Chapter Text
Serenity had taken the Imperial highway directly north to Minrathous without stopping to sight-see on her way there. On her way back to Ferelden, however, she felt it would be a wasted opportunity not to educate herself on the Wardens in Weisshaupt or pursue learning about spirits in Nevarra.
She bought a fine silk cowl from a vendor in Tevinter before she left, long and light enough to wrap comfortably around her head and shoulders without overheating. She'd hoped to find a kaddis for M.C. with heat resistance, but the Tevinters didn't place the same importance on their dogs as Fereldens did. She ended up buying a length of fabric that she would sew braided ties to in an attempt to shelter him from the sun. As she fitted the 'cloak' around his legs and under his chest, he wriggled out of it defiantly. He had never had to wear clothing before, but the kaddis would hardly protect his skin once they left the fairer weather and the shade of trees. She even fashioned socks to protect his paw pads from the hot sand, but he whined incessantly as he stomped around awkwardly in them—and then he pulled them off with his teeth.
He would come around, she thought.
Serenity knew the Anderfels was an arid desert after the Second Blight tainted the land, destroying all vegetative life, but she had never seen anything like it. It wasn't long after they left the oft traveled Imperial highway and followed the signs west towards Weisshaupt that M.C. stopped and keened meaningfully about his sore feet.
"Good boy," Serenity said and applied an ice salve to his paws before affixing the socks she'd made for him. She gave his nose a kiss before offering him a drink from her waterskin. "I'm sure they have healers in Weisshaupt if we need them. And more water."
M.C. barked happily and started off ahead of her. He no longer made a dramatic show of an awkward gait, instead moving as if the socks weren't even there.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Cullen?" Serenity asked, holding up the little cloak she’d fashioned for him.
He looked back over his shoulder and whined.
"Are you saying this is too much?" she scoffed. "You have a very short coat."
He hung his head defeatedly and waited for her to catch up to him to tie on the awkwardly sewn piece of fabric.
"You'll thank me later," Serenity insisted. He might have looked like a sentient sack of potatoes—and he knew it—but he wouldn't take ill from heat stroke. She was no seamstress, but the cloak served its purpose.
It was a long trek through the barren hills before Weisshaupt came into view. Serenity remembered seeing it before in the dream constructed by Sloth. But her dream didn't truly convey its imposing size. From within its walls in the Fade, she only glimpsed how large it was. But from afar, seeing it protrude from the jagged butte, she could visualize the Wardens at their peak, thousands strong, taking off in flight on the backs of griffons. Their banners still flapped in the wind, their royal blue bleached grey by the sun.
She climbed the jagged pathway up the mountain, reminded of those damnable stairs to Hightown, only these were considerably worse. The cliffside was so steep that the path wasn't straight but a series of switchbacks that made the journey feel twice as long. She looked for a lift to shorten the distance, but if there had ever been one, it was long gone now.
"How hard is it to install a lift?" Serenity grumbled. "I don't know how much money the Wardens have, but I think it should be a priority, don't you?"
M.C. chuffed in agreement.
When they finally reached the top, Serenity sat down beside Mabari-Cullen where he splayed out in the shade, panting.
"Only a little farther," she said, tiredly untying the ropes that held his cloak against his body. "I could use a nap too. And a cold bath."
M.C. exhaled, resting his head between his paws.
Serenity drew on the cold from the Fade and held her hands over M.C. to cool him. It took more energy than she thought it would, but the climb had really worn her out. Casting a spell, even one so little, made her dizzy with exhaustion.
"Just a little farther," she said and willed herself to her feet.
She expected there to be guards at the gate and realized how silly a notion that was. What would be the point of posting someone at the door when they likely never received any visitors? She hadn't passed a single soul after disembarking from the Imperial highway. No one braved the trek across the Anderfels on a whim. And why should they?
There was no blight. There hadn't been any resurgences of darkspawn since the civil war between the Disciples. Nobody, save the Wardens privileged enough to hear the long-kept secrets of the order, even knew about the talking darkspawn. As far as the people of Thedas were concerned, the Grey Wardens saved Ferelden from the Fifth Blight and wouldn't be needed again for hundreds of years.
As Serenity entered the courtyard she'd seen reflected in her dreams, she imagined the ghost of Duncan there to greet her. But the fortress itself was a ghost of what it once was. She found a door and walked inside. She'd read the fortress housed a mausoleum, but all of Weisshaupt resembled one now with its dusty empty halls and overgrowth of dried out vines.
She couldn't even guess what wing she'd wandered into, but the tapestries hanging from the walls, once vibrant, were dulled by the dust that collected on the threads. She didn't stop to examine the relics on display, more eager to find somebody that could show her to a wash basin.
"Don't pee on anything," she whispered to M.C. as he went about sniffing everything they passed, with the exception of the dusty tapestries.
"Hello?" Serenity called out and winced at the sound of her voice echoing down the marbled hall.
A door further down the corridor creaked open and a handsome elf emerged from the room wearing a crisp blue and grey gambeson of the Grey Wardens. The angle of his cheekbones and the sharpness of his eyes reminded her of Zevran, but his blond hair framed his unmarked face in waves.
"I see you made it," he said casually. "We lost sight of you as you approached Broken Tooth."
"Thought I'd plummeted to my death, did you? I almost did after I ran out of water," Serenity said and held up her shriveled waterskin.
"Follow me," he said. "My name is Caronel. I would have guessed you were coming from Kirkwall, but you have a Ferelden accent."
"What would make you think that?"
"You wouldn't be the first apostate from the Free Marches seeking the Wardens," he said and stopped when he heard the clacking of claws on the tiled floor behind them. He turned to see M.C. by her side, clearly more surprised by his presence than hers. "The sentries saw you coming from the watchtower, but no one said anything about a mabari."
"He's a Grey Warden too. Maybe they didn't see him because he was covered in red sand," she suggested.
"You're..." Caronel's expression changed with subtle realization.
"Serenity," she finished.
"The Hero of Ferelden," he said and continued walking. "A room was prepared for you, Commander. The Chamberlain will want to speak with you as soon as you're ready, but you've had a long journey to get here. I'll have a meal brought to you."
"And bath water?" she asked, shaking the red sand from her hair.
"Available in your room," he answered and led her upstairs to a barracks.
"Ugh," Serenity groaned, aching with each step.
Caronel looked back at her and subdued a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She knew how dramatically she struggled up the stairs, but she was pretty sure the Broken Tooth trail was enough to cause most people to cramp up and buckle without enough water. She did nothing to hide her disdain for the stairs, grunting with each strained step.
"My dog needs a bath too," she said when she reached the top. M.C. stopped beside her and shook out his coat, leaving a layer of red dust around him.
"I'll, ah… see to it," Caronel offered as he brushed away the dust that landed on his tunic. He led her to the first room on their left and opened the door to her guest chamber.
If he had any interest in her story or questions about the Fifth Blight, he didn't show it or speak his mind. Instead, he left her in her room and excused himself—hopefully, she thought, to bring them food.
She filled her waterskin from the pitcher and poured herself a cup before setting the pitcher on the floor for M.C. to lap from and removing the sand-caked clothing from her red tinged skin. She wondered what made the landscape the color of brick dust, whether it had anything to do with the blight’s corruption. She had expected the land to be black like a charred forest or like the color of darkspawn blood.
While she soaked in her bath, relieved the water wasn’t steaming but at room temperature, she didn’t hear the knock on the door. She lost track of time, drifting in and out of an exhausted daze, until M.C. whined. She noticed then that her fingertips had shriveled up.
She put on a clean tunic set upon the chest of drawers against the wall and opened the door to find a tray of food. M.C. helped himself to one of the bowls of stew before she had a chance to bring it inside.
“If you want more, you’ll have to go beg the kitchen staff,” Serenity said and waited for him to finish before picking up the tray. She knew better than to bother him when he was eating. He was crankier than Nathaniel on an empty stomach.
Serenity ate her supper, relieved to have something more than dried meat, bread, and cheese in her stomach. As soon as she finished eating, she wanted to look around. It didn’t matter that her feet were sore or that she didn’t know what time it was. She was finally in Weisshaupt. She could finally meet the First Warden and the Chamberlain she’d sent so many letters. She could finally ask why she seldom heard anything back.
“If you want to dip into my bath, make sure you don’t shake off in my room,” Serenity said as she stepped out into the hallway. She still didn’t know where she was, but she knew she could retrace her steps to the room Caronel had come from when she first arrived. As she descended the stairs, however, he met her halfway.
“You’re awake,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep in the tub.”
“I think I did,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to waste daylight sleeping. Did you tell the First Warden I’m here?”
“I hope you didn’t come here to meet him,” Caronel answered. “He isn’t here. But the Chamberlain is looking forward to making your acquaintance.”
“I thought the First Warden would have a fancy chair and a big office.”
“Oh, he does. He just rarely uses it,” he said. "You would think with how the Wardens tout neutrality and keeping out of politics, the figurehead would practice what he preaches. But he plays the Game."
"Have you met him?" she asked.
"No," Caronel answered. "If he doesn't have time to meet the Hero of Ferelden, what would make you think he would find the time to meet me?"
"Proximity?" Serenity shrugged.
The Chamberlain appeared to be a wiry old man with deep lines set in his face that would have deepened with his smile, but they only served to make him look grim when he wore a neutral expression. Serenity was reminded of Avernus and wondered how old the Chamberlain was, whether he extended his life through blood magic or whether the grey in his hair belied his age. She rarely met older Wardens as most of them answered their Calling before old age.
His office was in dusty shambles, but Serenity imagined he preferred it that way. Senior Enchanter Sweeney had referred to the mess on his desk once as ‘organized chaos’ and it looked much the same. There were piles of books on the desk, chair, and floor rather than placed on bookshelves, and collections of rolled up and folded letters were strewn about the room on every elevated surface.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” the Chamberlain said as he scooped up a pile of books from the chair in front of his desk, disturbing the layer of dust that had settled on them. “What brings you all this way? It must be important for you to leave the arling.”
Serenity felt her nose stuff up and cleared her throat as it itched from the dust in the air. She didn’t think it bore mentioning that she was on her way back from the Tevinter Imperium. Her mission as a Grey Warden brought her here, but her personal mission as a mage was hers alone.
“As you know, I’m looking for a cure,” Serenity answered. “I thought it might help to look through your archives. You have sensitive information, personal accounts and history meant only for the Wardens kept here. I thought perhaps you could help me find something useful.”
“We have recruits that can help you with that,” he said, taking his seat across from her. “You have free reign of the library. What are you looking for?”
“I wrote in one of my letters that I met the Architect,” she said. “Did you read it?”
“I did,” he answered.
“You hardly ever respond to my correspondences,” Serenity said uncertainly. She kept them informed, perhaps more than she needed to.
“You send many, yet you hardly ever ask for anything, and for that, I am grateful,” the Chamberlain answered. “When you asked for Wardens at Soldier’s Peak, did you not receive assistance?”
Serenity cleared her throat again. Avernus had neglected to mention whether any Wardens answering their Calling had shown up on their doorstep while she was in the Free Marches. If he had extended his life with their sacrifice, she would have liked to have been told about it.
“But I sent a missive during the darkspawn’s civil war,” she said.
“At the time, we did not have enough information to advise you,” the Chamberlain answered. “You made no mention of the Architect or the Mother until after they were dead. You mentioned the Orlesian Wardens were missing, but you did not request aid until after the attack on Vigil’s Keep.”
“But I mentioned the talking darkspawn in my letter,” Serenity insisted. “I had no idea they existed. You did. I was not the first Warden to meet the Architect. You could have warned me.”
“No, you were not,” the Chamberlain answered patiently. “What’s done is done. You ensured the Architect is dead. Those that met the creature before advised that course of action. You did what the others could not.”
“But there are more ancient magisters,” Serenity said. “They practice a kind of blood magic that can accelerate and reverse the corruption in one’s blood. Blight magic could potentially provide a cure to the taint or at least prevent the Calling.”
“Is that what you are here to research?” the Chamberlain asked. “Talking darkspawn and blood magic?”
“Yes,” she answered, a little disappointed in his apparent disinterest. “Have you received any correspondence from Commander Larius?”
“We received notice that he went to answer his Calling years ago,” the Chamberlain answered. “Why?”
“He was still alive when Hawke sought out Corypheus in the Vimmark Mountains,” Serenity said. “Did you receive any word at all about him?”
“Not in some time,” the Chamberlain answered. “Last we heard, the prison was secure and the seals reinforced.”
“Then, you don’t know Corypheus is dead?” Serenity asked. “Along with Senior Warden Janeka.”
“By the Maker. Corypheus was slain?” the Chamberlain asked, pushing aside a pile of parchments to clear enough space for him to write a letter. “Are you certain? I need a full report on this at once.”
“I wasn’t there,” Serenity said, leaning forward to read what he was writing so frantically. His handwriting was hard to decipher upside down. “I can only tell you what I was told. The seals on the prison were broken. Janeka intended to free the magister, but Larius opposed her. Hawke killed Corypheus. I had concerns about how dead he was too, but she assured me he was ‘very dead.’”
“Hawke,” the Chamberlain repeated. “Malcolm Hawke? The mage who reinforced the seals?”
“His daughter, Marian,” Serenity answered.
“Everything we know about Corypheus suggests he is the most dangerous darkspawn we’ve ever encountered,” the Chamberlain said as he stilled his hand to sigh and rubbed his brow. “I suppose you learned about this on your mission to learn about the talking darkspawn and their blood magic?”
“Yes,” Serenity lied. “Are there any other accounts of talking darkspawn you haven’t shared with me?”
“No,” the Chamberlain answered curtly. “If there are, they’re buried in the archives. I don’t have time to be digging through old letters when I am busy enough receiving new ones. If you should make any progress on your search for a cure to the corruption, I ask that you keep me apprised.”
“Of course.”
“You’ve proven yourself tenacious,” the Chamberlain said and looked up from the letter as he dipped his quill in the inkwell. “Many have looked for ways to prevent the blight, but none have pursued a cure for the sickness. It might not solve the greater problem, but it would most certainly help the Wardens in their fight.”
Serenity felt her skin flush. She felt like he was demeaning her mission and suggesting she didn’t pursue the more noble cause. But she tried not to let his words bother her. Preventing all future blights was what the Architect wanted—and she had killed him. It seemed an impossible task. A dangerous one.
Duncan had told her the Grey Wardens existed to stop the blight—at all costs. But some costs were too great. Maybe she wasn't a very good Grey Warden to get hung up on the details, but she had to consider what the potential solutions to end all future blights would entail in the long term. What would the world look like a century later had she allowed the Architect to continue his experiments?
But what she was trying to do wasn’t impossible. She could learn blight magic. She could harness the taint and reverse it, perhaps even eradicate it.
“While you were in the Free Marches,” the Chamberlain continued, “did you learn anything about red lyrium?”
“I learned to stay far away from it,” Serenity answered. “It drove the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall mad. She wasn’t exactly stable to begin with, but it made her much, much worse.”
“The First Warden is seeking answers about the nature of red lyrium,” the Chamberlain said quietly. “He believes the blight might have corrupted it. But we cannot study it without a sample.”
“It’s dangerous,” Serenity said. “Even just touching it can make you crazy.”
“If it is the taint within the lyrium, the Grey Wardens may be better equipped to study it than even the dwarves are,” the Chamberlain said. “Better yet if one of our dwarven Wardens can look into it.”
“And will you tell me what you learn?” Serenity asked. “That is information all of the Warden Commanders should be aware of, yes?”
“Mm,” the Chamberlain grunted noncommittally as he signed his letter and looked up from the parchment as the ink dried. “I have a question for you. I am aware of the circumstances surrounding how you became the Commander of the Ferelden Wardens. There was a lot you weren't taught before you were thrown into the middle of a blight and a civil war. But I am sure Riordan explained how killing an Archdemon works and why the Grey Wardens make the ultimate sacrifice. How did you survive?”
“As I stated in my letter,” Serenity answered guardedly, “the Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth, provided an ancient blood magic that allowed me to live. The old god’s soul was destroyed.”
“Do you know this spell?” the Chamberlain asked. “Can you teach it to others so it can be studied?”
“No,” Serenity answered. “The spell was cast on me, not taught to me.”
“No other Warden has ever slain an Archdemon and survived. Some doubt the veracity of your claims. Some believe the Archdemon’s soul yet lives and will return, that you did not end the blight but delay it,” the Chamberlain warned her. “I suppose only time will tell if it’s true. A blight has never ended so abruptly.”
“You don’t believe me?” Serenity asked.
Granted, she was lying, but she thought it sounded better than the truth. She couldn’t confess to Morrigan’s sex ritual and the reincarnation of an old god. Whatever Morrigan had planned for the child, Serenity imagined it was better than what the Grey Wardens would do if they knew about it.
“I am not outright denying your claims, but I hope you can understand why I keep a healthy level of skepticism,” the Chamberlain said. “We must replenish our numbers to prepare for the worst. You’ve done well to increase the forces in Ferelden, but I have heard you’ve recruited an unusually high number of apostates. It caused a bit of a stir within the Chantry, as you well know.”
“What business is it of theirs who we recruit?” Serenity asked. “The Grey Wardens aren’t under the authority of the Chantry.”
“No, we aren’t. But we try to keep the peace when we aren’t at war. Ordinarily, we limit the number of mages we take in,” the Chamberlain answered. “We are allowed a mage from every Circle. Duncan recruited you. But you took in two wanted apostates from the same Circle. Friends of yours, I presume.”
“That’s right. The war might not have reached the Anderfels, but it ravaged Ferelden,” Serenity said defensively. “I also took in a mage from Kirkwall. The mages I’ve taken in were being hunted, but they had a lot to offer. They all survived the Joining and they’ve all proven invaluable.”
“Are you forgetting one of your recruits became an abomination and murdered the Constable Warden?” the Chamberlain reminded her. “Among several others, as I understand.”
“Your Constable Warden and the templar he allowed to stalk my friend drove him to desperation,” Serenity said assertively. “I’m not excusing what he did. He’s paying the price for it now in the Deep Roads. But he saved my life on more than one occasion. He was invaluable to me.”
“We have had other mages come to our gates looking for refuge,” the Chamberlain said, decidedly dismissing the subject of Anders. “I expect we may see many more to come considering the current climate within the Circles. The First Warden hasn’t allowed them to undergo the rite as of yet. It might appear he’s taking sides if he does.”
“Are you suggesting I recruit fewer mages?” Serenity asked, crossing her arms. “Because I prefer to recruit whomever I see fit.”
“I am suggesting you avoid drawing unwanted attention from the Chantry,” the Chamberlain advised. “As far as what happens in Ferelden, we’ve entrusted the region to your care. You are the ‘Hero of Ferelden,’ after all. Your involvement in Ferelden politics goes against our decree, but you ended the Blight and killed the Architect. The First Warden can’t argue with results… or popular opinion.”
"Are you saying I’m only the Warden-Commander because people like me?" Serenity asked, appalled. “A mouthy elf with magic and annual attempts made on her life? You’re joking.”
"You have friends in high places. The King of Ferelden bequeathed the Arling of Amaranthine to you. He said it was for the Grey Wardens, but it is your name upon the deed," he said. "I do not mean to diminish your accomplishments—"
"Yet, you continue to do so," she said agitatedly.
"Your accomplishments have merit," the Chamberlain sighed, "but for all the diplomacy you exemplified during the blight, you would risk the delicate peace we have with the Chantry by taking in so many apostates. If you continue on this path, they'll be calling you First Enchanter before long."
Oh? A sense of humor?
She hadn’t thought he possessed one.
"Well, wouldn't you know, that was my lifelong dream before becoming Warden-Commander," she said, leaning back in her chair. She would recruit as many mages as she damn well pleased, especially if it meant saving them from an overzealous templar.
The Chamberlain sighed and rubbed at his brow again before pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you were human, I expect you would also be sitting upon the Ferelden throne."
"I draw the line at being addressed as 'Your Highness,'" she said. "I may not be human, but I'm still a force to be reckoned with."
"Oh, of that, I have no doubt," the Chamberlain said and looked up. “You’re dismissed, Commander. Caronel can show you to the library.”
Serenity felt disheartened as she left the Chamberlain's office, but the lukewarm reception wasn't going to deter her from her mission. She wandered the halls in search of Caronel and hoped she might stumble into the library along the way. Instead, she found the museum honoring the fallen heroes of the order with relics and plaques.
Garahel, the Hero of the Fourth Blight, held the greatest place of honor in the center of the room where his armor was on display within a crystal clear glass casket adorned by the horns of the Archdemon, Andoral.
"What do you think?" Caronel asked from the doorway behind her.
"An impressive collection," Serenity murmured. "It's kind of sad though, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"That this is all that's left of him," she said. "And there's hardly anyone here to learn about him and hear his story."
"I’m pretty sure when most people come here, their first inclination isn’t to feel sad but inspired. I don't think there's anyone alive who doesn't know his story, especially among the elves," Caronel said evenly as he entered the room to stand beside her. “But what about yours? There isn't anything here to commemorate your victory against Urthemiel."
"I would rather be alive than have a shrine,” Serenity said.
"I don't think the two need be mutually exclusive," Caronel said. "Not that I have any say on the matter."
"It was Alistair that called me 'the Hero of Ferelden,'" Serenity said. "I don't think the Wardens here see me that way. I'm starting to think they might even see me as a bit of a pain in the ass."
"Whatever the Chamberlain told you, try to take it with a grain of salt," Caronel said quietly. "He wasn't there."
"Were you?" Serenity asked as she turned to face him. His Ferelden accent was somewhat buried underneath the nuances of the Anderfels, but she was sure she heard it.
"I was," Caronel confirmed. "I grew up in the alienage in Denerim. Before the battle at Ostagar, tensions were coming to a boil between the humans and the elves. The Arl's son treated us like dogs. There were riots after the Battle of Ostagar that devolved into a massacre. They destroyed our homes and shops before they tried to purge the alienage. I fought back. I was one of the few scrappers to make it out alive. The gates were locked for weeks. A lot of those that weren't slaughtered starved to death or fell ill. I left as soon as the gates opened."
"I saw the aftermath," Serenity said and thought he didn't look much older than she was. She wondered if, prior to the templars taking her away, she had been friends with him. "Did you know my mother? Kyna?"
Caronel was taken off guard by the question and his stoic expression gave way to surprise. "Kyna was your mother?"
Serenity felt her heart race and asked, "You knew her?"
"She left Denerim with me," he said. "It was after the riots, before the sickness swept through and they locked it down again. We parted ways near Redcliffe. She said she was going to the Circle to see her daughter, but I... didn't know she meant you."
"She wouldn't have known I became a Grey Warden," Serenity sighed.
"She would know now," he said. "She mentioned searching for the Dalish. If she hasn't found you yet, perhaps her husband's clan took her in."
"Did she say which clan that was?" she asked eagerly.
"Clan Virnehn," he answered. "Somewhere in Orlais, I think."
Orlais.
"Thank you, Caronel," Serenity said, inwardly mapping out her next destination.
As eager as she was to track down her mother to the south, she still needed to travel to Nevarra. If anyone could provide her with answers to her questions about possession, she thought it would be the necromancers in the Grand Necropolis.
"You're welcome," Caronel answered. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Serenity said and looked up at him.
"Do you think your story belongs here, among these other heroes?"
"I don't know," she answered and looked back at the glass casket honoring Garahel. He had brought nations together to fight against their common enemy. He spent years fighting to end the blight. She couldn't even guess how many friends he lost in battle or to the blight sickness.
She considered herself lucky. It could have been so much worse. Duncan had recruited her at the beginning of the blight, before the darkspawn established a foothold and spread beyond their borders. Despite Loghain's best efforts, he hadn't been able to stop her from gathering her forces or gaining the loyalties of Ferelden nobility. She was able to unify Ferelden with the Wardens' treaties and the voices at the Landsmeet.
But she defied the Grey Wardens' tenet In death, sacrifice. She had shirked her final duty because she was afraid of dying. She took a leap of faith and trusted Morrigan, even without knowing. She surrendered because she was selfish. And she was still scared. She still dedicated her life to avoiding death. She knew it could save countless lives, but it was confronting the broodmothers in the Deep Roads that drove her to find a cure to the Calling. She would do anything not to answer it.
How, then, could she see herself as an equal to Garahel when he gave his life to save all others? She risked everything to continue to live. But she couldn't admit to that. She couldn't say it aloud.
"You're not what I expected," Caronel confessed.
She'd heard that before.
"Oh?"
"I thought you'd be..."
"Taller?" she asked.
Caronel chuckled, "I was going to say older, but since you mentioned it..."
"I had only just passed my Harrowing when Duncan recruited me," she said. "I was only seventeen. It feels like a lifetime ago now."
"I also didn't think you would be so humble," he said. "You managed to end the blight while the Teyrn had a bounty on your head."
"I also bested him in single combat," Serenity smirked.
"That thing I said about being humble? I take it back," he teased with a subtle smile.
"I was going to let him live," she admitted. "His selling slaves to Tevinter was especially deplorable, but I was going to make him undergo the Joining. Alistair wouldn't have it. I didn't want to undermine Ferelden's soon-to-be king, nor did I want the Wardens to appear fractured."
"You really could have forgiven him?" Caronel asked. "You would have trusted him enough to fight by his side?"
"As crazy as it sounds… I would have trusted him, yes," Serenity said. "Forgiven him, though? I don't know. But I think the Wardens could have used him, especially during the siege on Denerim."
"What was it like?" Caronel asked. "I haven't been back since I left."
"It was chaos," Serenity answered. "We would have lost the city without the support of our allies. Orzammar's military helped us clear out the Market district and aided Oghren in keeping the front gates clear. The Dalish protected the alienage and helped us kill one of the darkspawn generals. The Circle of Magi cleared out the palace district for us. And Redcliffe's army held back the darkspawn when we reached the top of Fort Drakon and fought the Archdemon. If Riordan hadn't crippled its wings, it could easily have escaped."
"It doesn't sound like you needed Loghain to lead the troops," Caronel said.
"Perhaps fewer lives would have been lost," she said. "Perhaps not. I would have liked to have learned something from him myself, regardless. I could have transferred him to the Anderfels if I couldn't move past his misdeeds. But I like to think I would have found interesting ways to punish and rehabilitate him."
“Maybe you could have had him resurrect the legendary Night Elves,” Caronel suggested.
“Night Elves?” Serenity asked.
"Their story has been kept alive by those who knew of them. They were city elves lead by the Teyrn when Ferelden fought for freedom from Orlais. They will not be found in any book, nor will you find a single statue for them anywhere in Ferelden," Caronel said. "But they are one of the biggest reasons none of us grew up serving people in elaborate dresses and masks."
"Loghain led them? I never knew," Serenity murmured. "I wouldn't have guessed, considering he turned around and sold the elves to the Vints during the blight. I'm disappointed Maric did nothing to help the elves after their part in the rebellion. It was in his power to influence change."
"The elves served their purpose," Caronel muttered. "They were sent back to the alienage to be forgotten again. Maybe the shemlen were afraid of their potential. Who else would they have to fetch their wine at their feasts?"
"At least Alistair is trying," Serenity said. "He still has servants, but they’re paid a fair wage."
"So I’ve heard," Caronel said, casting her a sidelong glance. "You must have had some influence over him."
"Some," Serenity admitted. "I was granted a boon. I requested the elves in the alienage be treated better. He saw that Shianni was made Bann of the alienage and granted a voice in the Landsmeet. It’s a start."
"That was your doing?" Caronel asked, his stoic mask slipping again. "You could have had riches or requested the Circle’s independence and you asked for that?"
"I don't believe in making the Circles independent, and it's up to the Divine to see reform, not the King," Serenity answered. "I asked for what I felt was most needed. What does a Grey Warden need riches for? We are bound by duty and blood to the order. I would rather affect change that won't be buried with me when I'm gone."
"I can say with certainty that the qualities you possess are what make a great Warden Commander," Caronel said. "I don't think most people know the truth. Stories have been told, but they're only pieces to a puzzle that don't always fit together. Your story should be told. We could learn something from you."
"All the Chamberlain is interested in is how I survived," Serenity said.
"We all wonder the same thing, but it doesn't make you less of a Grey Warden," Caronel said.
"Doesn't it though?" Serenity asked, looking up at him.
"You ended the blight," Caronel answered. "I only hope the stories that follow you don’t neglect that you’re an elf… or a mage. The humans erase us from history and repurpose it when they can. But the Wardens are different. Garahel wasn’t forgotten. You shouldn’t be either.”
Serenity smiled, “I appreciate that. I’ll think about how I want my story told. Another benefit to being alive is being able to have some control over the truth. But I do think they should hire a sculptor to capture Duncan's likeness. He deserves some kind of commemoration. I wouldn't be here if not for him. Neither would Ferelden."
"Was his body never recovered from Ostagar?"
"It was. Alistair kept his shield. I have his weapons. But I'm not handing them over to anyone," Serenity said, crossing her arms. "The Chamberlain can pry them from my cold, dead hands."
"Do you use them?" he asked curiously.
"Not as often as I mean to," Serenity admitted. "I'm more comfortable wielding a staff, but I learned how to swing a sword. An ancient spirit taught me."
"You're an Arcane warrior?"
"How do you know about the Arcane warriors of Elvehnan? Even the Circle of Magi has limited knowledge of their history or magic," Serenity said.
"I found such a spirit myself," Caronel answered. "After I left the alienage and travelled to the forest of Arlathan."
"You... did? Please, teach me everything you know," Serenity said. "What was shared with me is still hazy."
"You want me to teach you? I think you should be the one to teach me, Commander."
"I'll share what I've learned," Serenity said, "if you do the same for me. I have a grasp on a few spells, but I could certainly use some practice pairing them with a sword and dagger."
"Then, for as long as you're here, I will be your sparring partner," Caronel offered.