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[mysteriouspast]

Rael walked down the large corridors with an awestruck look on her face, barely registering Tarl's words. She'd never been asked to stay in a place so large before and its sheer size and grandeur left her feeling small and prone. She kept walking until she neared the kitchen, drawn to the delightful smells emanating from it. She'd never even gotten to eat the food she'd spent time and care making earlier that night, she realized with chagrin.

 

The elven servant, Pel, darted out of the pantry and flew past her and she felt her ears burn. Despite Tarl's obviously kind nature and what she assumed was good treatment of his staff, allowing servants to wait on her--particularly elven ones--did not sit right with her. An open doorway to her left showed a modestly furnished bedroom that she felt would suit her more than one of the more spacious ones. She dropped her pack down on the bed inside and crept into the kitchen, eager to try the foods she smelled earlier.

 

(Rael takes room 9)

[TreeHuggerHannah]

Tempest was on edge for the duration of the journey. Although the situation appeared to be under control for the moment, she was all too aware that one wrong comment or glance, and with everyone so on edge, things could suddenly begin going quite badly indeed.

 

That didn't happen, though, and she relaxed slightly when they arrived at the manor.

 

The sight of the garden pleased her. Gardening was a passion of hers that she'd had little opportunity to indulge. Back in Kirkwall, she'd always cultivated flowers in a box on her windowsill, not for any real purpose other to have something pretty, and something to tend. Since her current Circle lacked permanent quarters at present, she hadn't been able to get back to growing things, and she admired how well the warden's people had tended the manor garden.

 

She was also startled to see a book just... lying on a bench. Tempest had a modest collection of religious books and a handful of botany texts back home, and each one was precious. Allowing one to be lost, or ruined by rain, was unthinkable. But then, Tarl probably had more ability to replace his books than Tempest had, living on a small income as she did. She craned her neck slightly to try to see the title as Tarl scooped it up - the idle curiosity of one book enthusiast to another - but wasn't able to make it out.

 

When he spoke of making themselves at home, she couldn't help a grin. She had no intention to invade his privacy - she would never have been so rude as to venture into a private office, let alone bother a locked chest - but the possibility of finding more books appealed greatly to her.

 

There was work to do before going on a book hunt, though. She smiled warmly and nodded when Eshara asked her to stay and help. It felt good to be someplace at least relatively safe, and Tempest sang softly to herself as she rummaged through her kit for bandages and salve. Then she set to work healing Eshara and applying fresh bandages to her wounds.

 

(3d6+2=17 (TN 10)

3d6+2=13 (TN 11))

[berelinde]

"There's something you should know," Eshara said as Tempest sorted her supplies. "There's poison in the wounds, some kind of corruption. It isn't the kind that comes with a Blight. It's more... arcane... or more demonic. Magic will heal injuries, I think, but only if administered promptly. Otherwise, the only remedy is time. Thanks to your care, and the others', I'm much better than I was, but I will not be able to accompany you tomorrow, or for many days to come. My spirit is willing, but I would only slow you down. The wounds will close eventually, but there is little either of us can do to speed the process. Please keep that in mind as you face the creatures that did this to me, and make sure your brave ones do not sleep on injuries that will take more than one night to heal."

[TreeHuggerHannah]

Well, that explains it, Tempest thought.

 

She had noticed that Eshara's wounds seemed particularly resistant to magical healing. It wasn't uncommon that a more serious wound might take more than a single spell, but the sheer amount of magic that had been expended by multiple mages on treating Eshara had not had as much effect as Tempest would have expected. It made sense that there was some sort of corruption getting in the way.

 

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "Of course you should rest here. You need to mend... and to spend time with the warden, while you are able."

 

She smiled a bit at the last part. As always, Tempest was a romantic, rooting for true love - whether or not she was willing to admit that aspect of her nature.

 

"You should try to get some sleep if you can. What you've just told me makes it all the more important that you look after yourself. You'll be safe now. Before we set out, I'll tell the others about the risk this contamination poses."

 

Tempest, of course, intended to watch over Eshara till Tarl returned. Then she would give the lovers some time alone together.

[berelinde]

"Your servants are taught and allowed to read- recreationally?" This astounded Sarel, as most places he went servants, men and elves, learned no skill such as reading unless it served an immediate need. "That's. . . interesting."

When their host mentioned the locks, one true entrance/ exit, and a cramped, trap door escape hatch, Sarel became concerned. "Do any of the townspeople know where the tunnel comes out at? It would be truly unfortuitous to trade the safety of this building for being slaughtered like cattle if we're forced to leave and an opposing force is lying in wait."

-------------------

Sarel's eyes brightened and ears perked as their host mentioned a library, and as soon as he was free he looked around it eagerly. It certainly more spacious than he expected for a town this size. He quickly surveyed the rooms nearby, caring little for individual accommodations and more for proximity to the books. He tended to read until exhausted, and would rather not have to stagger to far to embrace sleep. He decided to take one of the bunk beds (room 1.) He hurriedly pulled out an inkwell, a quill, and some parchment, and, after making sure he wasn't needed to help with Eshara, darted back to the library with a big smile.

"None of the villagers know where the tunnel comes out," Tarl said. "Clan Eladiel may know - you'd have to ask Eshara - but wandering the woodlands is not a safe pastime for humans. Eladiel is not the only clan to call the forest home, and most of the others shoot humans on sight. In any case, it's locked in the same way that the asylum is, within and without. Should I fall, you'll be able to reach the forest far ahead of pursuit."

 

------------------------------------------------

 

Beldin only half listened to Tarl's explanations. He wanted only a wash, food, and rest, in that order. He felt the cold less than most, so he chose a room without a fire. He would have picked the one next to the kitchen, but Rael was already getting settled, so he chose another (room 6). He thanked Pel for the water and had a good cold-water scrub before dressing for dinner, which amounted to donning fresh clothing and giving his dirty gear to Sal for laundering. It felt strange, letting another man wash his clothes, but the prospect of being a gentleman of leisure, if only for a night, held its appeal, and the old man seemed grateful for the silver Beldin gave him for his trouble. He considered putting the armor on atop his customary tunic and breeches, but he decided to forgo it for the night. He did not want to insult his host by wearing armor inside a safe house. That said, he buckled on his sword belt as he always did. He favored his axe, but the blade caught on everything, and the warden would not appreciate having his upholstery torn because Beldin was too paranoid to leave his weapons in his room. The bastard sword was a much friendlier weapon as far as seat cushions and draperies were concerned.

 

The warden had suggested that they should take their meals in the library, but the servants brought the meal to his room instead. Once he'd eaten, he made his way to the library. He loved even the idea of books, so having a great store of them at his disposal made him cautiously giddy. He approached the library discreetly. He loved to read, but his disguise was already wavering. A show of literacy now would probably ruin it completely, but he had to take the chance. To his dismay, he found that Sarel was already there.

 

He tried to act nonchalant, picking up a history book and leafing through the pages as if he were handling a sacred thing (or looking for illustrations). Whether Sarel believed it or not was another matter.

[ChachiBobinks]

Sarel's eyes brightened and ears perked as their host mentioned a library, and as soon as he was free he looked around it eagerly. It certainly more spacious than he expected for a town this size. He quickly surveyed the rooms nearby, caring little for individual accommodations and more for proximity to the books. He tended to read until exhausted, and would rather not have to stagger to far to embrace sleep. He decided to take one of the bunk beds (room 1.) He hurriedly pulled out an inkwell, a quill, and some parchment, and, after making sure he wasn't needed to help with Eshara, darted back to the library with a big smile.

 

Etienne's mouth dropped at the word 'library.' He lived in a tower of books and only really felt comfortable when surrounded by them. His gaze darted over to Rael and he smiled, as if non-verbally telling him that maybe they'd be fine after all. Because he'd have books. 

 

As they claimed rooms, he trailed behind Sarel like a duckling. Insomuch as he was unsure about Sarel's actual state in the world, the idea of being around someone he knew was.. comforting. It would also give them plenty of time to talk, something he surprised himself by wanting. Claiming the top bed for himself, Etienne tossed his bag onto his mattress and quickly changed into his Circle robes. His traveling outfit was hung on the side of the bed with great care and he slipped out of the room, en route to the Library. 

[Lorien19]

Laurelin gasped,as soon as the group came across the imposing structure that was the warden's manor.She's heard that powerful,wealthy humans humans would live in enormous houses,she believed they called them castles.

Perhaps the warden lived in one of these himself,it could explain the size of the building in the first place.She remembered being as easily impressed by the Inn,but this was different,it belonged to one man...Of course it was a castle!

The interior wasn't less impressive than the majestic exterior,the corridor seemed endless to Laurelin who opened the first door she found,just to discover just another enormous room.(room 6)

The bed,looked far more comfortable here even than the one in the Hadn't it been for the fear of an angry a mob busting her door open,she would have slept rather soundly there in the first place.

Well,everything was more comfortable than the mattress she would sleep on, during the nights in her cramped aravel.Sometimes she'd even prefer to sleep on a tree as long as the weather permitted it.

She was rather taken a back when she saw the servants,both human and elvhen. She didn't understood the concept of servitude as well as it's purpose.But living in such a big house justified the existence of more people taking care of it than the owner.

Laurelin wandered a bit further,she knew that Eshara was in good hands,Tempest's in particular so she decided not to bother her.She then opened the first door she found,again,and  came across the library...Which translated to an a rather enormous room with selves and a large number of books placed meticulously one next to another.
It wasn't the sight of books that shocked her,rather the number.She also stumbled upon two familiar faces these of Beldin and Sarel.The red-haired elvhen mage,looked rather in his element unlike Beldin who acted like he's never seen a book before."Maybe he hasn't"she thought after all not all humans were fortunate enough to live in castles like the warden...But was it indeed a castle?
Standing awkwardly in the corner she cleared her throat,she felt like she was intruding their space.

"So,is that truly a castle."She asked to whomever could answer her,trying to announce her presence in a less  obnoxious manner.
 

[BFace]

Tessa tried to keep her jaw a respectful distance from the floor as she took in their new surroundings.  It was one thing to be thought simple and backwater, it was another thing to show it without a doubt.

 

This was easily the nicest building Tess had ever stepped into.  She used to think the Chantry in Lothering was the grandest place in Thedas (well, except maybe the mage Tower or pretty much anything in Orlais, not that she’d seen either. Maybe she’d ask Etienne.), but this… She couldn’t get over the fact that this was a house, a place people lived.

 

She saw people picking rooms, so Tessa found Bella and had a bath.  It was much faster and utilitarian than she’d have liked but she wanted to see if she could get a look at the library before weariness mandated her bedtime.

 

Tessa stopped in the doorway of the library. It seemed to be a popular place.  She very nearly walked on, but she took in that it was all their little motley group-not strangers.

 

‘Strangers. Last week, you knew none of these people, Tessa,’ she thought to herself before walking into the library. ‘Yes, they seem nice. Yes, you have the same goal right now. Just remember that you don’t know them anymore than they know you.’

 

She sighed and picked a shelf at random, looking absently for any of Brother Genetivi’s books.

 

(Tess doesn't really care where she sleeps, so she will wait till everyone else has picked, then she'll go where there's room. )

[Brian ofthe Dialogue Wheel]

Sarel hastily pulled down two armfuls of books that seemed like they might hold local lore and legends about the area, then, smacking the dust off his hands, he turned and saw the imposing man they called Beldin behind him, hastily picking up a book. He also noticed the weapon strapped to him. "Ser, I am not a criminal to be watched, and let me assure you, despite your size, you are no Templar. Announce yourself when you come behind me armed- and do be delicate with that. . ." Sarel paused. The man had the book held right side up, turned the right way, flipping the pages in the correct direction. It's possible the man picked it up that way, but still. .. . "book. Interesting thing, books. They're hard to grasp at first, but once you've learned the trick, they're easy to read." He flashed a harsh, toothy grin.

[mysteriouspast]

When Rael examined the kitchen, she found the cook hard at work on the soup, that was still coming to a boil. Her empty stomach was practically howling, so she grabbed some bread, cheese, and a few small apples from the table as the servants laid them out. She saw nowhere comfortable to sit and eat, so she took her simple meal out into the hallway.

 

As she turned to go back to the room she'd claimed, she heard voices--familiar voices--echoing down the hallway. Curious, she walked in the other direction until she came upon the library. It seemed half of the group valued reading over eating, as they congregated there amid piles of books they'd pulled from the shelves.

 

Most of them had changed out of their armor, and she felt a little silly for still having hers on. "Hello, everyone," she said quietly, in case they were immersed in the books and startled easily. When Etienne looked up at her, she found her eyelashes batting of their own accord.

 

A tall side table at the back made for a decent eating place and she pulled up a stool to fill her empty stomach.

[Mahumia]

Bartha had sit down on the bed and looked through the room. It was huge... everything was: even the bed. She laid down on the bed. 'By the ancestors... the whole group could fit in this bed! I want to keep it... much better than a bedroll. Fitting it in my backpack might be an issue though...' She yawned. 'Yes... sleep is good, but not now. What to do first... taking a bath, or arranging a meal?' Her stomach started to growl. 'Alright, the latter it is.'

 

She took a few steps towards the door, when her eyes caught the pile of armor she had laid down in a corner of the room. 'Hmm... I doubt there will be enough time to get it properly mend before we are on the road again... I guess I can ask around for some good leatherworkers though...'

 

She left the room and made her way towards the kitchen.

[berelinde]

 

"So,is that truly a castle."She asked to whomever could answer her,trying to announce her presence in a less  obnoxious manner.
 

"More or less," Beldin said, his cheeks going red at the necessity of drawing attention to himself. But he did know a little about fortifications, and Laurelin seemed curious. "Human lords are expected to offer shelter in times of hardship, so their houses have to be big enough to fit everyone. This one is bigger than some, but it's smaller than many. Like Vintiver, I guess. The Arl of Amaranthine's country estate is about this size, but the entire thing would fit inside the great hall of his keep."

 

Sarel hastily pulled down two armfuls of books that seemed like they might hold local lore and legends about the area, then, smacking the dust off his hands, he turned and saw the imposing man they called Beldin behind him, hastily picking up a book. He also noticed the weapon strapped to him. "Ser, I am not a criminal to be watched, and let me assure you, despite your size, you are no Templar. Announce yourself when you come behind me armed- and do be delicate with that. . ." Sarel paused. The man had the book held right side up, turned the right way, flipping the pages in the correct direction. It's possible the man picked it up that way, but still. .. . "book. Interesting thing, books. They're hard to grasp at first, but once you've learned the trick, they're easy to read." He flashed a harsh, toothy grin.

{Sarel finds a few references to Dalish tribes wandering the area and oblique mention of fortifications in the direction Eshara indicated, but nothing uniquely elven, and nothing suitably ancient. A lot if it is simply oral tradition.}

 

Beldin resisted the urge to juggle the book as if it were a live fish. Sarel might not appreciate the humor, and there was no point in antagonizing the man. His face was still pink from his self-conscious reply to Laurelin, but it went scarlet as he struggled to frame an appropriately humble reply. Sarel seemed to consider this his domain, which was probably true. Except for the books on tactics, the elf probably had a greater mastery of the library's contents than he did.

 

"Some more so than others," he decided. It was even true, if that mattered. Kordillus Drakon's Accords had been torture to get through, but Brother Genitivi's Travels of a Chantry Scholar were a delight. "I was reluctant to disturb your study. And I thought it best to keep a blade on hand. We're as safe here as we would be anywhere, but it never hurts to be prepared."

 

Sarel's tone had been condescending, but that might just be nerves. Apart from the handshake in Vintiver, this was the first words they had exchanged, and Beldin had not gone out of his way to become acquainted.

 

As luck had it, the book he selected was a book of sermons by some obscure Divine, and likely of no more interest to Sarel than it was to him. He set it carefully where he found it and chose another. It was a botany text, but it held detailed maps of the area, with the habitat of each species marked in red. He offered it to Sarel.

 

"You've a flair for herbalism, I understand," he said, and pulled out a short volume of limericks for himself. Sarel might not have been deliberately trying to insult him, but it left a sour taste all the same. He needed something to jolly him into a better humor.

[obsessedwjpn]

Mercuriel wasn't as humbled by the establishment they were all staying at as the others. He thought it was massive, for sure, and well decorated but beyond that he simply saw another human construction that was somewhat of an eye sore. He never understood why humans felt the need to showcase their wealth and power through the size and appearance of their houses. The sight of the mansion made Mercuriel think back on his rustic but simple, charming Dalish settlement. He had felt freedom there. Here he felt as if he was choking. He was glad the group was only staying a short while. Otherwise, he might very well set up camp outside.

 

Each member of the group seem to wander off in their own directions. Mercuriel noticed that Beldin as well as Laurelin had moved into what looked to be a library. One look at Beldin and Mercuriel couldn't help but smile. The man amused him and he was certainly fun to be around. Beldin could play off Mercuriel's own wit and the elf really enjoyed it. He made a note to take up Beldin on the sparring offer simply because the conversation they might have during it would surely be entertaining. 

 

Mercuriel walked past Beldin and clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. He nodded with a smile at Beldin then moved over to where Laurelin was. "Wish me luck," he almost whispered to Beldin.

 

Laurelin seemed to have situated herself in the corner of the room as far away from everyone else as possible. What was she hiding from exactly? Did she feel as he did about this human house? For a moment his expression became concerned as he closed the distance between. He leaned against a bookcase only a foot or so from Laurelin and watched her curiously. "What are you doing over here, all alone?" He cleared his throat. "Or were you waiting for me?" He flashed his teeth in a massive grin. He couldn't help himself when he was around her. Usually, Mercuriel couldn't help himself around most women but Laurelin brought out this side of him more often. 

 

While he waited for her to answer he grabbed a random book off the shelf next to him and flipped it open with a finger. What exactly did the master of this house considered worthy of his library? He raised an eyebrow at the text within.

[Lorien19]

 "Human lords are expected to offer shelter in times of hardship, so their houses have to be big enough to fit everyone. This one is bigger than some, but it's smaller than many. Like Vintiver, I guess. The Arl of Amaranthine's country estate is about this size, but the entire thing would fit inside the great hall of his keep."

 

Laurelin couldn't hide her astonishment,at the thought,however as impressive as it sounds she doubted she could live in a place like this for too long.She was born and raised in the forest,so anything else would feel restrictive. 
"I see."She replied to Beldin "In times of hardship,my people disappear deeper in the woods.This is why our houses have wheels."She remarked smiling.
 

It was then when she caught a glimpse of  black lustrous hair and smiling hazel eyes,Mercuriel didn't even have to announce himself.He gave Beldin a friendly tap on the shoulder and made his way towards her. "What are you doing over here, all alone?" "Or were you waiting for me?"He asked grinning,she crossed her arms and smiled back,"I don't even have to wait for you"She chuckled "The way we constantly bump into each other."
Her expression became slightly more serious, as she decided to answer his original question"I was exploring the castle,and then I found my way here."She recounted "Then I decided to stay and have a look,In case I found something interesting."She noticed his attention focused on the book he was holding,he appeared to be intrigued by it's context "This looks interesting.What is it about?"She asked playfully.

[obsessedwjpn]

Mercuriel looked up from the book and returned Laurelin's smile with his own. She was absolutely gorgeous. That smile lit up her face beautifully. Had he caused that smile? He hoped so. He felt a slight twinge of pain in his heart and images of a past life popped up in his mind. His first love, Shaunee, was laughing at some stupid thing he had said and then she jumped into his arms. He'd caught her effortlessly and they shared a kiss before Shaunee wriggled out of his grasp and ran behind a tree. "Catch me, if you can!" She'd shouted playfully.

 

The visions of the past ended as quickly as they had begun. Mercuriel's eyes moistened a bit at the memory but he did not allow himself any tears. He would not remember this now. He couldn't. He clamped down on the emotions swirling in his chest. 

 

He distracted himself by returning to the book he held. It's pages contained a rather comical love story between a Qunari and a dwarf. Who felt that THIS was necessary reading? He wondered. 

 

"We do seem to find one another quite easily," he looked at Laurelin again, "and I suggest you avoid reading this book unless you want to go blind." He chuckled, closing the book, and shook his head. He'd only scanned a few pages but he'd already learned more about Qunari and dwarven bedroom positions than he EVER wanted to know.

 

He placed the book back on the shelf and sidled up closer to Laurelin. He ran his fingers down her cheek. "Instead of having our noses in books, perhaps we could move to another room and participate in something more stimulating?" He ran his tongue over his bottom lip flirtatiously. "Or, if that is not your speed, food is always good for me." Despite leaning back a bit to give Laurelin some space, his voice was still quite deep with suggestion.

[Lorien19]

“No,I think I prefer my vision to remain intact. “She  said laughing. Laurelin did notice the wistful expression on his face just a moment ago. But before she  could  even part her lips to ask him, what was wrong, he was already close to her running his fingers through her cheek.

Creators! What’s with this man and all the touching, Laurelin’s smile faded but she remained solid in her place, internally  congratulating  herself for reacting less obnoxiously , this time.

"Instead of having our noses in books, perhaps we could move to another room and participate in something more stimulating?” he said rather suggestively and ran his tongue over his lip in a rather flirty manner and then backed away rather abruptly ,his tone however not any less suggestive than it originally was. "Or, if that is not your speed, food is always good for me." Laurelin raised an eyebrow and  smiled teasingly.”Tsk  tsk,and I thought that you enjoyed reading.” Now it was her that took a step closer, folding her arms.

 

“But to be perfectly honest,I ‘d also prefer to do something more physically stimulating right now…like dancing.” She couldn’t help but smile at her own efforts to ease the tension between them, a rather difficult task . “But I doubt this is the right time for dancing and songs.”

The thought of her clanmates celebrating  in Andruil’s honor every second night drinking and dancing around the campfire, like they often do  this time the year  in honor of the goddess, was enough to make her homesick. ” So food it  is then.”She replied an nodded towards the door .

[berelinde]

Beldin sighed and put the book back on the shelf. It was no use. He was not going to be able to relax enough to read it, so he might be better off taking his restless energy elsewhere.

 

"Forgive me," he said to Sarel. "If we're to have an early start tomorrow, I should make sure my gear is in order. Good night."

 

With that, he left.

[berelinde]

Summary: Bartha and Beldin decide that nothing bad could possibly happen when they mix alcohol, weapons (well, spoons), and emotion in a tension-filled environment.

 

Spoilers for extreme length and Trigger Warning: (Historical) Rape

Spoiler

Bartha stepped into the kitchen and had a good look around. She smirked at the size and at its well stocked appearance. ‘We could have some good parties over here…’ She picked up a bottle of wine and inspected the label. The bottle had been opened up before, so she uncorked it and poured some into a goblet. She took a sip from the wine. ‘Oh, Tarl certainly has a good taste. I should try to find out where he gets his supplies from.’ She put the bottle back on the shelf. Then her eye caught the hatch of the trapdoor. ‘Hmm, let’s have a look what more he has in store…’ She opened the hatch and went down the ladder, to the basement below.

 

‘Andraste’s ass… I think I’ll stay camping down here.’ The basement was not large, but full with all kinds of food and drinks. A large cabinet caught her eye and again she went to check out the contents: ‘White wine… Brandy… oh, that’s a good one!.. huh, what’s that?’ She picked up a bottle that was totally wrapped up. ‘Champagne? What’s that supposed to be?’ She emptied the goblet and put knelt to put it down for a moment. Her legs got a bit unsteady when she got up again. ‘Maker’s breath, seriously? Already? I’m getting out of shape.’ She shook her head and directed her attention back to the mysterious bottle. ‘Well, let’s try some of this than.’ She uncorked the bottle and poured a bit in her goblet. ‘Oh, it’s bubbly!’ She sniffed it before taking a sip. ‘Oh, but that is good stuff!’

 

Beldin tried to relax, but he was still too anxious to do more than pace the corridors. The day had begun peacefully enough, but it certainly had not ended that way... and his knee was hurting again. The previous night's respite had given him hope that it was cured for good, but he was not too surprised to find that was not the case. The injury was eight years old and had never healed properly in the first place. If magic could not reverse scarring, it could not undo years of abuse, either. He did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed to learn that magic had limits.

 

He walked back to his room and then back to the library and then back to his room again, but the activity did not soothe his restlessness, so he closed the door behind him and explored the manor. He had been to the library, but he had not yet examined the paintings and weapons that lined the corridor. He decided that Tarl had good taste both in art and in iron.

 

Light spilled from the open kitchen doorway, which struck him as odd. The servants would have lit a fire in the oven for the next morning's baking, but they would not have left the oven door open, nor would they be wasteful enough with the warden's oil stores to leave lamps burning in a room that no one would use for hours. Their day started early, long before daybreak, and they would have gone to their beds long before. The pantry door was open, too, as was another trap door that Tarl had not mentioned.

 

He knelt on the floor and stuck his head through the opening. Bartha was within, a goblet in her hand.

 

"Hail, Bartha!" he greeted her as he began to descend the ladder. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

 

Bartha looked up and sent Beldin a warm smile. "Not at all. I didn't expect to keep this all for myself anyway." She held up the bottle and offered it to Beldin. "Do you want to try some..." She checked the label: "Cham-peg-ny? Must be something for champions? Anyway, it tastes good."

 

Beldin climbed the rest of the way down the ladder and immediately bumped his head on the low ceiling. Vintiver's first wardens were on the shorter side, it seemed.

 

"Can't say I've ever heard of it," he said, accepting the bottle and examining the label himself. "The word looks Orlesian."

 

He gave the bottle a cautious sniff, and blinked when the fizz tickled his nose.

 

"Is it magic, do you think?" he asked her, but he was already reaching for one of the pewter tasting cups on the sideboard. He poured some in and watched the bubbles shimmer on the surface of the liquid. Cautiously, he raised the cup to his mouth.

 

"It is good!" he agreed. "A bit sweeter than the North Slope Green, but not in a bad way."

 

"Magic in a bottle? Do you think they can do that?" She looked at the contents of her goblet. "Well, if it is, we should get those mages to make us some more. This would sell well, I recon."

 

She took another sip of her drink. "North slope... that's good, bit expensive though. You like wine?"

 

Beldin laughed.

 

"Can't say that I've had much of it to tell," he said. "I was stationed at one of the remote outposts, and they sent us beer and ale. The taverns of Amaranthine had wine, but we only went there when we had a three day pass, which wasn't often."

 

Lady Sophie had wine, he added silently, and she bade you drink your fill. Regrets, old man?

 

"How about you?" he asked. There were no chairs, so he sat cross-legged on the floor.

 

She felt her cheeks get warm. As far as she could recall, it was the first time she had heard Beldin laugh. And somehow it made him look and sound incredibly sexy to her...

 

Without much thought, she followed his example and sat down on the ground. With her eyes on the ceiling, she pondered a bit before answering. "Hmm, usually I would rather take an ale or beer, but when I get the time for it, I like to have a good wine to enjoy." She folded her hands behind her head. "I guess I've got to blame the parents for that. There is good coin to catch in trading wines, as you probably know. Beer and ale you can get everywhere, but wine is more exclusive, and therefore attracts the wealthier public. But to ensure that your customers will keep turning to you, you'll have to ensure quality... I have tasted so many samples that I stopped counting." She glanced at the rows of bottles next to her. "My middle brother is specializing in trading alcoholic beverages. He was hoping I could get him some suppliers from Vintiver."

 

Then she turned her gaze on Beldin. "And how about you? What is your favorite?"

 

She sounded like a merchant, all right, and the novelty of hearing such things in their current crisis quieted his self-reproach, at least for a while.

 

"I've only had four kinds," he said, draining his cup and refilling it before topping off Bartha's. The thought of having tasted hundreds of wines boggled his mind. "This may be my favorite."

 

He too leaned back against a cask, but he kept sipping his wine. The tingling of the bubbles in his mouth fascinated him.

 

"Your family must take their wine buying very seriously to send such a skilled duelist for samples," he said. "We all got a little hot when the wolves showed up, but you've got style."

 

Perhaps he should ease up on the wine, he thought. He was only on his second cup, and already he was feeling mellow and contented.

 

She let out a chuckle. "Be glad! I bet you are still able to keep them apart, right? Ah, thank you for the refill." She held the goblet up a bit, as if it would help with studying the contents. "But I agree with you that this must be one of the best."

 

Bartha bit on her upper lip, with a grin on her face. "Oh, they do. Far less risk involved than with lyrium, better margins than with weaponry and armor... but they didn't quite send me, you know... I've had enough of all the shoehorning and just left to see something of the world. He basically yelled after me to search for some contacts for him..." She felt her cheeks getting scarlet again, than eyed Beldin through her eyelashes. He didn't seem to be mocking her... "Thank you... I think you are the first one to say that I've got 'style'... But I'd be done for if it wasn't for people like you. You've got experience and know where to find someones weaknesses and strength, if the sparring match earlier today can be used as an example." She chuckled. "I've got a tendency to just walk in headfirst and keep hitting till they stop hitting in return."

 

She brought the goblet to her lips for another sip.

 

"You rebel, you," he teased, chuckling at her description of running away with her brother shouting instructions after her, then Hmf!'ed into his cup with enough force to splash it when she started talking about the wolf fight.

 

"People like me," he said. "I, myself, spent the entire battle trying to keep them from biting my nuts off. I'd say they knew more about my weaknesses than the other way around. Sparring was fun, though. It's a shame that I didn't get to have a go against Mercuriel. He and Tessa had a good bout."

 

He tipped the bottle toward Bartha's cup, but nothing came out. Counting backward, he got as far as four. She had one, he had one, and then they both had a second. That was probably about as much as a bottle held. He got creakily to his feet and bonked his head on the pantry floor joists again. He pulled another bottle off the rack and peeled the wrapping back.

 

"What do you think the wire cage is for?" he asked, tilting the bottle toward her so she could see the bindings around the stopper. "Do they think it'll claw its way out of the bottle?"

 

She shrugged: “I think you fought well, even if you were unlucky enough that they kept going for the sensitive parts. In my case they kept trying to bite off my face: must be the height difference.” She rubbed her chin with one hand, in the meanwhile eying Beldin. “But you seemed to have more effect on Tessa than Mercuriel had, and I don’t mean with battle prowess only.”

 

Bartha looked a little worried when Beldin bonked his head against the ceiling: “Oh, be careful! It appears that this place is more suited for dwarves than for you humans.”

 

She wanted to take a sip from her goblet, but found out that it was empty. “Hmm, these bottles empty quickly don’t they? Perhaps that is why they cage the bottle… to prevent the contents from running off even sooner.” She smirked. “Maybe it’s magic after all.”

 

She rolled the goblet around between her hands. The alcohol was making her feel comfortable, and she glanced up at the tall man in front of her. “Would you like to go for a round of sparring with me?”

 

Beldin shifted from foot to foot as she spoke. He would have jammed his fingers in his ears and hummed loudly if he thought she wouldn't take it as rudeness. It led to all kinds of thoughts he did not want to have, especially when he was enjoying a rare moment of relaxation.

 

They aren't for you, you great oaf, he told himself. And nothing good ever happens when you let your libido do the thinking. Or do you need a brand on the other shoulder as a reminder?

 

He hesitated before undoing the wires. She was back to talking about sparring again, and that held a lot more promise as a conversational topic than the other thing.

 

"What?" he said. "Do you want to have a go? Here and now?"

 

He had left off his armor when he dressed for dinner, but he had buckled on his sword belt as he always did. The warden said they were safe here, but no sense in being unprepared. Usually, he fought with the axe, but the blade tended to catch on furniture, which their host might not appreciate. The broadsword was better indoors... but it was still too dangerous to use in here. For one thing, his stance was a little unsteady, thanks to the wine. It was stronger than he expected. If she wanted to spar, they'd need less lethal weapons. He spied two wooden mixing spoons on the sideboard next to a punch bowl, and an idea began to form in his champagne-muddled brain.

 

He picked them up and offered her one.

 

"As the challenged, I claim the right to choose the weapons," he said.

 

Bartha burst out into laughing when Beldin offered her the spoon. She hadn't really meant that they should spar right here, right now... but hey, why not? "Oh no, not the dreaded spoons! If I won't survive... please tell my family that I love them..." With a wink she took the spoon from Beldin.

 

Getting up on her feet took her more effort than expected. A bit wobbly at first, but she managed to steady her legs and get into a battle stance, the spoon pointing at Beldin. "Ready?"

 

Beldin hunkered down into a defensive stance, putting his weight on his back leg and wondering if he remembered enough of his early training with sticks to do him any good... and then he decided not to bother. Tipsy as he was, it wasn't as if he'd actually gain any training from it.

 

He gripped the spoon on each hand as if it were a viciously abbreviated quarterstaff and said, "Ready!"

 

And immediately let go of one end and twapped Bartha on the forearm.

 

"Ah ha!" he almost giggled. "No one ever expects the dreaded spoon!"

 

Bartha let out a short shriek when the spoon hit her. It didn’t really hurt, but she hadn’t expected it that soon. She recovered quickly though, and stepped in towards Beldin. “Maker, how dare you attack an innocent and harmless woman like that!” She started to giggle as she quickly hit Beldin on the outside of his hand.

 

"Ow, ow, ow!" Beldin laughed, flapping his hand to get rid of the sting. "Devious and deceitful, you are!"

 

But even as he was speaking, he was already moving, and he tapped her with the back of the spoon on the shoulder.

 

She joined him in laughing. A few quick steps were enough to close in and poke him in his belly. Under normal circumstances, this would have been easy. However, the amount of consumed alcohol made her reacting a lot slower, and more clumsy. Midway she made a misstep, causing her to end up lower than anticipated. She was able to prevent the spoon from hitting Beldin in the groin, but hit him full in the lower abdomen nonetheless. After that she went to the ground herself, as she found herself on a slippery wet patch on the floor.

 

That jab was a little too close to Beldin's heart (or associated organs). It didn't hurt, but it did startle him, and he stepped back, hitting his head on the beam with enough force to stagger him. He dropped to his hands and knees, reeling.

 

When his vision cleared, Bartha's face looked up at him.

 

"Are you alright? That ceiling is not going to give in." She lifted her head, narrowing the gap between them till just an inch or two. Her voice a purry whisper: "If you wanted to play rough, you could have just said so." She held on for some moments, whilst looking Beldin in the eyes, before lowering her head back to the ground.

 

She held up the spoon, waving it in front of his face, and smiled mischievously at Beldin. "You haven't yet won, though."

 

He looked down at Bartha's impish grin and bright eyes, and almost laughed himself, but another image intruded in his mind. For a heartbeat, he was five years old again, awakened from a nightmare, and standing outside his father's open bedroom door. His father was inside, naked, and pinning an equally nude village girl to the bed. His father later explained that sometimes, adults like to play games with each other, and that one day he'd understand. He did understand, but it was still not something he wanted to be thinking about right  now. He pushed himself off Bartha and onto his haunches as he caught his breath.

 

"That's a little rougher than I had in mind," he panted, forcing a grin. Bartha's vibrant humor was a blessing. She did not need to see his dark moods. "Give me a moment to catch my breath. That ceiling is more stalwart than I am, I fear."

 

He reached for his cup and filled it from the tap of a nearby cask. It was still wine, but it was probably both weaker and cheaper than the champagne. It would have to be.

 

Bartha grinned as Beldin moved away from her. ‘Too bad… I wouldn’t mind to play a bit more with you.’ She felt her cheeks flush again as her imagination got a bit lively, so she got to her feet whilst Beldin was occupied with filling his cup.

 

She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and eyed him. ‘Yes boy, you are handsome… and you probably know that too.’ Absently she wetted her lips as he drank from his cup. ‘Maker’s breath… are you now going to make me jealous over a cup of wine? Hmm… no matter who you are chasing after, she’s going to be a lucky girl… I guess it’s Tessa now, right? Ah well… let’s just enjoy the bits I get… Whilst he is still on his hunches.’

 

Slowly she walked over to Beldin and moved to stand behind him. She placed both hands on his shoulders and started to rub them with her thumbs. “Going to exchange me for a cup of wine? Must be some expensive wine than.” She chuckled teasingly.   

 

Beldin flinched violently at Bartha's touch, splashing most of the wine across the front of his tunic. He plunged into sobriety like an icy lake, and he seized her wrists and thrust them away from him, his grip like iron.

 

"Bartha, don't," he said, then his voice softened, pleading, "please. I beg you."

 

Bartha stared at Beldin breathlessly for a few moments, startled. The clinging of the wine cup hitting the floor still echoing in her ears. She glanced at his hands, clasped around her wrists, with white knuckles from the tension. “Maker… what’s that about?” Her first instinct was to start fighting him, to get free from his grip. But the man holding her appeared broken... and intensely startled, not intending to make use of the vulnerable position he had her forced into. Nonetheless: it make her feel highly uncomfortable. She recalled feeling some kind of ridge with the thumb of her left hand… ‘Is he still wounded?’ Her face turned worried and her voice softened, especially when Beldin started to beg her to stop touching him. “I’m sorry… did I hurt you? I won’t touch you if you don’t want that. I just… didn’t know you are wounded.” She glanced at the growing stain of wine on the his tunic before looking back at the man’s face. “I promise I don’t want to hurt you… Will you please let go?”

 

He let go instantly, staring at his hands as if he'd forgotten that they belonged to him.

 

Now that the panic was past, adrenaline drained from him, leaving the usual fatigue and queasiness in its wake.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, deflating even further and willing the nausea to subside. "I should not have lashed out at you like that. No, I'm not injured. Not anymore. It's just that I..."

 

His voice trailed off. He owed her some kind of explanation for his outburst, but he had no idea where to begin.

 

And there she was, staring at him. Red circles ringed her wrists, marks where his fingers had gripped them. He prayed that they would not bruise.

 

"Please," he said, shifting to make room on the floor beside him, "sit down. I seem to have hurt you. I am truly sorry."

 

He sighed and raked his fingers through his already-sweaty hair. It was disgusting, but then, he was disgusted with himself to begin with.

 

"You've heard me mention Amaranthine," he said. "Things... happened. I was convicted of a crime, and they branded me. Tempest healed it, but too much time had passed since I got it, and there was nothing she could do about the scar."

 

Carefully Bartha sat down next to Beldin. She crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. Although she did her best to make a relaxed impression, she kept rubbing her hands together. She glanced at her wrists: they started to feel warm, but that was something for later. She glanced back at Beldin and listened silently whilst he was searching for words.  

 

“They branded you?” Her voice was soft, and she had now moved her hands to her knees, basically cradling herself. “May… may I ask for what?” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know the answer, but the words had left her mouth before she took the time to consider them. Many thoughts occupied her mind. She knew that branding was a severe punishment, so it had to be something serious… But what could he have done? Kill someone? Steal something really valuable? But wasn’t he a guard or soldier up in Amaranthine?

 

He knew the question was coming, but he was still unprepared for it. And he had already shown her how violent he could be.

 

Glancing down, he noticed his sword belt on the floor beside him. He nudged it across the floor with his feet until it was well out of reach, then drew his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, gripping his own elbows.

 

He considered lying, saying that he stole from his superior officer or killed a man in a brawl, but he could not bring himself to do it. If she was ever going to trust him, as unlikely as that might seem now, he could not begin with dishonestly.

 

"I was convicted of rape," he said flatly.

 

She eyed him pushing away his sword belt with his feet. It made her feel more uncomfortable… ‘Why would he push his weaponry out of reach? Was he planning to attack me? Did I ask too much?’

He made himself small, but even rolled up he was obviously still larger than her. He appeared to her like a child, sitting in a corner after receiving punishment: vulnerable and humiliated.

 

She was not prepared for his answer though. It felt like her heart missed a few beats, and she found herself moving away from him. Incredulously she stared at him, with wide open eyes. ‘No.. no! I must have misunderstood him.’ Tears burned in her eyes, as her mind brought back memories…

 

It was dark when she was on her way back home after spending the evening at the inn. Some of the locals had been watching her the whole time. Something in the way they looked and behaved had made her feel uncomfortable. “Hey sweety, where are you going?” She almost bumped into someone. ‘Where did he come from?’ One a closer look, she recognized it was one of the guys from the inn. She really did not like the leering look in his eyes and the way he was eying her up. “None of your business.” She tried to get past him, but he blocked her. “Tsss, why don’t you keep me some company, ey?” The smell of alcohol hung around his entire being. It was not like she was sober, but she was sure she did not smell like that. “No.” When she tried to get past him again. He grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. “Don’t be such a spoil… We can have some fun you know…” He growled and let go when he found her boot full against his knee. A moment later, he had a dagger on his throat. “I won’t warn you again. Leave me alone, and I might consider leaving you in one piece.” She hissed at him and pushed the dagger just hard enough to pierce the skin and draw some blood. Then she turned around and ran all the way home.

 

She felt herself trembling when she had relived those moments. She wiped her eyes and avoided Beldin’s gaze. “Were you drunk?”

If he thought that he was as miserable as he could possibly be, he was wrong.

 

"Aye," he said wretchedly, "but that's just a mask we wear so we don't see the monster in the mirror. 'I was drunk.' 'She wouldn't have worn that gown if she didn't want attention.' 'She was playing hard to get.' All lies. Ask any rapist, and he'll give you a thousand reasons why he didn't do what she said he did."

 

She pulled her legs against her chest, wrapped her arms around them and laid her head on her knees. The trembling increased, and she could not tell whether the cold she felt was coming from within or had actually anything to do with the temperature. One hand moved to her boot. She watched him a bit, studying him as he just sat there. “I… I’ll be honest with you. I would never  have expected anything like that from you. I’m really shocked.”

 

She took a deep breath. A mixture of anger and fear started to take over, and she wanted to control her emotions. Here she was, sitting in a basement, intoxicated, with a man who was apparently a rapist… She felt trapped, and going to panic could prove to be fatal. Bartha looked at the trapdoor and the ladder: if required, she would most likely be able to run for it.

 

“Is that why you came here?” Her voice was flat.

 

"No," he said. "I came here because you invited me to join you for some wine."

 

He wanted to get up, retrieve his sword, and hand it to her, but he did not dare move. Instead, he laid his forehead against his knees.

 

"My sword is over there," he said. "I put it there for you, so that all the power would be yours. I am outside the protection of any law. You can cut my throat right now, and no one in Ferelden would accuse you of any wrongdoing. I would not try to stop you, but even if I survived, I could not accuse you because that mark on my shoulder makes my testimony worthless. That's why it was put there."

 

He almost hoped that she would do it. Anything would be better than the loneliness that now closed his throat and turned his limbs to lead. Sister Arda was a decent woman. She might even give him a proper burning. He closed his eyes and waited.

 

Bartha tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was useless. Her voice was a mixture of anger and sadness. "I don't need a sword to cut a throat. You've had your punishment... unless you try to doanything against the will of me or anyone else. Then I will hunt you and find you." She wiped her eyes as she felt the tears coming up again.

 

"You asked me if you could join, and I agreed with that. I did not ask you to come here." She sighed as that came out more fierce than she intended too. "I don't know anymore if I can trust you, Beldin, even though I understand you have no interest in me... I just don't get it. Why would you feel a need to enforce yourself on someone? You get plenty of attention, you're good looking... Just ask... they'd line up for you."

 

She decided to just let the tears flow, as she was unable to stop them anyway. "I was once nearly raped by some drunk guy... I was just lucky enough to get away. And no, I was not wearing a gown..." Her eyes lingered to some unseen spot on the wall. "It didn't happen, but nonetheless I've been afraid for ages to go out alone, or to get into a relationship. I can't imagine what the impact must be for someone who truly got..." She didn't finish her sentence.

 

"Oh, Maker," Beldin groaned. "I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for what happened to you. I can only say that no one is suffering on account of my actions except for me. And now, you. For the reminder I threw in your face."

 

He wanted to let the words sink in, but as emotional as she was, he did not want to leave her weeping a moment longer.

 

"I wasn't going to tell you that I didn't do it because I didn't want to whine about the injustice of it all," he said, "and it isn't something you should believe, coming from somebody who's almost a stranger. But I'll tell you what happened, and you can decide for yourself if you believe me or not."

 

Bartha took in some deep breaths, to try to regain control over her emotions. This was not the time... 'Do not make yourself an easy prey...'

 

Beldin offered her to tell his story, so she decided to just listen to it. She wasn't unarmed: she had her daggers with her. The pointing finger of her right hand slipped into her boot. And in case of emergency... there was the throwing dagger to give her a head start.... Touching the hilt with her pointing finger made her feel a bit more secure.

 

She'd frowned when he told what had occurred. She tensed when he moved a bit, but slowly relaxed when she noticed that he was not intending to get up.

 

She looked at him, a bit wary and confused. "Is that really what happened, Beldin? Because it requires... unwillingly entering of the body. Tell me the whole story."

 

"Alright," he said. "It isn't a long story. I was in Arl Howe's garrison outside Amaranthine, and his mistress, Lady Sophie, decided that I should be her lover. She had me transferred to her guard, and bade me go with her to his estate in the country. I never bedded her. I would have, so that's no proof of virtue on my part, but it never got that far. Arl Howe walked in, saw me in my small clothes, and she claimed I was trying to take her against her will. If it went to trial, Arl Howe's wife would discover that he had a mistress, so there was never a public trial. Lady Sophie convinced me to confess, and promised that she would protect me. I believed her, and she did. Arl Howe was going to have me hanged for treason, but instead he had me flogged, imprisoned, and branded. No one believes a man with a brand, and they shouldn't."

 

He shifted his weight to relieve a cramp and prayed that she wouldn't bolt. Or that she would.

 

"I sometimes wish Lady Sophie hadn't kept her word," he said. "But there's still time for that. Go to Tarl Dale and tell him what you know. He'll carry out Arl Howe's sentence to protect the village. And I can just die and get it over with."

 

Tarl Dale sat on the couch in his bedroom, leafing through letters he had no intention of reading. It gave his hands something to do, and prevented him from pacing.

 

Eshara had told him her story, or as much of it as fatigue would allow, and she appeared to be sleeping.

 

Abruptly, Tarl stood and tossed the entire stack of parchment on the fire, then stood back to watch it burn.

 

"Out of all the times I've dreamed of you taking me to your bed, it was never like this," Eshara said. He was at her side in an instant, but she waved him away. "I'm not going to die tonight, Tarl. Go back to filing your correspondence."

 

For a moment she stood still, deciding whether to go straight to her room, or first check whether the Warden was still awake and available. As she doubted that she could catch sleep anyway, she decided to go for the latter option.

 

The court room and office were both dark and deserted, so she went towards Tarl's bedroom. She heard voices on the other side of the door, so they were not asleep... and hopefully not too occupied with other things. Not convinced that it was the right decision... but the knocked on the door anyway.

 

"Enter!" Tarl called from the other side of the door. He stood halfway between the bed and the fireplace, still armored.

 

Slowly Bartha opened the door and looked around the corner. "My apologies for disturbing you at this time, my lord... I.. uh... hope you would have some time for me?"

 

After getting approval, she stepped in and closed the door behind her. With her arm stretched towards the door, she noticed the red marks on her wrists. Quickly she held her arms behind her back, hoping that Tarl and Eshara hadn't seen it.

 

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, not really sure how to begin. "My lord... Beldin actually asked me to come to you, but... I don't know what's true or not, so I was hoping that you would be able to confirm his story... regarding his conviction." She had a hard time looking at Tarl, and often her gaze escaped his. The mixed feelings weren't making it any easier, but it had to be done.

 

"His conviction?" Tarl asked, the firelight turning his concerned expression grim. "He said nothing to me of a criminal past. What was the crime?"

 

His voice was not loud, but his tone - and his gaze - was direct.

 

"Vintiver is tearing itself apart from within while an unknown enemy waits to do the same," he said. "I understand your reluctance to speak ill of a friend and traveling companion, but I cannot afford to have a criminal in my house."

 

'So he didn't know yet... crap' She rubbed her cheek with one hand. Her gaze went to the dancing flames in the fireplace. "I do not know if it is true, my lord..." She took a deep breath before continuing. "But he appears to wish that you will follow the conviction where Arl Howe did not... for rape." She closed her eyes when the last words were pushed out of her mouth. It felt like she was betraying him... The man who had basically asked for his live to be ended. And it had been too much for her to understand. She had hoped that Tarl would have been able to confirm Beldin's story... to ease her discomfort and help the poor man... but instead, she was just making things worse. And backing out was no longer an option.

 

Tarl nodded grimly at the news Bartha brought. The thought that he had welcomed a serpent into his home - offered him meat and bread - sickened him, but if such was the case, it must be uncovered.

 

"You did right in coming to me," he reassured her. "I will not act rashly, but justice will be done."

 

He paused and seemed to be sniffing the air.

 

"You come from the cellars?" he asked. "Go, gather your friends - save the accused - and bring them to the courtroom. I will join you there shortly, and then we will decide what is to be done with him."

[TreeHuggerHannah]

Tempest stayed with Eshara till Tarl returned, then politely but quickly took her leave. She was all too aware that the two didn't get much time to spend together, and courteous as they were being to her, they didn't need her presence as much as they needed each other's. Tempest assured them that they should come get her at any time if Eshara's condition worsened, then bid them goodnight.

 

By the time she had finished, most of her companions had gone their separate ways, so she got some food and a book. The warden's collection included some religious tomes, and Tempest was delighted to discover a volume of sermons by a relatively obscure Divine - a book she hadn't read yet. She borrowed it to take to bed since Tarl had said they could make themselves at home, but she would be sure to return it in the morning.

 

Since she had a room to herself, with a door that bolted no less, Tempest decided it wouldn't be too risky to take a bath. She fumblingly asked one of the servants if she could have some bath water; unused as she was to being waited upon, Tempest unthinkingly referred to him as "messere," which flummoxed them both, but in the end she got her tub full of warm water, for which she was quite grateful.

 

The sight of her own scars on her chest and abdomen as she undressed still hit Tempest as though they were fresh. She drew in a deep breath, and turned so she couldn't see her reflection in the mirror.

 

Tempest washed, then simply remained soaking in the tub. It felt nice just to relax for a moment. The warm water eased her knotted muscles, and she closed her eyes...

 

An abrupt knock on the door startled her so much that she banged the back of her head on the bathtub, hooked her ankle awkwardly on the opposite rim, and sloshed quite a bit of water on the floor.

 

"Coming!" she called as she hastily pulled on her nightclothes and robe, mopping the floor with a towel using her feet as she dressed, then quickly wrapping her wet hair in another towel.

 

She was worried that Eshara had taken a turn for the worse. The actual situation was even more of a shock.

[obsessedwjpn]

Laurelin's witty reply and move towards him surprised Mercuriel. He'd met take charge women before but Laurelin had seemed rather shy until now. Perhaps she had a bit more confidence than he first thought! This only renewed his interest in her. She had some bite to her personality. He liked that.

 

He took the chance to lean forward and steal a quick kiss from her lips. "Food it is then and perhaps we can accommodate the dancing later." He winked at her and made his way to exit the library, looking back to make sure Laurelin was following him to the kitchens.

 

In the kitchens, Mercuriel found Dog rummaging around in the leftovers from the day. Mercuriel smiled at the hound. "So there you are. I was wondering where you had gotten off to. Helping yourself, I see." He chuckled and moved to grab some food for himself as well. He rested his back against the wall as he shoved the food down. 

[Mahumia]

'Maker.... what have I done?' She closed the door of Tarl's room behind her. There was still light coming from the library... Frantically she shook her head. 'No, no! I can't just round them up and watch Beldin suffer.... they should hang me instead... I'm the traitor'.

She turned around and ran to her room. Quickly she got into her armor and grabbed her backpack. 'I need to warn them.....' She found a piece of paper and a quill on the desk, so she hastily started writing.

"My lord,

I beg you: be kind to Beldin. I feel in my heart that he is innocent. I regret failing to listen to his whole story and failing to ask you for confirmation. Instead I have betrayed a broken man and with that, the whole party. I hope you can forgive me one day. I will return to Redcliffe.
Best regards,
Bartha"

She stepped outside and produced the throwing dagger from her boot. With it, she pinned the note to the door. After that she sneaked to the door outside. Once outside, she ran away in the darkness.

[berelinde]

Plot Post: Trial

 

Summary: Tarl is cursed with loyal retainers, who bring a compliant Beldin to trial, where we learn that Arl Howe has absolutely no concept of how to conduct a trial. Beldin demonstrates that he is truthful, but evasive.

 

It's behind spoiler tags because it's long in terms of linear distance, but not necessarily word count.

Spoiler

Beldin remained where he was for several moments after Bartha left, then took out his coin purse and tipped half its contents onto the sideboard amid the cups and cutlery. Ten silver pieces might or might not cover the cost of the wine they had drunk, but it was more than three hundred times the price of a pint of ale, and there were eleven other bottles on the shelf. If one bottle was worth more than that, the contents of Tarl Dale's cellar would feed Logerwold through the winter. The rest of his coin, he kept. If things did go badly, the silver would pay for his... disposal.

 

He retrieved his sword, unsheathed it, and stood it blade-up against the wall. There was no risen sun in the warden's cellar, but a broadsword might stand in for Hessarian's Sword of Mercy. He wondered if his suffering might be lifted in quite the same manner as Andraste's... and whether it hurt to die.

 

He did not blame Bartha. He wished that it had been within his power to comfort her, but he would not - could not - violate her being, personal or emotional, to force the issue. He would have to settle for gratitude. Even if his encounter with the court in Vintiver were as painful and as humiliating as his encounter with the court in Amaranthine had been, which he doubted, she did him a great kindness in giving him an end. He was tired of running.

 

He knelt before the sword, at peace for perhaps the first time in... his life? Perhaps. He missed his mother and his brothers intensely. The thought of seeing them again was almost enough to quell his fears about the transition into death. Emotionally, he was prepared. Spiritually, he had much to do. Unless Sister Arda were the spirit of forgiveness, his body would not be afforded the purification of the pyre. The Maker would judge his heart, not the condition of his mortal remains, but it would not hurt him to go to his death with Andraste's words in his heart. He began to pray.

 

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,

I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.

I shall endure.

What you have created, no one can tear asunder.

 

Though all before me is shadow,

Yet shall the Maker be my guide.

I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.

For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light

And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

 

As I draw my last breath,

I shall cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.

I shall rest at the Maker's hand,

And be Forgiven."

 

Footsteps resounded on the floor of the room above, and shadows crossed the wall as the light from the pantry was occluded.

 

Beldin remained resolute, his head still bowed.

 

"O Maker, hear my cry: 

Seat me by Your side in death 

Make me one within Your glory 

And let the world once more see Your favor..."

 

Armored boots scuffed across the stone floor and torchlight filled the room.

 

"For You are the fire at the heart of the world," he whispered, "And comfort is only Yours to give."

 

Rough hands grabbed him from behind and forced him face-first to the ground, wrenching his arms behind his back. A soft leather sole pressed his face to the floor. Blood poured from his nose and filled his mouth.

 

"Take the tunic off," Tarl Dale's stern voice echoed against the walls.

 

A cold blade slid along his back, tearing through wool and linen, and leather when it reached his belt. The halves of the tunic parted.

 

He expected something: a gasp, a shout, anything but the silence. After a few heartbeats of it, the footsteps moved closer toward his head and mail-clad feet filled his vision. Fingers laced through his hair and his head was jerked up to face the man who stood before him. Warden Tarl Dale.

 

He crouched in front of him, his hands braced against his knees and his face expressionless.

 

"How long have you concealed this from me?" he asked.

 

"The brand is two weeks old, my lord," he said. "The rest is nigh on a month."

 

The man holding his hair slammed his face against the floor again.

 

"Liar!" the unknown man sneered.

 

"Have you had magical healing?" Tarl asked. "That brand looks older than you are."

 

"Aye," Beldin answered.

 

"Who?" Tarl demanded.

 

Beldin remained silent. Tarl nodded, and one of the men behind him kicked him in the ribs.

 

"That's a little excessive," Tarl observed. "I ask again. Who?"

 

Silence, and then another kick, and another. They abandoned his ribs and moved down to his kidneys. He grunted at the impact of each blow, but he smiled against bloody teeth. These men were amateurs. They knew nothing about pain.

 

"He won't talk, my lord," one of them said. Beldin thought he recognized Sal's voice.

 

"So I see," Tarl said. "But stay your wrath! I asked for personal reasons, not because it pertains to his case. Even if it did, refusal does not make him dishonest. He may have sought healing before he arrived here, or he may not know the person's name. He may be protecting someone, in which case, we should honor that, not punish him for it. I had hoped to ask his healer to help Eshara, but I will have to seek answers elsewhere. Bind his hands and bring him to the courtroom."

 

With that, the iron footsteps receded a little, but not far enough to reach the ladder. There was a pause and then the kicking began again.

 

"That's enough, I said!" Tarl cried amid the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. A mailed arm crossed his field of vision and gauntleted fingers supported his chin. The warden tilted his head toward the light. Beldin tried to focus on him, but his eyes were already swelling from the broken nose.

 

"Maker's breath," Tarl sighed. "It was not my intention to harm you. My interest in your healer is a personal one, and I apologize that my servants have mistreated you in consequence of your refusal. It will not happen again, nor will you be subject to future violence unless you raise a hand against them. Will you cooperate with the court?"

 

"Yes, my lord," Beldin said. "I want this over. I need this over."

 

"Very well," Tarl said, offering him a wry half smile before addressing the other men. "The trial will convene in a quarter hour. Someone wipe the blood off his face and, by the Maker, give him a belt so his pants don't fall down. Let him keep some dignity. And treat him gently, or I will personally see you run out of Vintiver. This man requested in good faith that we hear his case. We do not abuse those who seek refuge in the law. All evidence to the contrary."

 

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Tarl Dale went to his quarters with a heavy conscience. He was sick over the violence of his retainers and wished heartily that Beldin had named his healer so that the man or woman might be summoned to undo the damage his servants had caused. They were almost as fond of Eshara as he was, so their motives were no more culpable than his own, but that was not saying much. He had allowed - no, ordered - that first blow to be struck, and the decision weighed heavily upon him.

 

Would a quarter hour be enough time? His vambraces were slick with Beldin's blood. He must change clothes. He could not hope to hide the injury that his servants did to the man's body - nor should he - but to go into the court with blood literally on his hands foretold an outcome he still hoped to avoid.

 

Beldin hailed from Amaranthine, Arl Howe's domain. From the Landsmeet, he knew the man to be a capable warrior and a friend of both the Teryn of Highever and the Teryn of Gwaren, but his skill in battle was matched only by his ambition, and in Tarl's mind, ambition never existed without an equal measure of avarice. Arl Howe would serve his own interests, and he could not be certain that justice was not, at best, a secondary concern. But he would not be mired in Arl Howe's priorities. Blight take the man, he would see justice done, and deal with the consequences as they fell.

 

"What ails you, my love?" Eshara asked once he reached his room.

 

"Politics, I fear," he said reassuringly. "And I've been cursed with loyal servants. I have to leave you for a while. Can I send for that woman you liked again? Someone to keep you company while I'm gone?"

 

Eshara folded her hands across the blanket.

 

"No, Tarl," she said. "I'm fine. I'm safe here, and I think I'll be strong enough to walk soon. Besides, their fates are woven together, and I don't want to separate them when there's a crisis."

 

"As you wish, love," he said, and pulled the bell rope. Mere moments later, Marc appeared.

 

"Have Bella rouse my guests," he said. "Tell them to assemble in the courtroom without delay. A grave matter awaits their judgment."

 

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You pursue your individual interests at leisure until a female servant enters your room. If you are in your room, she knocks first, but if you are in a public area, she simply walks in.

 

"Master Tarl requires your attendance in the courtroom at once," she announces. "It is a matter of considerable urgency."

 

With that, she withdraws, and leaves you to comply or abstain, at your discretion.

 

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You gather in the courtroom, but Bartha (and potentially, others) are conspicuously absent.

 

Tarl Dale entered the courtroom not long after you assembled, drying his hands on a towel he dropped just inside the door. He had shed his armor at last, and now wore a somber, knee length tunic of unadorned black wool over tall leather boots and dark grey hose. A sheathed bastard sword hung from a belt at his waist. He gestured that you should gather around him before addressing you.

 

"I regret to inform you that one of your number has requested that I execute a sentence laid down by the magistrate of another jurisdiction," he said. "I have no intention of denying him the legal closure he desires and in so doing, protect Vintiver, but neither will I blindly adhere to the will of an unknown court."

 

He glanced around the courtroom as if looking for someone before continuing.

 

"There are places, even in Ferelden, where justice is a matter of convenience," he said, "but I will not have that said of Vintiver. I will hear the case, and you - literally, a jury of his peers - will decide his fate. My servants, Pel and Sal, will represent Vintiver's interest in the matter, but they will speak only if Vintiver's interests are threatened. The applicant has personally requested that these proceedings commence immediately, and I will not delay your mission by postponing this until morning. I reserve the right, as magistrate, to decide the outcome, should the jury fail to reach a verdict."

 

He walked to the front of the room and sat behind the large wooden table, then gestured that you should take places where you would.

 

The doors opened and Sal and Pel brought Beldin in between them. He was stripped to the waist and his arms were bound behind his back. His nose and eyes  were bruised and swollen to the point of glossiness, and his torso was livid from shoulder to hip with spreading welts, but he walked under his own power, limping only slightly, and held his head high until he knelt before the warden, at which point, he bowed in deference to the court.

 

Numerous lash marks criss-crossed his back, covering it completely, save for a hand-sized patch where a dagger-shaped brand traced a raised pink outline against his skin. All of the torture marks were healed. Those familiar with Fereldan human culture will recognize the brand as that of a convicted rapist. It is more often seen fresh on corpses hanging from the gallows, but occasionally, it crops up among the living where the perpetrator is very young, the absolute, irrefutable guilt is not entirely certain... or where the person bearing it might be needed at some later time.

 

A moment later, Marc the steward strode in, clipboard in hand. He took his place behind Tarl.

 

"State your name for the court," Marc said.

 

"Beldin Adley."

 

"Beldin Adley, my lord," Marc corrected. "You address the Warden of Vintiver and the magistrate of this jurisdiction."

 

"Aye, my lord."

 

"You have a surname?" Marc asked, a delicately arched eyebrow raised.

 

"Aye, my lord, as the warden knows."

 

"Do you, Beldin Adley, swear upon your immortal spirit to speak no words but the truth within these walls?" Marc asked. "Answer fully."

 

"I, Beldin Adley, swear upon my immortal spirit to speak no words but the truth within these walls."

 

The courtroom doors burst open again, and a visibly flustered Bella entered. She bobbed a quick curtsy at the door and ran to the table where Tarl sat, the fingers of one hand pinning a flapping piece of parchment to a completely unnecessary silver tray.

 

"Begging your pardon, my lord," she said, "but I found this while I was trying to find the others."

 

She dropped both tray and parchment onto the table and fled the way she came in, hair and ribbons fluttering behind her.

 

Tarl appeared startled, but he read the letter, then read it aloud. It was Bartha's letter of regret.

 

"We have to go after her!" Beldin spoke out of turn. "This isn't her fault! Anything could happen to her out there!"

 

"I cannot allow you to depart until this matter is resolved," Tarl said. "It will not take long, and I will place horses at your disposal, should you desire to pursue her swiftly. Steward, proceed."

 

"It is the court's understanding that you wish the execution of a sentence handed down by another jurisdiction," Marc said, unperturbed. "Is this correct?"

 

"It is, my lord," Beldin replied, though neither his features nor his stance were as relaxed as they had been.

 

"In what jurisdiction were you convicted?" Marc asked.

 

"Amaranthine, my lord."

 

"It is the court's understanding that you were convicted of rape," Marc said. "Is this true?"

 

"Aye, my lord."

 

"Were you of full legal age when the cause of action arose?" Marc asked.

 

"I was, my lord."

 

"Who was your accuser?" Marc asked.

 

"I confessed to the crime," Beldin said, his head still bowed.

 

"Who was the victim of the crime?" Marc asked, his lips going thin with irritation.

 

"I confessed, my lord. I am forbidden to speak the name as a matter of public record. It is part of my sentence."

 

"Was the victim of noble birth?" Marc asked.

 

"Aye, my lord."

 

"Was he or she above the legal age of consent when the cause of action arose?"

 

"Aye, my lord."

 

"Was he or she incapacitated by alcohol or any other intoxicant?"

 

"No, my lord."

 

"Did he or she deny you consent?" Marc asked.

 

Beldin hesitated.

 

"I confessed to the crime, my lord," he said at last, raising his eyes to meet the warden's.

 

"My steward did not ask if you confessed," Tarl said, rising to his feet. "You already said that you had. Was this confession signed by you and witnessed by two impartial adults?"

 

"The confession was delivered verbally, my lord. At Arl Howe's direction."

 

"That is not customary," Marc said.

 

"Arl Howe believed me to be illiterate," Beldin said. "The warden is aware of the particulars."

 

At Tarl's nod, Marc continued, "Was a transcript of your confession recorded in the court log?"

 

"No, my lord," Beldin said, "as I did not dispute the charge."

 

Tarl sighed and massaged his forehead.

 

"Why does no one feel the need to observe protocol anymore?" he asked no one in particular. "Was the confession obtained through force or threat of force?"

 

"No, my lord."

 

"State, for the record, the precise wording of your confession. You will not have forgotten it."

 

"Yes, my lord."

 

Tarl waited.

 

"Go on, man! What are you waiting for?" he said at last.

 

"That was all there was, my lord," Beldin said. "Arl Howe read aloud a description of the crimes and asked me if La- the victim spoke the truth. I said yes, and that was it."

 

"That could mean anything!" Tarl threw his hands in the air. "Was she truthful about the crimes? Was she truthful about the fact that the sun rises in the east? Was she truthful in her assessment of the weather? Justice requires more precision that that! I want to know: Did you have physical contact with your alleged victim? Yes or no."

 

As he spoke, the warden walked around the table until he stood directly in front of Beldin. He placed one hand on each of his shoulders.

 

"Yes, my lord," Beldin said, hanging his head once again.

 

Tarl retreated, slumping wearily to sit on the edge of the desk.

 

"And I was so sure you hadn't done it," he said sadly, shaking his head.

 

He turned and walked behind the table once again.

 

He drew his sword and set it on the table before sitting down.

 

"Does anyone else have any questions?" he asked, gesturing toward Beldin in exasperation. "If so, have at him, because I've run out."

[mysteriouspast]

When she heard the summons from the warden, Rael rose immediately and headed towards the courtroom. Her heart pounded as she quickly made her way to the hall--something was terribly amiss. 

 

When she entered the courtroom, and saw Tarl in his formal garb, her heart sank further. Hearing that an accusation was made against one of them left no doubt in her mind as to who the accused was. But who would do such a thing...?

 

Then Beldin entered, victim of a savage beating. Rael's heart twisted when she saw the injuries, and moreso when she saw his defeated expression. Her hands clenched into fists and she looked at Tarl with seething hatred in her eyes. The unfairness of it all hit her like a tidal wave. But she remained silent, clenching her jaw so that she would not speak, nor scream at them all, before it was time. 

 

Then Bartha's name was mentioned, and her eyes went wide with shock. Why? she asked herself. Why would Bartha betray Beldin so. It didn't make sense but she confessed it with her own hand. And now she was gone, alone in the night. Rael shook her head... there would be time for that later. If Bartha was in danger, it was by her own choice.

 

Finally Tarl Dale asked if there were questions. Normally, in these official situations, in a human court, Rael would shrink away, choosing to be unnoticed, for fear of the court's powers being used on her. She'd had no good experiences with human laws and saw them as simply a means for the strong to fully subjugate the weak. Looking at Beldin's broken form, the despair in his eyes, she saw this situation was no different. 

 

The wisest thing for her to do would be to fade in the background, to protect herself. But, maybe, this time she had a chance to thwart this farce of justice. She had to try, no matter the cost to herself.

 

"I have a question for him, warden," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, though it was impossible to keep the venom out of her eyes as she leveled them at Tarl. She looked at Beldin, still stern, but softer in speech and posture. "Did you escape prison, or in any way evade the punishment prescribed to you?"

[BFace]

"Master Tarl requires your attendance in the courtroom at once," she announces. "It is a matter of considerable urgency."

 

Tessa was still in the library, half dozing, half thumbing through one of Brother Genitivi’s books-Maker, it would wonderful to see just some of what he has seen-when the servant came in with her urgent summons.

 

She stood, stretched and laid the book down on the side table as she headed to the courtroom, confused and slightly worried.

 

As Tess entered the courtroom, she looked around, and found an inconspicuous place to lean against a wall, trying to hide her apprehension.  When the Warden came in, in formal gear, Tessa’s stomach dropped. This is not good.

 

She saw Rael come in and nodded to the elf.  She looked as pale and worried as Tessa felt.

 

Then they brought Beldin in.  Tessa stood upright as she saw that he’d been badly beaten. If someone in our group did this, although she dismissed that thought almost immediately because Tess didn’t think there was anyone in the party would could do that to Beldin against his will, except maybe herself.

 

When he knelt before the Warden, she gasped quietly, in pity for the marks on his back, then swallowed the gasp in shock when she saw the brand.

 

Everyone in Ferelden knew what that brand meant. Tessa rolled over, in her mind, all the ways this did not make sense with the man she’d seen so far.  She was interrupted in her ruminations by Beldin saying his own name.

 

Surnames were not the sort of thing everyone had. Normal people, like Tess herself, had no need of such things. Tess of Lothering was good for most things. A surname held weight. Nobility.  And that didn’t mesh with the man she’d seen so far, either.  Earlier today, she’d have said that Beldin was probably a decent man.

 

As Tarl read Bartha’s letter aloud, Tessa found herself growing angry. What in the Maker’s name had the dwarf woman *done* to Beldin? What could have happened that would warrant this?

 

Beldin’s outburst about going after Bartha made Tess narrow her eyes. Damn straight we’d be going after her.

 

She turned her attention back to the proceedings, willing her eyes away from Beldin’s back every time she found herself staring at that brand again.

 

"Did he or she deny you consent?" Marc asked. 

 

When Beldin hesitated, Tessa narrowed her eyes.

 

"I confessed to the crime, my lord."

 

But he didn’t answer the question.  At this point, Tessa thought he might be protecting someone. It became clear to her that the Warden was also aware of how much Beldin wasn’t saying.

 

"Does anyone else have any questions?" he asked, gesturing toward Beldin in exasperation. "If so, have at him, because I've run out."

 

After all this, Tessa made her mind up. She had one question for him, well two, maybe, but Rael spoke first. Her question made Tess realize that Rael felt the same way she did about this mess.

 

Earlier today Tessa would have said that Beldin was probably a decent man. At this point, she still thought he was probably a decent man.

 

“Beldin.” Tessa willed her face to be neutral. “Did you actually *do* this thing you’ve been convicted of doing? Have you ever touched a woman without her consent or invitation?”

[Brian ofthe Dialogue Wheel]

Sarel hung in the back. He had no express love for Beldin- as a matter of fact, he didn't trust him. However, Sarel also didn't like nobility pulling the wool over the eyes of those that serve them, and enacting "justice" to save face. This certainly seemed the latter. "Beldin; there are more than threats and. . ." Sarel shot a sharp look at the Warden and a few guards "physical violence to make someone compliant with giving a confession to crimes they didn't commit. Were you coerced in ANY WAY, by means intentional or matter of stature, to lie? Calling into question the. . . honesty. . . of a higher ranking noble's testimony for instance, might lead to death instead of the *relative* pittance you received. Scars and testimony don't make an accusation true, and this smacks of deception."

Sarel didn't think Beldin innocent of crimes- the world worked in a way for every human to take advantage of every elf, and townspeople had been known to kill any magelings they found before the circle could get to them. However, an alleged crime without substance levied by corrupt human nobles? Overthrowing THAT was a worthy cause.