Chapter Text
The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the quiet countryside. Taking the North Road had been the clearest path to take from the Gates of Orzammar to her new home in Amaranthine. Gwen had missed the times she and her new companions took the rough terrain and the roads less taken to avoid the Darkspawn. But the small comfort of open fresh air was a godsend after the past week of mourning. The deals and promises made between members of the Noble Caste and her new position within the House of Aeducan left bile in the back of her throat. But all were a small price to pay, to be close with Baldor one last time before she was called back.
Gwen relaxed her hold on the reins as her steed - a sturdy Fereldan charger - nickered, keeping close to the knight-captain leading their entourage. Her fingers brushed against the Aeducan crest on Baldor’s ring, the gold warmed by her touch as it hugged her finger. What was once Baldor’s token of their union, now only a bittersweet reminder.
Barghest whimpered beside her, keeping pace with her mount and tugging at the train of her gown. She took a breath to ease her nerves, smiling thanks to Barghest’s distraction; the wound was still fresh, despite the time since they left. Since sending Baldor back to the stone. Witnessing their rites to the dead, it wasn’t so unlike the rites she and her peers witnessed back home. The procession from the chapel with a fine coffin before being buried beneath the earth. The main difference was the ritual was overseen by the Shaperate and not priests. That the coffin was made of stone and sealed by the finest stone masons in the likeness of its occupant; in Baldor’s likeness. Watching his still form become entombed in his final resting place. It hit harder. Hit deeper than any funeral she had been witnessed to.
Suddenly, something felt ill on the wind, tugging at her dark cloak as they came to the crest of the hill.
“My Lady?” one of the knights questions, many of them pulling in closer, forming rank as the unease of stillness overshadowed them. With a firm kick to her mount, she reached the hill’s peak to view their surroundings, the scent of smoke and soot carried toward them as the horror came into view.
Vigil’s Keep. The once proud and iconic building stood resilient, though Gwen could see the heavy wear and tear even from this distance. She re-tightened her grip, guiding her horse along the well-worn road toward the Keep, urged on into a swift canter.
The scars of a recent assault were evident: burnt-out farmsteads, hastily rebuilt walls, and villagers standing watch where there had once been fields of wheat. The keep itself, with its towering walls silhouetted against the late afternoon sky. It still held faintly curling smoke from the distant battlements, remnants of a recent battle; hard fought and narrowly won.
Tensions were high around them, Gwen frowned as she and her entourage passed through the scattered remains of the main gate. She could see villagers tending to the wounded in makeshift triage stations; their faces drawn with exhaustion and fear. Broken carts, charred wood, and trampled earth told a story of chaos that had barely subsided. Her heart clenched with each new downtrodden soul she met, her confusion and worry only growing.
Without the aid of her men, Gwen quickly dismounted her steed and grasped her skirts, her boots crunching against the gravel with Barghest following close behind. The reins of her mount were handed to the stablehands by her entourage, one less worry as she scanned the area.
“What happened here?” she asked aloud, to no one in particular. Her voice edged with urgency while her hands shook. She racked her mind over where she could even start to help. How could she start to make amends? What if she had arrived sooner?
Barghest whimpered, sensing the turmoil from his mistress and the scents surrounding them, keeping his body pressed against her legs. His flat tongue licked her hand as his own anxieties grew. Her hand shifted from his tongue's reach to scratch his ears. His simpler feelings only mirrored her own.
“An attack, my lady. But it has been repelled.” A voice answered her from behind, steady and authoritative. Gwen turned sharply to see a tall man approaching.
His armor bore the insignia of Amaranthine; its gold and white heraldry gleaming even under the grime of battle - a blood splatter caked over the regal form of the bear sigil. He carried himself with the ease of a seasoned veteran worn from time, his greying-blonde hair tied back neatly despite the streaks of soot on his face. As he stood before her and her knights, he bowed deeply.
“Teyrna Guinevere,” he said, straightening. “My Lady, Welcome to Vigil’s Keep, we’re glad to see you are unharmed,” the soldier nodded, his saddened gaze meeting the state of the inner courtyard “I am Varel, Seneschal of this fortress. It is an honor to serve you.”
Gwen inclined her head, though her focus remained on the bustling activity behind him. “Thank you, Ser Varel, but I must ask--what’s happened here? I am so sorry we could not have arrived sooner, to prevent whatever has happened here.”
Varel’s expression turned from one of relief and humbled by her earnest regrets to one of deep graves. “There was an attack, my lady. A large force breached the keep seemingly from out of nowhere. We suffered casualties, but thanks to timely intervention, we were able to repel them.”
“An attack?” Gwen repeated, her brow furrowing as Barghest whimpered. “By whom? Bandits? Raiders? Has Cailan been informed?”
“That… is not entirely clear,” Varel said carefully, his hesitation piquing her curiosity and unease. “Perhaps it is best if the Warden-Commander explains.”
“The Warden-Commander?” Gwen blinked, startled. “You mean the Grey Wardens sent someone here? I thought Alistair and Jocelyn had returned to Weisshaupt to report back regarding the Blight.”
“Indeed, they have, my lady,” Varel confirmed. “Warden Alistair Therin and Warden Jocelyn Cousland passed through Amaranthine for the Anderfels over a ten-day ago, advising us of your mission to Orzammar,” Varel nodded, accepting another report from a young boy, running around the courtyard for the other knights and carers around the keep. “But when news of strange sightings and unrest with the fleeing Darkspawn were reported on their journeys, First Warden advised the King he would dispatch Warden-Commander Julien Delaunay from Orlais, as their forces were closer, to assist in these strange sightings. His presence has been invaluable.” Gwen opened her mouth to respond, to question why Alistair and Jocelyn were not called, if they had already reached Weisshaupt, but Varel gestured behind her. “Speak of the Maker, and he appears. Here comes the Warden-Commander now.”
She turned to see a tall man striding toward them. He was clad in gleaming Grey Warden armor, the silver and blue catching the sunlight despite the battle grime that streaked its surface. A massive shield bearing the emblazoned Griffon sigil of the order rested on his back. His steps were measured, with an elegance that seemed both in and out of place. As he approached, he took a bow before her - the exuberant and exaggerated bow no doubt customary in Orlais appeared out of place in a Fereldan Keep.
“Teyrna Guinevere,” he greeted her, the French-esque accent much similar to Leliana’s was steady and smooth, carrying the weight of command. “I am Sir Julien Erathiel De Launay, Warden-Commander of the Grey, Orlesian Charter. It is a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” Calming her thoughts, Gwen took a short breath to refocus.
“The feeling is mutual,” Gwen replied with a curtsy, her gaze searching his. “Varel tells me there was an attack, but no one has told me who was behind it.”
Julien’s expression darkened slightly, and he glanced toward Varel - who had been taken by Barghest as the large Mabari sniffed his hand and boffed in delight for the offered head scratches - before returning his attention to Gwen. “The attackers were darkspawn, My Lady.”
Gwen froze, her breath catching. “Darkspawn?” she whispered. “But the Blight--it ended. The Archdemon is dead.”
“True,” Julien said, his tone calm but firm. “But darkspawn do not disappear with the Archdemon’s death. They retreat to the Deep Roads, regroup. Though normally from our previous research and encounters between Blights, they remain scattered and disorganized for a while, fleeing back into the depths until the next Blight. These, however, were… different.”
“Different how?” Gwen asked, her voice low as a sense of dread settled over her.
“They were intelligent,” Julien explained. “Organized. One being capable of speech,” Gwen raised a brow. Alistiar nor Duncan had ever mentioned Darkspawn who could speak, and all the encounters she had with them at most they would growl or grumble, nothing anyone could call coherent speech save for among themselves. “They came not in mindless waves, but with purpose and coordination, as if this was a Blight. It is unlike anything the Grey Wardens have encountered before.”
“And the people?” she asked, looking back over the injured, the scared and traumatised. “Are they safe? And the other Wardens? How many were here before the attack? And who remains?” In spite of herself, her thoughts jumped the worst. Did Alistair and Jocelyn return too? Were they hurt?
“As safe as they can be for now,” Julien assured her. “The most able-bodied villagers fought bravely, and the keep held strong. The wounded are being tended to, and we have driven the darkspawn back. However, the 11 Grey Wardens who were stationed here before my arrival have gone missing, but we will continue to investigate and protect these lands.”
“Missing?” Gwen gasped, turning back to Julian. “Was Alistair and Jocelyn-?”
“No,” Julien shook his head, raising his hand. “Warden Alistair and Warden Jocelyn have returned to the First Warden for their report. Word of these strange occurrences reached Weisshaupt as they arrived. Since the Orlesian wardens were closer, we answered the call and came to render our assistance.” Gwen, while relieved her friends were not among the missing, it was still concerning that so many were missing. Gwen’s hands clenched at her sides, her voice trembling with both fear and anger.
“These people... they shouldn’t have to face this. They’ve already suffered enough and we all barely survived the Blight.”
Julien inclined his head. “You are right, my lady. That is why the Grey Wardens are here. We will investigate this new threat and do all we can to protect Amaranthine. But the people need more than just soldiers--they need a leader.”
Gwen met his gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily on her. “A leader,” she echoed, her voice growing quiet. “I don’t even know if I’m ready for this.” Her hand fidgetted with her ring, shifting the warm metal around her finger. Julien looked down, noting her fidgeting and eyed the ring on her finger. Julien noticed her fidgeting, eying the ring. Julien’s expression softened.
“No one is ever truly ready for the burdens of leadership, my lady. But you have faced the darkness before. Faced the Archdemon and prevailed,” Julien placed a hand on her shoulder, turning Gwen’s attention back to him. “The people of Amaranthine need that strength now more than ever.” Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the calm and determination that seemed to ripple and radiate through him, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand straighter.
“Then I’ll do everything I can. These people deserve that much.” Gwen smiled as Julien nodded approvingly, his own smile a greatly needed assurance.
“Then, My Teyrna,” Varel approached, his own smile only added to the grown camaraderie between them both. “Allow me to escort you to your Vigil. She has sorely missed a guiding hand.”
Gwen smiled, nodding and accepting Varel’s arm.
“Captain,” Gwen turned to the Knights, “see what needs to be done to help the villages, and organise for word to be sent back to Denerim. Cailan will need to be made aware of this.”
“Yes, My lady,” the captain nodded, turning to his men and set to organising relief and getting word back to Denerim. Julien turned toward the keep, Gwen following behind with Varel.
Her steps steady despite the turmoil within her. The devastation was overwhelming, but so too was the determination she felt rising within her. If Amaranthine was to face this new threat, she would meet it head-on--she had to. She was about to traverse new and unknown lands, with greater stakes now that she had to make them alone.
To say she was surprised by the entourage awaiting in the throne room would be an understatement. Varel and Julien had gone through another door while a knight was ordered to escort her the remainder of the way. The moment she entered the main hall, Barghest barked and yipped as he rushed to one armoured figure.
“Blasted nug-licker!” he bellowed, staggering back a step and wiping his face with his gauntlet. “You tryin’ to drown me in drool, you oversized furball?”
“Oghren?” Gwen asked, recognising the foul language and the fiery red hair flashing contrasts against his dark armour.
“Well, slap me with a nug and call me sober! Is that Gwen?” he bellowed, quick to approach as Gwen stepped away from Varel to meet him. “By the Stone, it’s like the Maker himself finally decided to toss me a bloody good day!”
“Oghren, It’s good to see you!” she smiled, Oghren’s thick beard bouncing as he jogged over, arms wide to accept her hug. This small moment, reuniting with a familiar face, seemed to help melt away the stress and strain from the past week. While Gwen instinctively became mindful of Oghren’s stance as well as the stench she was all too familiar with, was pleasantly surprised to not have her senses assaulted. Had he bathed?
“Really?!” another voice called out, causing Gwen to jump and turn to the others within the room. Near the hearth, another young man and a female knight stood watching the scene.
“Oh can it Fancy Pants! you’re talkin’ to one of the heroes of the Fifth Blight here!” Oghren hissed, looking back at Gwen and nudging her leg. “This here lass dealt the killin’ blow to that Archdemon ass-licker.” Barghest barked in agreement, his tongue hanging from his maw as he panted and happily wagged his tail.
“Oghren,” Gwen snipped. In order to keep the plan Morrigan devised a secret and to not rouse suspicion with the other Grey Wardens, Gwen had agreed to lie and affirm Baldor as the Sole Warden who slew the Archdemon. While Morrigan, Jocelyn, Alistair and Cameron bore witness, Gwen was the one who had to bear the burden of silence, a silence she was willing to keep. Oghren, recognising the snip, he huffed, mirrored by Barghest’s short whimper.
“Okay technically it was Baldor, but she was still a part of the kill!” Oghren hissed again, shaking his head. Gwen smiled, shaking her head. He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but he took a second to look Gwen up and down, only now noticing her change of attire. “You’re lookin’ a bit too polished for my taste, though,” he scoffed, pulling at her dress and looking her over, but his smile belied his more humorous demeanor. “And Teyrna, eh? Don’t tell me you’ve gone all proper on me.”
Gwen laughed, shaking her head. “Not likely, Oghren. Though I’ve had to learn how to sit through a few council meetings without falling asleep. I think that qualifies as a new skill, wouldn’t you say?”
“Council meetings?” Oghren snorted, crossing his arms and fighting the urge to retch. “Bah! Sounds like you’ve been surrounded by a bunch of puffed-up nobles wagging their tongues and not much else. You ever need someone to spice things up, you give me a holler. I’ll liven the place right up.”
“Something I wish I had back in Orzammar,” Gwen couldn’t stifle her laughter as Oghren lost his battle, heaving a retching sound at the idea. His own cheeky smile came through as Gwen tried to quell the laughter he pulled from her. But it only waned as the female knight approached.
“My Lady, an honour to meet one of the heroes of the Blight,” she bowed respectfully though her stance seemed stiff. “I’m Ser Mhairi of Dragon’s Peak. I was recruited by the Grey Wardens as they were coordinating their leave from Fereldan. I…was with the Warden-Commander when the attack happened.” Barghest tilted his head, padding up to the knight and sniffed around her. Unsure of what to do with such a large Mabari, Mhairi remained frozen.
Gwen smiled warmly, belying the twist in her stomach. It was hard to tell if Mhairi knew the sacrifice she was truly making, reminded of Ser Jory almost a year ago. He too sort honour, and broke under the pressure. Still, she inclined her head in return. “Ser Mhairi, the honor is mine. A knight of Dragon’s Peak among the Wardens; Ferelden is lucky to have someone of your caliber as a member.”
Mhairi’s cheeks flushed slightly at the praise, though her posture remained formal yet stiff. “I only hope to live up to the legacy of the Wardens, my lady. What you and the others accomplished during the Blight--it’s something I’ve aspired to ever since.” With the praise his mistress gave the night, Barghest barked, licking Mhairi’s hand in a desperate attempt to get more pats.
Oghren, leaning against a table with a tankard in hand, snorted. “Aye, and you’ve got the whole fresh-faced enthusiasm thing going for you, don’t you?” he chuckled, taking a large and loud gulp from the tankard. “Just wait until you’ve been knee-deep in darkspawn guts for weeks. That’ll take the shine off your armor real quick.”
Mhairi’s expression tightened, but before she could retort, the young man near the hearth spoke up. “Oghren, must you always leave such a lasting impression?”
Gwen turned toward the voice, her brow lifting as she took in the tall, lean man leaning casually against the mantle. His robes were distinctive and familiar - a ramshackle of Circle robes and something he more than likely cobbled himself. He was clearly a mage, but there was a glint in those golden honey eyes that made Gwen weary. The way his smile bordered on impish but never truly reached his eyes.
“And you are?” Gwen asked, her tone polite but tinged with curiosity and caution. Barghest, hearing her tone, perked his ears.
The mage pushed off the hearth, striding forward with a confident step to suddenly drop into a theatrical bow. “Anders, at your service. Healer extraordinaire, mage of many talents, and, occasionally, a bit of a troublemaker.” His grin widened. “Though I suspect trouble might follow you just as easily, Lady Gwen.”
Gwen couldn’t help but note the small tells; Zevran’s tips and training clicking like instinct. The over-eggageration, the disarming smile, the tone of his voice and choice of words…this was a man with something to hide, or trying to hide. “A healer, you say? I imagine that’s a skill the Wardens are sorely needing right now.” Barghest padded back over to Gwen, now curious of this newcomer.
“More than you’d think,” Anders replied, his tone remaining light-hearted, almost dismissive. “Especially with the sort of darkspawn we’ve been dealing with lately. But let’s not darken the mood just yet.” And there it was, the focus of her caution and over-all unsettling feeling she noted from him. A man who hid behind sarcasm and humor instead of facing serious situations. While she couldn’t deny it was a method most used in such situations, it didn’t mean it was one she enjoyed. To be so…lax to the seriousness of situations. She fought back the wretched feeling to remain composed. “Tell me, my lady, while its obvious with a King’s backing that you come to be here, but why to his dredge of a Keep? Why not establish a more fitting estate to one in such a high position? It would certainly be more cozy than the dank and dark.” Barghest rumbled at Ander’s tone, pulling his attention where the mask fell and a look of dislike and weariness covered Anders. Gwen, seeing the tension, reached out to pet and scratch Barghest’s ear, significantly calming the hound.
“Given I’ve only been in Fereldan for the past year, I’ve rarely known cozy,” Gwen replied with a small smile. “And Cailan has… entrusted Amaranthine to me. I can’t be just some distant overseer. If I am to be a Teyrna, as ordained by a King and in the wake of a tyrant’s fall, I need to know it well--and that includes the ‘dank and dark’ in order to do what is right.”
Anders inclined his head, though weary of Barghest still giving him hard looks, his grin seemed to falter before the mask was affixed back in place. “Then I think we’ll get along just fine.” Barghest barked, rushing at Anders to lick his hands much like Mhairi’s but Anders’ reaction of disgust only made the exchange more comical. Anders struggled to keep his hands away from the persistent hound but it only brought more laughter within the room.
Before another word could be exchanged, Julien Delaunay strode through with Varel close behind. Gwen’s eye locked on the chalice held in Varel’s hands, the knot in her stomach twisting again. It was time.
Julien noted the colour draining from her face as she stared at the chalice in Varel’s hands. “Lady Guinevere," leaning in close, his voice just a whisper. “You need not witness, if you do not wish.”
While the offer was welcomed, Gwen took a moment to shake her head. “No, it would be best to witness.” Julien nodded, offering his hand to escort Gwen to her seat on the dais.
“I thought her name was Gwen?” Anders’ voice could just be heard before Ogrhen made an annoyed grunt, elbowing the mage’s stomach to silence him. Gwen paid little mind as she stood before the seat. She couldn’t call it a throne, despite that’s what it was. Looking at it now, it was a final piece falling into place.
It was finally hitting that she was now in a position of great influence, and responsibility. No longer a humble daughter of the Speaker for the House of Lords, not a warden or companion, but a Noble position second only to the royal family. She couldn’t lose herself, not now. After everything that has happened.
She took a breath, focus on the present and worry about her nerves later. Barghest bumped his head against her hand, walking up before turning to sit beside the revered seat. The Mabari’s confidence was infectious. She could only offer a thankful smiled before taking her seat; a witness over the proceedings before her. Julien, ever the seasoned chiveliar, bowed to her before returning to stand with the others.
“The time has come for us to begin the Joining,” Julien’s voice carried over the room, Varel remaining at his side while holding the chalice. “I shall speak the words that have been said since the first…”
Finally, the day was done.
Oghren and Anders were resting within the guest rooms within the Keep, Julien returning to his own guest chambers for the night. Gwen, escorted by Varel to her new personal chambers, ran over the scene not an hour before. Mhairi, eager and willing, could not complete the joining. Like Daveth before her, she too succumbed to the taint, choking on her last breath before falling still on the chamber floor.
“Poor Mhairi,” Gwen mused, seated on a plush seat as reality set in.
“She was a good knight,” Varel nodded, his own expression sullen from what he witnessed. “But I am glad Julien permitted me to witness. At least she was not alone.”
“I had wondered that, Duncan had made the Joining out to be a more…secretive practice,” Gwen noted, distracted from Barghest planting his larger paws on her lap for night pets before bed.
“It is, but I believe given the circumstances and the rush we had to achieve, as Warden-Commander he had the ability to make just a choice,” Varel nodded.
A knock on the entry chamber froze the exchange, a group of women entered the room. Varel smiled before bowing to Gwen. “My Lady, this is Mira, Hannah and Ilana, your handmaidens. They have been assigned to attend to you as you wish and will keep your chambers in order.” Each woman bowed, offering their greetings before Varel took charge again, dismissing them. “Given the late hour, my lady, I will excuse myself. But I must inform you that come tomorrow, we will have much to do.”
As Varel spoke, her handmaidens moved swiftly around the room. Moving in and out of rooms to ensure everything was in order and to assure the comfort of their new employer.
“We will need to hold a Fealty ceremony with the Nobility as well as to inform King Cailan of what has transpired. There was mention in his missive of the arrangements to fully integrate Amaranthine as a Teyern he requires you to oversee.”
“Of course,” Gwen numbed at the thought, everything coming to a head despite all of this occurring over a week prior. For now, she dismissed Varel and moved to her new bedchamber.
It was clear that despite the removal of Howe’s influence from Amaranthine, his mark was still lingering. The grandeur of the luxurious four-post bed took up a good portion of the room. Vanities and furniture cluttering the room, showing off an extravagance that made Gwen feel overwhelmed.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” Ilana asked, noting Gwen’s changed demeanor.
“I…” Gwen wasn’t sure how to address it, but in the moment she could feel herself recoiling back. “It’s nothing, thank you Ilana.” Gwen smiled, hiding her previous discomfort. Ilana, though unconvinced, nodded and finished preparing the room for Gwen. The last touch was all three assisting in undressing and redressing Gwen for bed. The tugging and shifting was akin to a child being changed by their parents. It took more than Gwen had thought to refrain from informing them to stop. Once complete, Ilana excused herself with Hannah and Mira, closing the door behind them.
Left alone, Gwen sighed. She was at least relieved for the open and comfortable nightgown she was provided, moving onto the bed. Barghest, ever vigilant, jumped into the massive bed to lie beside her.
“Thanks Barghest… hopefully tomorrow will be better.” She cooed, scratching his ears before finally relaxing, letting herself fall asleep.
It was strange. While she had been able to rest somewhat in Orzammar, it was clear being so close to Baldor and the strain of everything since the final battle, she couldn’t really sleep. But, last night, her mind wandered. Absently, her fingers toyed with the sheets surrounding her. The remnants of a dream lingering, almost like witnessing the ghosts of the past at Soldier’s Peak and yet it didn’t fill her with dread.
She could recall walking over open fields, to then find herself in a deep and dark forest not unlike the forest surrounding the Keep, to somewhere far below ground where large Lyrium crystals jutted out of the stone and walls and ceilings. She could recall hearing whispers, even conversing with what she could only call shadows or undiscernable shapes before she moved to the next.
But, as she moved through an open field of grain, she noticed something. Just out of sight, at the edge of this crumbling island… was something gleaming in the distance. It was too far out to discern but it seemed to be…beckoning. But it was soured by a loud thrum that shook the area. Looking around, Gwen froze as the sky darkened to a sickening green, a looming black castle just out in the distance. A low growl shifted again, her eyes meeting… something. She blinked, the world snapping back into its peaceful state, as if nothing had happened. Shaken but not frightened, she moved on.
Come the next morning, Gwen awoke just before the sun began to crest over the horizon. With a candle holder in hand, she moved to sit before the vanity. It had been startling how…clearly she could recall her dreams. And that she knew they were dreams. It was much like how Prue would come see her as she slept, but while Prue was her guide and anchor, now she could move just as freely.
Each of the conversations she had, the many faceless and shifting forms she had come across, and those willing to converse with her, it had brought some clarity. Or it had been something to focus on in order to push through.
The words from the council meeting before her departure from Denerim. The praise that had sat heavily during the gathering of Arls and Banns and she couldn’t receive graciously, quickly became fuel. Since awaking, she could feel a stirring, a warmth, perhaps a call. Her mind brought a singular thought - rebuild Amaranthine into a Teyrn worthy of Fereldan, reward the confidence of the Arls and Bann, and give back the kindness Cailan had given her.
She tied back her long brown hair in a simple bun. Now was time to put aside any further doubt or anxieties until she could at least wrestle some order and focus on her given task of rebuilding.
Looking around the room, Gwen found a small desk where - to her luck - she found some parchment, inkwell and a quill. Barghest snoozed peacefully as she returned to the vanity and began to make notes. Taking stock of the entire bedchamber, it was almost disgusting to see such opulence when there were so many who couldn’t even afford food or rest. With each squall of her quill, she took stock of each item in the room, even moving about the other rooms in her personal chambers to catalogue anything she could see as important or valuable.
Barghest yawned and stretched, his lazy eyes following Gwen as she moved about the room. Returning to the vanity, she made hastily scribbled notes of the items she'd need. Considered changes to the current state of the Keep, services she might need to request in preparation of rebuilding, and what could be addressed immediately versus what would have to wait.
A soft whimper pulled her from her thoughts. Barghest had leapt off the bed, pressing his head into her lap. His quiet whines seeped into her focus, drawing a small, fond smile as she gently stroked his head.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction. “I just need to keep busy--at least until we can get something working here. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
Barghest barked in response, his tongue lolling out in a wide, goofy grin, tail wagging furiously.
Before she could return to her writing, the chamber doors creaked open. Mia, Hannah, and Ilana entered, each pausing in surprise at the sight of Gwen already awake and dressed.
“Our apologies, my Lady,” Hannah said, bowing swiftly as the others followed suit. “We should have asked if you wished to be awoken earlier than dawn.”
Gwen glanced toward the window--the sun now kissed the horizon.
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I needed to jot down a few thoughts while they were fresh,” she replied with a soft smile, watching as the women moved about the room. Ilana gently nudged Barghest aside to begin tending to Gwen’s hair, while Mia and Hannah opened the shutters and began straightening the bed.
“Wait a sec,” Gwen interjected, prompting puzzled looks from Mia and Hannah. She caught herself and cleared her throat. “I mean, wait a moment--I had a question about the bed.”
“Oh, is it too soft, my Lady?” Mia asked tentatively.
“Too hard? Or too large?” Hannah added.
Gwen shook her head. “I’m assuming this belonged to… Rendon Howe?” The name felt like ash on her tongue. The handmaids exchanged somber glances before nodding.
“Then… how would I go about selling it?”
The question hung in the air.
“My Lady?” Ilana blinked, utterly perplexed.
Gwen exhaled slowly. “It’s not that I didn’t sleep well, but… this bed is excessive. It should be a place to rest, not some gilded trophy to flaunt wealth.” She gestured to the lavish drapes and ornate carvings. “King Cailan has graciously granted me nobility, but my tastes aren’t so… grand. Don’t you think this room is a bit too opulent for my position?”
Mia and Hannah exchanged nervous glances, unsure how to respond. Before Gwen could encourage honesty, Ilana spoke up.
“Forgive me, my Lady, but Lord Howe always flaunted his wealth, despite merely being of an Arling,” Ilana said carefully. “This bed alone--its size, the gilding, the silks--could feed several families for weeks. And that’s without accounting for the rest of his ostentatious displays.”
Gwen nodded thoughtfully. “Then… who might I speak to about selling it?”
Ilana faltered, caught off guard.
“King Cailan has tasked me with helping Amaranthine rebuild. With the Darkspawn threat looming and the Arling’s financial state uncertain, any means of generating funds would help. Why not start here?”
The handmaids exchanged another glance before Mia hesitantly spoke.
“I… have a cousin who works for a merchant in Denerim. He might know someone interested in such items.”
Gwen's face lit up. “Excellent! Could you send word to him? If you need coin for the delivery, I can cover it.”
Mia blinked in surprise but then smiled. “Y-yes, of course, my Lady.”
Relieved to have a starting point, Gwen allowed herself a small smile. As her handmaids continued their tasks--Ilana fixing her hair, Mia and Hannah tending to the room--they discussed further ways to support Amaranthine's recovery.
A firm knock at the door interrupted them. Barghest eagerly bounded over as Varel entered.
“Good morning, Barghest,” Varel greeted, giving the excited hound a fond pat. “Is your mistress awake?”
“I am,” Gwen called, stepping forward. Barghest barked in greeting. Gwen’s new attire was fitting for Fereldan nobility--a blend of burgundy, forest green, and earthy browns, accented with gold and leather. It was far less ostentatious than her previous garments, yet undeniably more comfortable.
“Good morning, Varel.”
Varel nodded approvingly. “My Lady, you look ready for the day ahead. Shall we begin?”
Gwen offered a steady nod, her mind already turning toward the work to come.