I escape? 'You can run, but you can't hide'...ooh, very cloak-and-dagger, Commander. I...wait." He shook his head so hard the hoop in his left ear jangled. "What did you mean by my short life?"
"You have thirty years, maximum," said Leonie, meeting his shocked gaze, "before the Taint drives you to madness. We Wardens go to the Deep Roads to die when our Calling comes. It is better than succumbing to the Taint. We know it is time when the nightmares begin again..."
"You handed me a death sentence!" His jaw dropped. "You glibly conscripted me, knowing the Taint would kill me in thirty years?"
"Or less," she said quietly. "Some Wardens last for thirty years, some for less...some for one or two years at the most. The Taint affects everyone differently." Her heart went out to the mage; she reached out and patted his hand. "'Twas either that or the Templars. You didn't deserve that fate, after your help. You will make a fine Warden."
"Maker's Breath," said Anders, yanking his hand out of Leonie's grasp. He lapsed into a stunned, morose silence. The rest of the Wardens followed suit.
The dwarf broke the quiet. "How in the Void did you manage to escape seven times? Were the Templars that stupid, or did you have to come up with more novel stuff? You'd have to," said Oghren as an afterthought, "or the Templars would've had you figured out before you even got out of your Tower after the second attempt."
Anders looked up from his now-defunct pot-pie, shaking off his funk as easily as a Mabari shook off fleas. "Yeah. I had quite a few interesting escapes. Once, I swam across Lake Calenhad to escape." He chuckled. "I made sure none of the babysitters were looking in my direction, then tore my robes over my head and jumped in wearing nothing but my boots. By the time I made it to the other side, I was exhausted and half drowned and my hair had water weeds tangled in it. I lost one of my boots somewhere halfway across." He grabbed a baked potato from one of the enormous platters. "I liked those boots, too.
"The Templars found me a week later," he continued. "I was in bed with a nubile young thing with bright red hair and smiling eyes...ahh. She was lovely. Stupid as a stump, but a pretty face, nonetheless. She flapped her lips to the rest of her backwater village about me – said something about catching a wizard by the pinky toe – and someone told someone else...you get the idea. Bad news and rumors travel faster through a village than the Bubonic Plague. I suppose the Templars being in possession of my phylactery didn't help matters much."
Nathaniel tapped his fork against his plate. "I heard that rumor all the way in the Free Marches. I thought it was a fish story made up to amuse taverngoers."
Preening, Anders puffed his chest out. "I'm famous all the way in the Free Marches? Spectacular." His smile faded. "That little stunt landed me in solitary for a month. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wasn't the last time, either. Once, when I was fifteen, I stirred up a windstorm to fling myself across the Lake. I made it a mite too strong – not only did it hurl me across Calenhad, it landed me in a fir tree. I fell from the top and managed to break my fall with every single branch along the way. When I finally finished falling out of the tree, I realized that I had broken six ribs, dislocated my shoulder and fractured my jaw. You could have heard me screaming all the way inthe Free Marches, I wager. When the Templars found me and brought me back, they made me sit in solitary for three days before they let a healer in to fix me." All traces of jocularity were gone from Anders' face. "I learned how to heal myself in a hurry. It's amazing how effective agony is to stimulate your learning acumen."
He fell silent again, and Leonie frowned. "Andraste's Shining Sword," she said. "I had no idea the Circle was that bad here in Ferelden."
Anders narrowed his eyes at Leonie. "Oh...I'm sorry," said he, a touch of vitriol still tingeing his voice, "is the Circle in Val Royeaux that much better? Because if it is, I ought to have requested a transfer, shouldn't I have?"
Leonie stared at Anders for a few moments, her countenance thoughtful during her quick, silent palaver with herself. She stood, draped her cotton napkin over her denuded plate, and beckoned Anders with one crooked finger. "Come with me."
He looked at the Orlesian woman slightly askance. "Why?"
As much as Leonie tried to hold onto her temper, Anders' cheek had pushed her too far. Leonie circled the table and pushed her face pugnaciously into his. "Because I saidso."
He pressed his lips together until they formed a thin white line. "Yes, Commander."
Nathaniel tore into a massive turkey leg. "Idiot," he said, sotto voce.
As he rose from the table, Anders sneered at Nathaniel. He would not look at Leonie as they left the dining hall and made a quick right down a dank, dark corridor. Oh, he knew what was down this dim hallway – he began his existence as a future Grey Warden in one of the cramped holding cells there. He made a noise of resignation in his throat. It seemed that he would make that particular part of the Vigil's acquaintance again.
Leonie pulled an enormous set of keys from her belt. "I haven't given these back to Varel yet," she explained, a bit shamefaced, to Anders. "I have no reason to carry them. He knows the ins and outs of this stronghold better than I ever will...so I leave the responsibility of keeping the Vigil's locks secure in his capable hands." She seated a small iron key in the barred door's lock, and swung it open to reveal the dank gaol Anders remembered from the day before last.
In silence, the two Wardens beheld the small cell. Leonie cleared her throat. "I understand your anger, Anders."
Anders snorted derisively. "What would you know about it?"
Leonie stood before the gaol, her gaze on the far side of the cell, picking her words with care. "The Chevalier in Orlais can be as ruthless and vicious as your Templars, if not worse in some respects. For many, many years, women were not allowed to be warriors, let alone Chevalier. It was punishable by death. Only in recent history were women like me allowed to take up arms in Orlais. It took a strong woman to stand up to her Chevalier oppressors – to show them that she was equal in every way to her male counterparts. She was willing to give life and liberty to prove that point. It is the same with you, I see." She cut her gaze from the cell to Anders. "I became a Grey Warden because of that long-ago Chevalier. I'm not suited to be Chevalier, physically, but I can fight for what is right...to save all that I hold dear. I believe that everyone is entitled to being what they were born to be, in freedom."
"Why are you telling me this?" Anders murmured. He stepped forward, mentally prepared for his fresh imprisonment. Leonie blocked his way into the jail cell.
She gestured to the gaol without looking at it. "While I am Commander here, you will never see the inside of this cell – not for being an apostate, not for arguing your rights, and certainly not for being an insufferable ass." She winked suddenly at the mage, and Anders was surprised into a charming smile of his own. It faded when Leonie continued.
"I ask you for one boon, in return for my understanding of your plight. Do not countermine my authority to the rest of the Wardens. I am even-tempered, but that only goes so far. I am here to guide the new recruits – you included – and I cannot do what I have been sent to do if you demoralize the rest of the Wardens."
"All two of them?"
"Yes," she said, nodding curtly. "All two of them. The boon stretches to one – or one million – brothers and sisters." She stepped closer to Anders, arching her neck to stare into his face, as their height differences were great. "Do we have an accord?"
"I..." Anders held her smoking gaze for a few seconds, and found that if he tried to hold it for much longer it might very well burn him. "We do."
Leonie nodded. "Every Warden is an appendage of their Order. On a smaller scale, the Wardens under my care and tutelage – along with the everyday workmen and women that make sure everything runs smoothly, like Varel – are appendages of me, their Commander. Alone, a Grey Warden is capable of accomplishing great things. King Alistair and the late Hero of Ferelden were prime examples...but when an entire army of Wardens think and act as one, they function like an unstoppable, well-oiled war machine. When one cog is off-kilter, it throws the entire machine off-balance, and everything can potentially collapse in a flurry of nuts and bolts." The Warden Commander crossed her arms over her leather bodice in a fretful gesture. "I depend on my charges to follow orders, and my charges depend on me to steer them right. It is a fine balancing act."
Anders stood wordless, shamed. She was right, of course. He took a deep breath, and ate crow. "I'm sorry, Commander. My mother taught me better manners than that. Sometimes, I open my mouth so wide, I fall right in."
Crisis averted, thought Leonie. Thank the Maker. "Call me Leonie, if you like. I'm not only your commander, Anders. I'd like to be your friend, as well."
"Andraste's frilly knickers," said Anders. "You know exactly what to say to make someone feel at ease. I wonder why they haven't put you in charge yet...oh, wait." They shared a tension-breaking laugh.
The gaol door swung shut, and Leonie locked it. She inclined her chin at the dining hall. "Let's get some dessert, shall we? You've left room for treacle, yes?"
"Leonie, I still have room for another helping of dinner," said Anders.
Back to the Under...
Run...run from the Humans!
Come back to the dark...all is lost Topside.
Come home. Come home to your Mother!
Darkness.
The walls of the Underdark ran with the slime of a thousand aeons of rot. Decomposition assaulted his nose, making it pinch. His steady inhalations stuttered in his panic; his lips trembled, despite his courageous attempts to stay the shakes. It was all he could do not to break down in this damp pit; it was all he could do to keep himself from sitting on the decaying floor of this wet cave and wrapping his arms around his knees and wailing into the dark like a frightened, lost child.
He could taste the Fade in this claustrophobic chamber. He knew he walked the Fade, and yet...control was elusive. He could not control where his feet took him. He could not move his body with his considerable mind powers, could not tell himself to stop moving toward the horror that awaited him at the end of his walk. He wanted desperately to leave the Fade – something he once thought was as simple as walking to a door and opening it to the real world.
A tiny moan escaped his lips, and continued at each exhalation. Cold sweat popped out along his hairline and across his upper lip. Oh, he had lost control, and it terrified him – here where demons gamboled and vied for his already-damned soul, he was lost and moved by forces beyond his reckoning.
Just how long he walked, he did not know...it could have been a few minutes, or a few months, or centuries...but he finally made it to the end of the long underground road. The cavern had widened at the end of his trek to gargantuan proportions. Its sheer size made his breath catch in his throat.
At the center of the cavern, a monstrous sight awaited. Perhaps this horror was beautiful, once. Now, her very visage caused his bowels to turn to water.
She noticed the mage watching, as he stood before her; she grinned maliciously as his mouth quivered wetly, and he wrapped his arms around his belly to hug himself and rock on his heels – perhaps in some way giving himself comfort from the horror that jiggled and cackled before him.
She knew what he needed. Comfort like that could only be given by Mother herself.
"Welcome," she said to Anders. She ran her hands over her breasts, and he quailed miserably when a viscous black ichor ran from her nipples. She held her chitinous, bloody hands out to the hapless mage.
"Come to Mother."
-=-=-=-=-=-
Swimming up from the depths of sleep, Anders twitched violently. He gasped once before he realized he was finally awake. He took a deep breath. That never happened to him – he always had full control of himself in the Fade, and almost never had nightmares. Anders closed his eyes, and waited for his heart to stop trip-hammering in his chest.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. How do you feel?"
The tow-headed mage's eyes flew open. He turned his head on his sopping pillow, only to blink bemusedly at King Alistair. Despite being completely caught off-guard by the presence of the King in his bedroom, Anders nodded. "I'm all right...am I still dreaming?"
"Not as far as I can tell," said Alistair. "Why do you ask?"
As Anders' reality solidified around him, and the Fade – well, faded – he regained his customary cheek. "It isn't a regular thing for me to dream about the King of Ferelden, if you need ask...but you understand what I mean. What are you doing here?"
Alistair started slightly. He set what appeared to be a hand-puppet and a stuffed horse on Anders' windowsill, grinning in a hangdog way and flushing slightly. "Of course, I understand completely. The Queen and I have come to Vigil's Keep on State affairs, and decided to stay the night. It's a long journey back – and I don't trust the roads at night – so we've decided to leave fresh in the morning."
Anders frowned a bit. He drew his blankets to his chin in a defensive manner. "Erm, I understand all that, but what are you doing here...in my room?"
The King made a noise of understanding in his throat. "Mmm. Well, if there are fresh Warden recruits, we seasoned Grey Wardens keep an eye on them...at least for the first sleep. For the nightmares. They can be pretty bad, especially after the initial swoon. Your Warden Commander needed a babysitter, so I volunteered."
"Right." Anders sat up on his narrow cot, cradling his head as a wave of dizziness and nausea made his head spin. He fought what felt like a losing battle of attrition with his trembling muscles and roiling gut. "Is the hangover always this bad after the Joining?" His voice trembled uncontrollably. He hated the sound of it, and so took a deep breath to clear his throat. It helped stay the tremors, but his headache now felt as if an icicle had been driven into his right temple.
"It could be worse." Alistair stood, and stretched. "One of your number didn't survive the Joining. The young lady that accompanied Warden Commander Caron to Vigil's Keep...she didn't survive."
Silenced by this bit of information, Anders pressed his lips together. "Mhairi," he finally said in a hushed voice.
"Yes." Alistair spread his hands in commiseration. "I'm sorry about your friend."
"I didn't really know her well," said Anders. "But still..." He smoothed his sleep-fuzzy hair back from his temples, and squinted out the window. Buttery sunlight angled through the open-air window in Anders' Spartan bedroom. "What time is it?"
Turning his head to follow Anders' gaze, Alistair shrugged and waggled his head back and forth. "Four in the afternoon, I suppose. Almost supper time, I'll wager." Anders' stomach made a loud groinging sound, and Alistair laughed. "You'll find that your belly will be your best time-keeper now. It will never forget to tell you when it's suppertime."
"Good. I'm starving." Anders swung his legs over the side of his cot. He hooked a leather thong from his night table, and deftly tied his hair back. "What happened to Nate and the stinky dwarf?"
"They're both fine. The Commander just escorted Oghren to the dining hall, and before I checked in on you my wife told me that this Nate fellow was still asleep. I'm not sure why she wanted to keep vigil over this man...it's not like the Queen is a Warden, or anything." He pulled a face. "It was almost as if she knew who he was. He seemed awfully familiar to me, at any rate."
As he slipped his robes over his smallclothes, Anders kept his silence. He felt that the King of Ferelden should be kept ignorant of the other recruit for the time being. If anyone was going to tell burly, Archdemon-killing King Alistair that Arl Rendon Howe's youngest brat was one of the newest Warden recruits, it most certainly wasn't going to be him. Anders liked being alive, for one thing. Anders was certain that, although known far and wide as a gentle, kindhearted man, King Alistair would still be plenty miffed if a smart-mouthed new recruit clued him in that the son of the man that killed his best friend's parents was now a fellow Warden. Anders had heard through the Grapevine about Loghain, and knew how quickly Alistair had made the man's head and shoulders part company.
Instead of dropping the bomb, Anders shrugged instead. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
"Right." Alistair raised his hand to the bedroom door. "To dinner, then."
As Anders blearily ran his hand over his sleep-grizzled face and walked to his boudoir door, he remembered what his new Warden Commander had done for him in the face of Rylock, the female Templar that had pursued him for the past two weeks.
He nodded the tiniest bit to himself. She was all right, in his book. As soon as he found out what was expected of him and what his marching orders were, he would do what was asked...and if he was lucky, he'd find a pretty girl or three, have something to eat (as he was inexplicably starving)...and best yet, he'd get a real taste of freedom from the Circle for the first time in his life after his usefulness for these folks ran out.
-=-=-=-=-=-
The dining hall was nearly vacant, save for the double handful of people seated at the smallest of the half-dozen or more heavy oaken tables. Steaming tureens and overflowing platters made the table almost groan with their combined weight. The smell of supper alone made Anders' stomach grumble loudly again. He licked his bottom lip slowly. Food never looked so good.
"I can't wait to tuck in," he said, gazing upon the massive spread with something akin to reverence. Alistair laughed and clapped the mage on one shoulder. When Anders turned to Ferelden's liege, the King motioned to the table with his chin. Anders didn't need to be told twice.
As he sat down and grabbed a serving spoon, he nodded to the Orlesian Warden that had recruited him. She nodded in return, and asked what King Alistair had asked just minutes before. "Are you well?"
"I'm a bit wobbly, but otherwise I'm fine," he said. "More hungry than anything else. Is this normal?" He heaped potatoes on his sparkling clean plate. "I've never been this hungry, even when I was on the run and literally starving to death."
"Fall to, Sparkles," said Oghren, patting his belly. "The nosh is excellent."
Anders tucked in as Nathaniel finally entered the dining hall and blearily sat next to him. Oh, sustenance never tasted this good before. He rolled his eyes closed and chewed in a state of bliss. "Compliments to the chef."
"You're welcome," said Senechal Varel. The older man glanced at the Warden Commander, and grinned, a trifle uneasily. "I had help, but this recipe is my own mother's."
Anders remembered his walk in the Fade, and shuddered. He swallowed with some effort. "It's...it's good," he finished lamely. "My compliments to your Mum." He glanced at the woman that had just seated herself to Varel's right, and couldn't help but stare wide-eyed and slack jawed at the veritable eating machine.
Her belly pooched out past her pendulous breasts. The intricate braids that (Anders was sure) some hapless servant or five had helped her plait that morning were coming unraveled in her mad rush to eat everything in sight. She shoveled food into her maw at speeds beyond reckoning. Her plate had been piled high with things that even Anders couldn't stomach. She looked at Anders and twinkled around a mouthful of tripe.
"Good evening, Ser Mage," she muttered.
Anders blinked once in surprise. "Maker, you're huge."
"Ha," said Oghren, belching. "Watch out."
The half-expected slap upside Anders' head came complete with a small utterance of disgust. He turned his head with infinite slowness to his attacker, an ersatz grin stretching his chops. Nathaniel gaped at the mage, sneering. "Queen Anora is with child, you moron! Show some respect!"
Instead of sweeping from the room at the obvious insult in tears, Anora nodded ruefully at Anders. "Since the baby had begun to grow larger, my appetite has increased tenfold." She looked down at her half-denuded plate and snorted a self-deprecating laugh. "Now I eat almost as much as King Alistair."
"A woman after my own heart," said the King, winking at his wife. "It's impressive...I thought I was going to be the one to bankrupt the Kingdom with my appetites." He waggled his eyebrows at Anora, who flushed prettily.
Nathaniel and Anders watched this tiny show of affection between husband and wife, smiling. It was well-known that the Royals' marriage was a political one, but it was heartwarming to see genuine affection between Alistair and Anora.
The King cleared his throat, smoothing his fine silk brocade doublet. "Right. Had your fill, love?" When Anora patted her lips with a napkin and nodded, he stood and held his elbow out to her. "Well, then. It's time for your beauty rest, my Queen...not that you need any in my opinion, but still." He nodded to the table. "Until next time."
The royal couple left for their quarters, amidst farewells and chuckles and a drunken wolf whistle from the dwarf. Alone, the Wardens, their vassals, and various help fell into a companionable silence, filling the quiet with lip-smacks and grunts and the occasional belch as they filled their bottomless bellies.
Leonie, the Warden Commander from Orlais, drained her wine goblet in one gulp. She set her goblet down with a heavy metallic thunk and looked at Anders. "So," she began, breaking the silence, "Rylock mentioned you were a wanted apostate. That's the only reason you were on the run?"
"Mm-hmm," Anders said, digging enthusiastically into a pot-pie. He shoveled half into his mouth at once, and mumbled around the pastry. "I escaped the Tower seven times. The Templars and I...there's no love lost between the twain."
His new Commander raised her eyebrows until they brushed her hairline – no mean feat, as they rode close to her gray eyes. "Good grief. It's a wide-eyed wonder they haven't executed you by now."
He chewed his now-tasteless pot-pie, while his eyes flashed minutely at Leonie. "Wonders never cease, do they?"
She refilled her goblet, and met his gimlet gaze with her own. "They do not."
He frowned at Leonie. "Well!" he said, after taking a quick breath and flashing Leonie a false, sunny grin, "I have you to thank for my freedom. Were it not for you, my bonny dear, I'd be at the bitter end of a hangman's noose. After I'm done doing whatever you need me to do, I will find greener pastures...preferably in another country so as to remain unseen by Ferelden's Circle."
Leonie and Varel exchanged a brief glance, and Varel rose from the dining table. "Excuse me," he said to the new Wardens, and turned to the other soldiers still seated at the table. "All right, men. Hup! Dinner is over, and each of you have something else to do."
When the table was vacated, Leonie dropped her eyes to her dinner plate. "What makes you think you are truly free?"
His eyebrows drew together sharply. "Are you telling me I'm trapped here, too?"
Leonie drained another goblet. "Oh, no...you're free to go whenever you like. You'll be Tainted for the rest of your short life."
"Uh-huh," said Anders, his dander up. "So the Grey Wardens will come and get me if I escape? 'You can run, but you can't hide'...ooh, very cloak-and-dagger, Commander. I...wait." He shook his head so hard the hoop in his left ear jangled. "What did you mean by my short life?"
"You have thirty years, maximum," said Leonie, meeting his shocked gaze, "before the Taint drives you to madness. We Wardens go to the Deep Roads to die when our Calling comes. It is better than succumbing to the Taint. We know it is time when the nightmares begin again..."
"You handed me a death sentence!" His jaw dropped. "You glibly conscripted me, knowing the Taint would kill me in thirty years?"
"Or less," she said quietly. "Some Wardens last for thirty years, some for less...some for one or two years at the most. The Taint affects everyone differently." Her heart went out to the mage; she reached out and patted his hand. "'Twas either that or the Templars. You didn't deserve that fate, after your help. You will make a fine Warden."
"Maker's Breath," said Anders, yanking his hand out of Leonie's grasp. He lapsed into a stunned, morose silence. The rest of the Wardens followed suit.
The dwarf broke the quiet. "How in the Void did you manage to escape seven times? Were the Templars that stupid, or did you have to come up with more novel stuff? You'd have to," said Oghren as an afterthought, "or the Templars would've had you figured out before you even got out of your Tower after the second attempt."
Anders looked up from his now-defunct pot-pie, shaking off his funk as easily as a Mabari shook off fleas. "Yeah. I had quite a few interesting escapes. Once, I swam across Lake Calenhad to escape." He chuckled. "I made sure none of the babysitters were looking in my direction, then tore my robes over my head and jumped in wearing nothing but my boots. By the time I made it to the other side, I was exhausted and half drowned and my hair had water weeds tangled in it. I lost one of my boots somewhere halfway across." He grabbed a baked potato from one of the enormous platters. "I liked those boots, too.
"The Templars found me a week later," he continued. "I was in bed with a nubile young thing with bright red hair and smiling eyes...ahh. She was lovely. Stupid as a stump, but a pretty face, nonetheless. She flapped her lips to the rest of her backwater village about me – said something about catching a wizard by the pinky toe – and someone told someone else...you get the idea. Bad news and rumors travel faster through a village than the Bubonic Plague. I suppose the Templars being in possession of my phylactery didn't help matters much."
Nathaniel tapped his fork against his plate. "I heard that rumor all the way in the Free Marches. I thought it was a fish story made up to amuse taverngoers."
Preening, Anders puffed his chest out. "I'm famous all the way in the Free Marches? Spectacular." His smile faded. "That little stunt landed me in solitary for a month. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wasn't the last time, either. Once, when I was fifteen, I stirred up a windstorm to fling myself across the Lake. I made it a mite too strong – not only did it hurl me across Calenhad, it landed me in a fir tree. I fell from the top and managed to break my fall with every single branch along the way. When I finally finished falling out of the tree, I realized that I had broken six ribs, dislocated my shoulder and fractured my jaw. You could have heard me screaming all the way inthe Free Marches, I wager. When the Templars found me and brought me back, they made me sit in solitary for three days before they let a healer in to fix me." All traces of jocularity were gone from Anders' face. "I learned how to heal myself in a hurry. It's amazing how effective agony is to stimulate your learning acumen."
He fell silent again, and Leonie frowned. "Andraste's Shining Sword," she said. "I had no idea the Circle was that bad here in Ferelden."
Anders narrowed his eyes at Leonie. "Oh...I'm sorry," said he, a touch of vitriol still tingeing his voice, "is the Circle in Val Royeaux that much better? Because if it is, I ought to have requested a transfer, shouldn't I have?"
Leonie stared at Anders for a few moments, her countenance thoughtful during her quick, silent palaver with herself. She stood, draped her cotton napkin over her denuded plate, and beckoned Anders with one crooked finger. "Come with me."
He looked at the Orlesian woman slightly askance. "Why?"
As much as Leonie tried to hold onto her temper, Anders' cheek had pushed her too far. Leonie circled the table and pushed her face pugnaciously into his. "Because I saidso."
He pressed his lips together until they formed a thin white line. "Yes, Commander."
Nathaniel tore into a massive turkey leg. "Idiot," he said, sotto voce.
As he rose from the table, Anders sneered at Nathaniel. He would not look at Leonie as they left the dining hall and made a quick right down a dank, dark corridor. Oh, he knew what was down this dim hallway – he began his existence as a future Grey Warden in one of the cramped holding cells there. He made a noise of resignation in his throat. It seemed that he would make that particular part of the Vigil's acquaintance again.
Leonie pulled an enormous set of keys from her belt. "I haven't given these back to Varel yet," she explained, a bit shamefaced, to Anders. "I have no reason to carry them. He knows the ins and outs of this stronghold better than I ever will...so I leave the responsibility of keeping the Vigil's locks secure in his capable hands." She seated a small iron key in the barred door's lock, and swung it open to reveal the dank gaol Anders remembered from the day before last.
In silence, the two Wardens beheld the small cell. Leonie cleared her throat. "I understand your anger, Anders."
Anders snorted derisively. "What would you know about it?"
Leonie stood before the gaol, her gaze on the far side of the cell, picking her words with care. "The Chevalier in Orlais can be as ruthless and vicious as your Templars, if not worse in some respects. For many, many years, women were not allowed to be warriors, let alone Chevalier. It was punishable by death. Only in recent history were women like me allowed to take up arms in Orlais. It took a strong woman to stand up to her Chevalier oppressors – to show them that she was equal in every way to her male counterparts. She was willing to give life and liberty to prove that point. It is the same with you, I see." She cut her gaze from the cell to Anders. "I became a Grey Warden because of that long-ago Chevalier. I'm not suited to be Chevalier, physically, but I can fight for what is right...to save all that I hold dear. I believe that everyone is entitled to being what they were born to be, in freedom."
"Why are you telling me this?" Anders murmured. He stepped forward, mentally prepared for his fresh imprisonment. Leonie blocked his way into the jail cell.
She gestured to the gaol without looking at it. "While I am Commander here, you will never see the inside of this cell – not for being an apostate, not for arguing your rights, and certainly not for being an insufferable ass." She winked suddenly at the mage, and Anders was surprised into a charming smile of his own. It faded when Leonie continued.
"I ask you for one boon, in return for my understanding of your plight. Do not countermine my authority to the rest of the Wardens. I am even-tempered, but that only goes so far. I am here to guide the new recruits – you included – and I cannot do what I have been sent to do if you demoralize the rest of the Wardens."
"All two of them?"
"Yes," she said, nodding curtly. "All two of them. The boon stretches to one – or one million – brothers and sisters." She stepped closer to Anders, arching her neck to stare into his face, as their height differences were great. "Do we have an accord?"
"I..." Anders held her smoking gaze for a few seconds, and found that if he tried to hold it for much longer it might very well burn him. "We do."
Leonie nodded. "Every Warden is an appendage of their Order. On a smaller scale, the Wardens under my care and tutelage – along with the everyday workmen and women that make sure everything runs smoothly, like Varel – are appendages of me, their Commander. Alone, a Grey Warden is capable of accomplishing great things. King Alistair and the late Hero of Ferelden were prime examples...but when an entire army of Wardens think and act as one, they function like an unstoppable, well-oiled war machine. When one cog is off-kilter, it throws the entire machine off-balance, and everything can potentially collapse in a flurry of nuts and bolts." The Warden Commander crossed her arms over her leather bodice in a fretful gesture. "I depend on my charges to follow orders, and my charges depend on me to steer them right. It is a fine balancing act."
Anders stood wordless, shamed. She was right, of course. He took a deep breath, and ate crow. "I'm sorry, Commander. My mother taught me better manners than that. Sometimes, I open my mouth so wide, I fall right in."
Crisis averted, thought Leonie. Thank the Maker. "Call me Leonie, if you like. I'm not only your commander, Anders. I'd like to be your friend, as well."
"Andraste's frilly knickers," said Anders. "You know exactly what to say to make someone feel at ease. I wonder why they haven't put you in charge yet...oh, wait." They shared a tension-breaking laugh.
The gaol door swung shut, and Leonie locked it. She inclined her chin at the dining hall. "Let's get some dessert, shall we? You've left room for treacle, yes?"
"Leonie, I still have room for another helping of dinner," said Anders.