#or the politicking of ferelden grey wardens

[andrastesgrace]

my entire brain right now is just maric, asking duncan to send a letter to fiona, not really expecting a reply but unable to stop thinking about her a few months pass, and he gets a letter back. it's short, but it's still fiona, and and he's in a good mood for days. loghain doesn't ask why.

letters becoming a regular thing, because letters are harmless. they don't use their real names, unless someone intercepts. but it feels a little like...something. friendship, at the very least. a balm to a couple of weary hearts who are tired of pain.

a year passes. alistair is nearly two. eamon says he's well, but hasn't said anything else and maric doesn't ask because it hurts too much. fiona doesn't ask, either, but he can tell when it's hurting her by the shape of the silences in her letters. sometimes he goes a long time, without a new one.

when three months pass and he hasn't heard from her, he begins to pester Duncan for news the younger man doesn't have. when it turns into four, he starts looking for a way to rearrange his schedule, to ride for weisshaupt if necessary.

just as he's about to leave, he recieves the news that she's been kicked out of the Grey Wardens. she's headed back to the Circle. he writes one, two, three responses, and they all end up in the wastebasket. what if...what if she came to Ferelden? Surely Kinloch Hold would be kinder to her than Montissimard. he could...they could...

but he can already hear her answer.

you know I can't. so instead, the fourth and final reply, the one he sends, just says "what do you need?"

"write me a letter, you ridiculous man" the letters have grown longer and more frequent, now that she has time she isn't giving to the grey wardens. he complains bitterly in coded language that the landsmeet fights him every time he tries to improve life in the alienage; she responds with counsel and a badly drawn caricature of arl kendells. she tells him all about how Orlesian politicking infects even the Circles of Magi, he responds with a limerick about an Orlesian lord losing his pants that has her snorting her morning coffee.

sometimes, his words grow a little too tender, and its weeks before he hears from her again.

it's another year before he sees her in person, and that is entirely by accident. the empress has invited him to a ball, and he makes an appearance despite the fact that the palace at Val Royeaux fills him with a dull anger he's never quite able to shake. he finds himself ditching the crowd and the mask for a cloak and hood, just to get some fresh air and clear his mind. it's an objectively bad idea. the king of ferelden unguarded in val royeaux is somewhat akin to leaving a rabbit unguarded in a kennel full of hungry dogs. what's more, as he's walking the grounds, he finds himself staring at the long stake on the palace gate, and realizing what it was for. or what it had been for, once. "not a party person, I see,"

he turns, and there she is. for all the ornate gowns and elaborate hairpieces he's seen tonight, fiona in simple green velvet and her dark hair caught up in a comb is the loveliest thing he's seen. even the mask is not terribly ornate, and she tucks it aside as she approaches him, her hazel eyes squinting in affection. "I - Fiona! I didn't know you'd be here." "Oh, I'm not allowed inside the palace, but even the circle has to come when the Empress calls. They have us milling about the outside. like decorations." "...well that's stupid." they laugh, for a moment, and his stomach swoops as she comes to stand close, to look at where he was looking.

"was it a very fascinating gate post?"

"ah, well-"

he means to shy away, but she tilts her head with a look of concern.

it was where they hung my mother's body when they killed her seems a little macabre, so he just says "they used to display bodies there, during the war." she seems to gather his meaning, or at least part of it, and affection for her blooms in his chest as she spins the conversation off into lighter places, telling him a story of one of the major players of her letters, a mage having an affair with not one but three different nobles, all of whom were attempting to kill each other. by the end he's laughing, and she's grinning, and he wants so badly to kiss her. he remembers the soft noises she makes when he kisses her. "no good nobles in val royeaux, I see." "well. usually. there's one, tonight."

they part when the bell rings, and he must make his way back to the ballroom lest he be considered rude, but not before he presses a key to his private room into her hand. the choice, as always, is hers. "they'll talk," she says later, as she's unbuttoning his shirt.

there are a hundred different scandals happening val royeaux tonight. they'll just have to be one of them. "let them," he says. he bends at the knee and scoops her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. later, he lets his fingers wander over the crisscross of stretch marks on her hips that weren't there the last time he saw her like this. she seems self-conscious, tries to cover herself, but he grabs her hand and kisses her. "beautiful," he murmurs. how could the proof she carried his child be anything but beautiful? "Ridiculous." It started, truly, in the depths of the Deep Roads. But if you ask Maric, that's how it started again. Letters, and a visit, here and there. Once a year, maybe twice if they're very lucky. he sends her gifts at Wintersend, and there's always a busybody or two at the Circle trying to discern the identity of Fiona's benefactor. she sends back three boxes of sweets. one for maric, one for cailan, and one - well. he always sends it to Redcliffe. it always ends with the same question, and the same answer. "you could come with me, you know."

"you know that I can't." "that doesn't mean that I'll stop asking."

[tobiasdrake]

Replaying through City Elf origin now, some notes.

I talked in my Human Noble post about the way that Ferelden is more a federation of disparate tribes who kinda hate each other than a kingdom. The monarchy is a recent development with limited sway of the country compared to its thousands of years of federated politicking.

The Elven Alienages

City Elf touches on that with the alienages. Different banns, arlings, and teyrnirs have their own separate alienages for their elves. Denerim, despite being the capitol city, is only an arling; A mid-tier tribe. It ranks the same as Redcliff and is home to Arl Urien, lower in status than Bryce Cousland and Loghain.

Denerim also houses the royal palace, which is what makes its mid-tier status so interesting. Ferelden is such an odd place.

By the time of Origins, the elves have been well and truly fucked by history. After being freed from enslavement by the Evanuris, Arlathan was destroyed by the Tevinter Imperium and the elves were enslaved in Tevinter. Then they joined in Andraste's rebellion against Tevinter and were allowed to try and make a new kingdom in the Dales. Then Andraste's followers turned on them, destroyed their kingdom in the Dales, and now they're "not technically slaves, for realsies" in the Andrastian countries.

They live in segregated slums and labor for the humans. They arrange marriages between these "alienages", in which elders pick out breeding pairs from among their population and the Chantry gets final approval on who can wed and who cannot.

The Elves and Human Society

There's something... distressing... about the reverent worship that City Elves have for the Andrastian faith and the Maker. They revere Andraste for rescuing them from the bondage of the Imperium and follow the very Chantry that ripped them from their Dalish kingdom and dragged them into the bondage of the alienages.

Which isn't Andraste's fault; She was dead long before the Chantry even existed. But it's nonetheless a disquieting relationship that the City Elves have with the faith of their oppressors, not unlike that of the Circle of Magi.

The City Elf is in an arranged marriage to an elf from the alienage in Highever. That's the teyrnir belonging to Teyrn Bryce, father to the Human Noble. Which is a fascinating choice for the politics of the series, for what it implies of the Couslands that we don't see in the Human Noble story.

According to Nessa's Father, the humans in Highever are worse to the elves than the ones in Denerim. That's a pretty tall order, given that the City Elf's storyline features the Arl of Denerim's son kidnapping female elves from the alienage to rape.

Threat of that kind of assault from humans is something female City Elves just... live with. The Denerim arl's son is a predator, but Nessa's sidequest also involves the threat of being an elven woman in a military camp. The king's military camp!

And somehow Highever has a reputation as the bad place for elves.

If you're an elven woman in human society, this is a constant point of anxiety for you.

The Story of the City Elf

Compared to the Human Noble storyline, the City Elf story is much more complete. Human Noble ends with a lot of fear and uncertainty. Arl Howe attacked Highever and slaughtered everyone. Why did he do this? What is to become of the Couslands? The answer gets kicked forward into the main game, as Howe plays a key role in the plot as Loghain's wicked advisor.

But the City Elf's grievance with Vaughan Urien can be more conclusively resolved. Vaughan kidnapped a bunch of elves to rape. The City Elf stabs him many times to death and rescues them. Including herself, if you're playing a female City Elf. The end.

I mean, "the end" is actually when Urien's soldiers march on the alienage and demand the City Elf be turned over, which Grey Warden conscription rescues them from. ACAB, no justice for oppressed minorities.

But the City Elf's grievance with Vaughan isn't left dangling, the way the Human Noble's grievance with Howe is. That story meets a satisfying conclusion before the City Elf ever drinks their big ol' blood goblet.

You stabbed the arl's rapist son to death, avoided consequences to your people, and then got away scot free. Good for you! Even though you aren't allowed to worship him and he kind of hates you for converting to Andrastianism, the Dread Wolf would be proud.

[felassan]

Some idle thoughts on the new DA4 Grey Warden concept art:

First of all I really like this art piece, it’s really beautiful. so crisp. it’s maybe my second favorite piece of concept art from among the newer ones, after this one

Could this be Davrin?

Could there have been on a meta level another between-title Grey Warden armor/outfit design re-design, as has happened in the past between DA titles not just for GWs but also for other factions? Or maybe this is a northern Warden, from the Anderfels or similar (the little we can see of the background could pass as Anderfels), and northern Wardens have semi-different gear? Or maybe this is the First Warden and that’s why the ‘highlight’ pieces are gold to signify authority and leadership rather than blue? Some eagle-eyed folks have noticed that on their shield, the griffin emblem is topped with a crown, not a drop of Joining blood as is usual. That’s quite interesting, considering crowns symbolize leadership and nobility, and the fact that we know that in the Anderfels, the king is weak, people look to the Wardens for leadership and the First Warden is involved in Anders politicking, with one of their tasks being to advise the king in matters of state. Also, “Intriguingly, the First Warden has recently begun to criticize the nation's monarchy, suggesting that the leader of the Wardens is considering a grab for the throne” - maybe this previously-implied plotbeat is what we’re now looking at, between the crown and the gold?

Interesting that the GW griffon emblem on the chestplate still retains the chalice and drop of blood however

Speaking of the gold, it’s nice to see the new black-and-gold color theme the game seems to be angling towards continue in this piece, with the golden elements in it picking up on that. it’s fresh, cohesive

CAPE

This Warden also reminds me of the Warden figure seen in other concept art in the BtS trailer (like in the piece in a Warden fortress with lots of blue banners hanging from the ceiling), and in the game-footage section where they’re being played and use what looks like the Shield Wall skill

I also have to say that the southern or standard [whichever it is] blue and gray/silver Warden uniforms are awesome and really cool looking but this new Warden's outfit is even cooler and the Hero of Ferelden now looks like a nerd who should give me their lunch money

the winged helm makes me nostalgic for armor in DAO

gaming outlets reacting to this piece like “NEWS: Grey Wardens will be in DA4″ is.. well. hh

this piece dropped at a similar time on the same day as the last one did, it seems that it won’t be /every/ week that one comes out but when they do they’re posted around a similar time & day

FOR THE WARDENS...!

[braincoins]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening

Summary: A young girl arrives at Soldier's Peak with a startling request.

Rating: T for Teen And Up Audiences

Tags: Alistair, Female Mahariel, Warden's Mabari, Anders, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren, Sigrun, Velanna, Original Character(s), Garevel, child abuse mention            

Notes: This was something I originally wrote a long time ago, updated so it can be slotted into DA:S. I was thinking, “What else can you do with the Right of Conscription?” Thanks to @mckinlily for the beta!!

(5,481 words - on Ao3)

Teaser below cut:

           Soldier’s Peak was meant to be a fortress, with its high walls and newly reinforced main gate (thank you, Mikhael). It was a monument to history – of the Wardens, of the Drydens, of Ferelden – and death. And it was a sanctuary, not just for Clan Elaisu, but for Kivral’s sanity. No more politicking, backstabbing, whining nobles! She didn’t have an entire arling looking to her to answer every little question their brains could concoct.

           She also wasn’t overseeing the reconstruction of a decimated keep, though sometimes it felt that way. Levi and his family had begun the work of restoring the Peak, but the main problem here was age and the last remnants of a siege undergone generations ago. Vigil’s Keep had been under recent darkspawn attack, and that was harder to recover from. The Peak was smaller, too, so needed less work in general.

           Kivral sighed in something very like contentment as she walked back into the main building, Sekh trotting along at her heels. She’d spent the day checking in with Saeda and Keeper Threlaen to see how the clan was faring, consulting with Levi and Mikhael about what needed doing, and then doing what she could to help things progress. It’d been hard, sweaty labor, but she hadn’t minded. She could see what she’d accomplished when she was done with things, and that was leagues better than settling fights between prissy nobles. But it was getting on now, and she was looking forward to supper and maybe some fun with Alistair before she passed out for the night.

           She was headed for the dining room when she heard Alistair call her name. She turned back to the sound of his voice, a smile already coming onto her lips. He’d also apparently been helping with the reconstruction, and she certainly wasn’t complaining. Seeing him stride in all shirtless and glistening was a distraction. There was a smudge of dirt or something on his cheek that just begged to be wiped away... later. Because he was accompanied by a young human girl who couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. And this, more than anything, was what had her staring.

           Alistair had a hand on the girl’s left shoulder, but it seemed as if he needn’t bother: she had her chin lifted and walked almost defiantly alongside him as he brought her over. She looked a bit bedraggled: her braid was messy, her dress was grass-stained, and her shoes were muddy. But she was doing her best to look tough and unafraid. Kivral was intrigued.

           “Greetings to the both of you,” she said, remembering to be polite and trying to look like she was in charge. It was easier back when she had a throne to sit on, and when she wasn’t sweaty and muddy herself. “And who might you be?”

           She blinked when the girl dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “Warden-Commander, my name is Guinevere.” She looked to Alistair for some sort of explanation, but he just shrugged and looked stupid, and she was mostly sure he wasn’t faking it this time. “I’ve come to join the Grey Wardens.”

[captainderyn]

A Friend In Ferelden

AO3 Link

Summary: Disbanded entirely...absorbed into the Orlesian army... try to continue as they are and face war from the powerful nations on either side of them like a vice. Nothing fit. There was no other option. This is the dilemma Tucdela Lavellan faces stepping into the Exalted Council until a third path opens in the form of a letter and the words:“Their Majesties Alistair and Baraneth Theirin wish to extend an offer to you, Your Worship.”

Notes: I continue to play around with Alistair and Baraneth’s rule and continue to break canon to my liking. Spoilers for Trespasser DLC.

“Arl Teagan,” the tension was thick enough that if Tucdela concentrated hard enough she may be able to scoop it out of the air. Biting her tongue as best she could to keep quiet against the glare that cut into her, she kept her voice pleasant. “How does Redcliffe fair?”

“We are managing. Despite the mage rebellion we continue to rebuild.” The Ferelden arl’s voice was tight, his hands fidgeting with the hat balancing upon his head before his hands settled on tightly lacing in front of him. Despite the warm air and sunlight bathing Halamshiral in a yellow glow the temperature dropped several degrees and chilled her to the core. The arl was anything but amicable towards her, or the Inquisition and had demanded to speak with her almost as soon as she had handed her horse off to one of the stablehands. “I am glad that you arrived, the Crown is anxious for news.”

“I am as well, I believe this Council has everyone on the edge of their seats.” Tucdela said delicately, shifting her weight from the side the side under the harsh glare of the arl. With the events at Redcliffe with the mages and the Venatori things had been..interesting with Alistair Theirin. His letters had conveyed no lingering ill will except in the occasional barbed comment and he hadn’t shown much concern in the politicking of the Inquisition until after the Winter Palace. That letter had been filled with barbed warnings as to the boundaries of the Inquisition and a dirtied, half torn note signed by the queen Baraneth had bolstered it. She had not heard of any interest in her leadership since.

If the Arl wanted to talk...well, then she might as well take the opportunity to try and gauge how Ferelden was going to side.  “What are your thoughts on Ferelden’s position in this?”

Teagan scoffed, his eyes breaking away from drilling into her to fix at the array of people mingling in the courtyards, finding those in Inquisition heraldry with a deepening scowl. “The Breach is long gone and yet Skyhold still remains with a fully functioning army. On Ferelden borders may I add.”

Realizing that perhaps she had stumbled into a hole she had no wish to continue digging in her attempts at what Josephine had suggested as “subtle inquiries”, Tucdela held her hands out to try and smooth ruffled feathers. “While I understand that the Inquisition has grown and I understand that may cause some fear I believe--”

But there was no calming the fire now, nor stopping the harsh sting of words that her inquiry had opened the floodgates to. Tucdela could only stick her tongue in her cheek and fold her hands demurely in front of her as the words pelted her. “Clearly then you must understand why Ferelden must demand a reduction in your military? This power without allegiance cannot be allowed to stand. Not when your power is used to invade our territories…”

“Crestwood was a bandit occupied fortress. The Inquisition only wished to offer aid to Crestwood’s main providence. And we succeeded.”

As though she had not spoken the arl plowed on, giving her no respite to correct his ranting misinformation and left her with hardly a moment to intercede. “Invading under the pretext of aid is exactly what the Grey Wardens did centuries ago, and now your forces do the same with the Wardens in your midst. It is hardly a clever ruse.”

Just as Tucdela opened her mouth to finally retort in full--perhaps a reminder of who exactly the Arl’s king and queen were--an acidic reply building in her throat, a form slid from the shadows, a smooth voice cutting in and beating her to her own point. “I’ll remind you, my lord, that both your king and queen are the Grey Wardens in which you slander.”

Taking in the newcomer, with her soft spoken words driving Teagan’s rant to a standstill, Tucdela’s brows knit. She was a fellow elven woman, but with no vallaslin across her skin or any heraldry printed across her armor. It was anyone’s best guess as to whether she was a city elf or someone else entirely. Though she was dressed in the furs and leathers of Ferelden she offered no clue as to who she was or who she swore allegiance to.

“They aren’t--” Teagan dropped his eyes to the ground, boots scruffing the cobblestones as he rescinded whatever he had thought to say before dragging them up to Tucdela again with a furhter deepening scowl. Any more and perhaps his face would collapse entirely into itself. “I won’t keep you longer, we’ll have words enough when the Exalted Council comes to pass.”

Simple as that, with only a cursory inclination of his head, Teagan turned on a dime and disappeared into a group of his fellow Fereldens, who swallowed him with only suspicious or pitying looks spared towards the Inquisitor.

The elven woman beside Tucdela watched him go with a exasperated look, before her eyes, already narrowed in thought, turned to Tucdela herself. She shrank from the attention, feeling as though those dark irises were tearing her apart without touching her. That is all anyone had been doing here after all, picking her apart for any weakness that could be used to dismantle the Inquisition. She fought the urge to shake her hair over her ears despite being stared at by a fellow elf, and to slip her Anchor-ridden hand behind her back. But no barbed remark came, no questioning of her title. “The arl may speak for the Bannorn, but he does not represent the Crown.”

Watching as the arl clustered with his fellow countrymen, the Inquisitor tilted her head. “I believe he is the representative for Ferelden’s interests, unless my Ambassador has proven malinformed.” her dry comment fell on deaf ears, the elf shaking her head and waving her confusion away with a flick of her hand.

“The representative the Bannorn elected to send. However, the Crown has different views. Both have more..open opinions than the Bannorn as a whole are willing to take on.” Then a realization hit her and her eyes widened, the hand previously waving away Tucdela’s confusion pressing into the side of her head as if scolding. “Apologies, Your Worship, I am Sybil Veran, liason to the Crown’s interest at the Exalted Council.”

“A pleasure.” Tucdela hedged, watching the elf inquisitively. “You may know me as Tucdela Lavellan. I’m afraid I have heard nothing on the Ferelden Crown having any opinion on the matter of the Inquisition. I was only informed of one ambassador.”

“With the queen returned from her quest and two little girls wrapping Denerim around their pinky fingers Ferelden is putting their guard down. The Crown sees the remaining threat the Bannorn does not.” Rummaging around in the pack at her side, Sybil pulled out a neatly folded letter and held out the vellum to her. “This was sent to you, though you did not arrive when it did.”

The wax seal--two lions wrapped around a shield, the Theirin family heraldry--broke easily under Tucdela’s nail and she scanned across the elegant lines of writing, mouth moving silently around the words. An offer, of all things, to gain the Crown’s support under the table to aid in the lingering troubles should the Inquisition require it. All she needed to do was pull major Inquisition fortress power from Ferelden territory.

At the bottom, signed in bold, swooping lines of ink, read:

Consider our offer Inquisitor.

-Baraneth Theirin

Baraneth Therin. The Baraneth Theirin, better known as Cousland that all the Ferelden’s and even some Orlesians spoke of with adoration and respect respectively and the very same woman that had briefly graced Skyhold’s courtyards. She had assumed that it had been only to speak to Leliana on whatever her quest with Warden Commander Ruinel had produced, or even to speak with Tucdela herself on what had transpired in the year since she had left. She hadn’t expected further correspondence. Any further letters from Ferelden she had expected to be penned by Alistair Theirin as they all had been before.  

“Their Majesties Alistair and Baraneth Theirin wish to extend an offer to you, Your Worship.” the liaison to the Crown, whose official words Tucdela held in her hand, explained as if the very claim wasn’t laid out in front of her in the elegant hand of the queen herself. “They see the use yet for the  Inquisition and do not wish to see it formally disbanded as Arl Teagan suggests. Especially since your Spymaster’s reports were received, though I know not what they said.”

Solas. Everything now was searching for Solas.

“Perhaps they would have appeared formally, but I believe His Majesty’s exact words were: I will not poke Halamshiral with a ten foot stick with Orlais, Ferelden, and the Inquisition all in the same room.” She gave a small laugh at her own joke. “And the queen stated that their presence would be overbearing.”  Falling somber again she said, “I know that the Orlesian ambassador also wishes to speak to you Inquisitor, but please, do consider this alternative. I will be around if you wish to find me.”

---

She made her choice. Made her bed and now she must lay in it. The Inquisition--no, all of Thedas now faces what might be the end of the line if they don’t succeed, if they don’t find Solas...Fen’harel she reminds herself bitterly, and and end his plan before it even starts.

Disbanded entirely...absorbed into the Orlesian army... try to continue as they are and face war from the powerful nations on either side of them like a vice. Nothing fit. There was no other option.

Marching into the Exalted Council, head held high despite the knotted, empty, left sleeve of her coat and the color that had yet to come back into her skin, she called to the entire room the end of the Inquisition.

Arl Teagan all but clapped in glee, blissfully unaware of the letter tucked in her pocket, and Duke Cyril de Montfort wilted, expression unreadable underneath his mask.

Outside the doors of the Council Chamber the Inquisition forces still stood tall, still stood unified. They knew of the letter in her pocket with it’s elegant writing and offer, they knew that things were far from finished. They had rallied around her the night prior, tucked away from prying eyes.

No, the Inquisition wouldn’t put down it’s sword until the final threat was dealt with--a loose and fraying end that had gone too long unacknowledged.

Half-hearted condolences on her loss of stature were offered as she left, earning a nod and undisguisable murmurs from who some would call the ex-Inquisitor. In the shadow of Halamshiral’s looming buildings she found an unassuming elven woman, dressed in the fur and leathers of Ferelden.

“I’ve made my choice.” Tucdela slipped a folded letter, sealed with wax bearing the eye of the Inquisition, into the elf’s hands. Looking up in question, the Crown’s liaison slyly smiled at the subtle incline of her head.

“Very good, mistress Lavellan. I will see that this reaches their hands.”

Within three weeks time a letter was slipped into Baraneth’s hand under the high rafters of Denerim’s palace. Breaking the seal she unfolded the vellum and scanned over the short, scribed message with the unsteady and messy signature at the bottom. Touching Alistair’s arm she passed it to him with a secretive grin that was missed by the assembly of Ferelden nobles.

Addressed to their Majesties Alistair and Baraneth Theirin,

The Inquisition accepts your offer. The threat we face is larger than any politics played at the Exalted Council.

-Inquisitor Tucdela Lavellan 9:44 Dragon. 

[seahaloed]

Codex: Wardens of the Anderfels

Given the vast nature of the Anderfels, there are multiple Warden-Commanders that preside over separate territories.

(i’ll honestly probably remake this at some point with the addition of other landmarks, but i just need this damn idea out of my head.)

While it’s not historically uncommon for multiple Warden-Commanders to be present in any given nation, it hasn’t been an active practice since 7:5 Storm, when Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden attempted a coup in Ferelden, save for in the Anderfels. The vastness of the wasteland and the number of blighted make it a requirement for Wardens to be an active part of everyday life in the Anderfels, much to the chagrin of some of the local nobility.

1. The Hossberg/Weisshaupt Territory (White): While the First Warden technically is in charge of all the Wardens in Thedas, their politicking leaves little time for active involvement. The High Constable services the Hossberg/Weisshaupt Territory acts as the First’s direct second in command and is typically a liaison between the First Warden and other Warden-Commanders of Thedas should they reach out for the help of the order.

The High Constable’s duties also involve delegating Warden patrols within the area, and to villages that fall under their territory on top of the requirements of being the First Warden’s right hand. It is common practice that should the High Constable outlive the First Warden that they will assume that role after the First Warden either succumbs to their Calling or whatever natural death takes them.

The Chamberlain of the Grey is also present within Hossberg but deals with matters of the state rather than the land like the High Constable might.

2. Nordbotten Territory (red): Nordbotten is a territory at the end of the Lattenfluss. Generally speaking, the territory is larger. Unlike Kassel, Nordbotten is at the end of the Lattenfluss, making the water than comes through generally unviable for storage during the dry months. There is a lake in the southern part of the territory where a majority of people have gathered due to the Nordbotten Warden Keep’s presence in the territory, however, it’s distance makes living here dangerous. Caravans and Volca refugees have sought out Nordbotten as a place of sanctuary given the constant stream of trade between the ships that come down the Lattenfluss and shipments escorted from the port in Laysh.

3. Laysh Territory (yellow):

The Warden-Commander of the Laysh territory focuses primarily on securing the port of Laysh that is the entry point from the Volca Sea, and escorting trade caravans to and from the port to Nordbotten. More recently, they’ve had to start escorting refugees from across the Volca Sea who speak vaguely of a tragedy, but refuse to go into further detail when pressed about what the tragedy is.

These refugees have begun to set up camps/steads around the usual path that the Laysh Wardens travel by.

4. Tallo’s Eye/Sundarin Territory (purple):

The Tallo’s Eye is an outpost situated within The Wandering Hills. Save for during massive sandstorms, the outpost is able to see far out onto the water of the Colean Sea incase of any invading forces.

Wardens who are stationed at Sundarin and Tallo have taken up sailing as an extra means of patrol, often checking ships prior to them coming into port. They usually sail on small boats comprised of a 3-5 person group.

5. Kassel Territory (green):

The Kassel Territory is comprised of most of the Lattenfluss from Tallo to the edge of the Hossberg Territory.

Kassel itself has most of the natural freshwater sources in the Anderfels, and as such the Wardens there are partially responsible for maintaining these waterways and farmlands free of Blight. This might include patrolling for Darkspawn or mending the aqueducts that make up most of Kessel’s infrastructure.

The Warden-Commander here works closest with Kassel’s local noble Baroness Liese to maintain the water supplies that, in the worst summers, must help all of the Anderfels survive.

--

The Wandering Hills are left unguarded by the Wardens at the request of the Orth. The King of Hossberg would see it conquered, but the Wardens for all their political involvement in the Anderfels refuses to intervene or take part in securing the Hills by force.

[tobiasdrake]

Ostagar, Part II: The Politics of Treason

This is where we talk about what transpires on this fateful day between Teyrn Loghain and King Cailan.

The player's first impression upon arriving at Ostagar is a royal welcome from King Cailan himself! Upon meeting Cailan, you can tell him a bit about what went down in your Origin. Though if you're not playing Human Noble or City Elf, he has little to say other than, "Oh, neat."

It's only those two who are really his subjects, and therefore whose personal crises directly relate to the corruption and cruelty of his people.

If Cailan learns about Highever, his response is immediate, emotional, and vengeful. He promises brutal retaliation the second we're finished with Ostagar.

Buuuuuuut he's not as passionate about the plight of elves. By his own admission, he's never even set foot in the alienage.

And his reaction upon finding out that the City Elf murdered an Arl's son for trying to rape them and/or their relatives is a lot more muted.

"Oh, sucks. Anyways, let's table that; We have bigger things to talk about."

Somehow, the vengeful passion just isn't there when it's elves that his nobles are hurting. If you press him about how ugly things are in the alienage, he offers these hollow promises.

My dude, you've been king for five years. The Blight hasn't even officially been declared yet. You don't get to use it as a scapegoat for the condition of alienages across Ferelden.

He doesn't even have any idea what he's talking about. By his own admission, his first inkling that things aren't rosy in the alienages is the fact that I just said that five seconds ago, and now he's making firm promises of solutions to problems he just now learned about.

This is hollow politicking. Cailan is talking straight out of his ass so he can end this topic on a pleasant note.

The events about to befall Ostagar are so tragically avoidable, but for the egotism of Cailan and the paranoia of Loghain. With the Blight howling at Ferelden's doorstep, both of these men are sabotaging their nation.

Cailan is an arrogant, glory-seeking man-child. Which, if the gaudy golden armor didn't give it away, his dialogue quickly does. The first opinion he expresses about the upcoming battle is how tiresome he finds the topic of strategic warfare.

Experienced Grey Warden Duncan forcefully reminds Cailan that he could postpone the impending battle with the Darkspawn until reinforcements arrive from Redcliffe. However, Cailan dismisses the idea for literally no other reason than that he doesn't want to share his glory.

From here, he proceeds to whine because the Darkspawn aren't ravaging his lands more ferociously. Cailan's not convinced that this is a real Blight, and he's disappointed by that fact. He wants a Blight. He wants an Archdemon. He wants a vicious and bloody war that plunges Thedas into chaos.

Rather than taking any of this with the severity and gravity it deserves, Cailan is playing pretend that he's one of the historic figures he grew up hearing about from the stories of past Blights. And he's dismayed that reality doesn't seem to be living up to the epicness of the heroic tale he's envisioned for himself.

This is corroborated by the King's Guard outside his tent.

He can be persuaded to discuss Cailan, but he doesn't tell us anything we hadn't already seen for ourselves. Cailan has no interest in the nitty-gritty of war strategizing, and is primarily focused on the fame and glory of being the King who rode with the Grey Wardens against the Blight.

He's making poor tactical decisions because he's performing heroic kingship instead of assessing the situation with the wisdom and responsibility that one might want a king to possess. He just wants his Aragorn at Pelennor Fields moment, and nothing else really matters to him. Everybody recognizes this.

Even Alistair brings it up.

imagine sucking so hard that even Puppy Dog Alistair is calling you a useless glory hound.

Opposite Cailan is Teyrn Loghain, the master tactician who led Ferelden to victory against Orlesian control. Loghain doesn't think very highly of the Grey Wardens, or of Cailan's fondness for their organization.

Until 23 years ago, the Grey Wardens had been banished from Ferelden for leading a coup to seize control of the nation. Their coup ended in disaster and, with their tense agreement of neutrality utterly broken, they were forced to get the fuck out and never come back.

After Loghain and Maric liberated Ferelden from Orlesian control, Maric made the questionable (but ultimately vindicated) decision to allow the Grey Wardens to once again hold a presence in Ferelden. His son grew up enchanted by the legends of the Grey. Loghain is not so enchanted by people who have already shown treachery to Ferelden once before, even as he ironically plots treason of his own.

Loghain infantilizes Cailan, and it's not hard to see why. Cailan is a hopeless man-child. While Loghain is a 55-year-old man who has caged his mind inside the battles of his youth, unable to see past them to the battles of his present.

Cailan doesn't think this Blight is real. His interpretation is that we've overhyped what is merely a large Darkspawn horde, and he's disappointed that he won't get the glory and prestige from vanquishing a true Blight.

Loghain also doesn't think this Blight is real. His interpretation is that the Grey Wardens are feeding Cailan's childish whimsy in order to trick them into letting Orlesians set up a military presence within their borders.

For all his failings, Cailan is at least at war with the Blight.

Loghain is at war with Orlais, whose only involvement in this conflict thus far is that they're offering troops to help resist the Blight.

...but that resistance isn't entirely unreasonable. Orlais is a place of complicated politicking, treachery, and subterfuge. Manipulation and backstabbing is not only present in Orlesian politics but so expected and commonplace that it's affectionately called "The Game".

Loghain thinks the Orlesian offer of reinforcements is just a ruse to get their troops in position to seize Ferelden and. He might not be wrong about that?

But he is nonetheless wrong to solely focus on Orlais as the only true threat, and to target the Grey Wardens themselves as part of the alleged Orlesian threat to Ferelden's sovereignty.

Loghain is about to go to great lengths to protect the country that he loves from the country that he loves by burning down the country that he loves.

End result: We will not wait for reinforcements from Redcliffe because of Cailan's ego.

We will not wait for reinforcements from Orlais because of Loghain's paranoia.

Instead we will simply take our undermanned forces and forge ahead with what Cailan believes will be the final battle against the Blight. We will meet the Blight in battle, trusting solely in the wings of the Grey Wardens and Loghain's treacherous strategizing to carry us to victory in place of an adequate amount of forces.

A battle Loghain fully intends to lose on purpose and end the Grey Warden threat to Ferelden. And tries to convince Cailan not to be caught in the crossfire.

Though he'll still do it even with Cailan out there in front of the cannons. Loghain isn't trying to kill Cailan, but that is an outcome he's willing to accept. His allegiance is to his country, not to his king, and he has a nasty spot of tunnel vision.

And also elves and mages don't count as part of his country because, like a lot of human leaders, he is racist as shit. What he's gonna do to the Alienage makes Cailan's negligent racism look downright kind by comparison.

Yeah, Loghain sucks? If that wasn't clear. Cailan sucks, but also Loghain sucks. Dragon Age likes to present its politics as, "Here are these two guys; They're both pieces of shit. Which one do you like better?" Loghain and Cailan are no exception.

Loghain's plan here seems pretty straightforward.

Step one, the Grey Wardens will lead the initial attack as bait. The Wardens will meet the colossal Darkspawn horde and then lead them to an ambush point.

Step two, Loghain's soldiers stationed at the Tower of Ishal will light a beacon at the top once the enemy is in position. This beacon signals Loghain's forces for step three.

Step three, Loghain's forces sweep in from a flanking position and hit the Darkspawn where they least expect it, snaring the enemy and allowing the combined armies to cut down the horde and end the "Blight" once and for all.

On paper, the Wardens will lead the Darkspawn into a trap.

In reality, this is a trap for the Wardens. When the beacon never gets lit, Loghain will have plausible deniability for why his forces never rode in and stopped the Darkspawn from slaughtering nearly all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens.

He has implicitly been trying for some time to convince Cailan to reject Warden support, to the point that Cailan is tired of hearing about it.

So he's instead concocted a plan with a convenient built-in single point of failure at the Tower of Ishal. One that can collapse when a surprise insurgency of Darkspawn are suddenly able to breach it.

Oddly sloppy for a master tactician.

Once that point fails, he can throw up his arms and go, "Whoops! We didn't anticipate losing the beacon and now all the Grey Wardens are dead. Guess we'll have to deal with the Darkspawn ourselves as Fereldans."

That's why Loghain is frustrated with Cailan's insistence on riding at the front of the line with the Wardens. The Wardens are supposed to die here. Cailan's desire to be front and center for the last great battle of the Fifth Blight is the first point at which things go awry for Loghain. But, again, it's an outcome he's callously ready to accept. He's not about to change plans to keep this dipshit alive.

His second setback is when Cailan insists on sending a small contingent of Wardens up into the Tower of Ishal to support Loghain's forces. The effects of this decision are three-fold.

First, it means two Grey Wardens survive what was supposed to be the organization's complete annihilation.

Second, it means witnesses to question what happened in the tower.

And finally, it costs him his deniability. When the beacon does light, he's forced to betray his own plan much more obviously.

Creating undesirable questions about his express decision to abandon Cailan to his fate. A decision he must now own the responsibility for, instead of being able to pin it on the failure at the tower.

Cailan may have fallen victim to Loghain's conspiracy coupled with his own overenthusiasm. But in the end, he got the last laugh. If he had not insisted on blind faith that we should put Wardens in the Tower or if he had heeded Loghain's wishes to not put himself on the executioner's block, Loghain would have gotten away with this.

Oh, and also the sudden appearance of the elven goddess Mythal.

That also worked against him. I. Don't. Know. How you plan for a random dragon goddess suddenly arriving and putting her claw on the scale.

Good thing all the Grey Wardens were being wiped out or they might have mistook Mythal for Urthemiel. Wouldn't that be awkward!

In any case, Loghain is a treacherous, paranoid old goat and a master tactician. But no plan is ever foolproof against a talented fool. Cailan's choices will haunt Loghain for the rest of the Blight.

[braincoins]

WIP Wednesday

Who wants more fantasy politics?! :D

           The woman blinked. “You’re saying the Queen of Ferelden owes her position to Kivral?”

           He nodded then looked back to Kiv. “What’s the queen say?”

           “That there’s a group of Wardens from Weisshaupt attempting to stir up resentment – and perhaps outright rebellion – against me. And while they’ve been doing that, I’ve been sending out those letters asking for help…” She shook her head. “We still have allies in the Landsmeet, but Anora says it’s pretty evenly split, for now. I can’t be sending out more aid letters though; it doesn’t make us look good in the eyes of the nobles. We’ll have to make do for the time being.”

           “You need aid and you seek the help of humans,” [REDACTED] said. “Is it any wonder they turn against you?”

           “My being Dalish certainly doesn’t help, I’m sure,” Kiv agreed. “But we do have human allies. Noble human allies, and that doesn’t count Anora herself, who at least warned me of what’s going on.”

           Alistair took the distraction to snatch the letter from her, scanning it quickly. “She’s also offering more coin and some hunting dogs,” he pointed out mildly.

           Kiv shifted uneasily. “I don’t like the idea of being indebted to the throne.”

           “We serve the people of Ferelden. ALL the people. Including Anora.”

           “It’s different. She’s the queen.”

           “She wants to help. Let her help. She’s at least half as stubborn as you are.”

           Guinevere turned her laugh into a cough.

           “I may not have a choice at this point,” Kiv conceded. “And as much as I prefer hunting the way I was raised to, it’s good to have options. And they could be guard dogs just as easily. I suppose I’ll have to accept.”

           “The coin, too,” he told her.

           She sighed. “I don’t…”

           “…like being indebted to Anora, I know, but we need it. For now. Think of it as a loan, if you like, that we can pay back once we’re able. We won’t get there without coin. Besides, she wouldn’t send what Ferelden can’t afford. You know that.”

           “The bigger problem is this group from Weisshaupt,” she said instead of answering, but he had a feeling he’d won the point. It was in the set of her shoulders, like a weight had just been taken off of them. A small weight, but every little bit helped.

           “They’re Grey Wardens, too, right?�� Guinevere asked. “Why would they want people to dislike the Wardens?”

           “Not ‘the Wardens’,” Kiv explained, “just us. The Wardens of Ferelden. I have br-…”

           “We,” Alistair interrupted her quickly. “We broke away from the command of Weisshaupt, because we didn’t agree with how they do things.” He saw Kiv smile at him, and smiled back before adding, “We made ourselves answerable not to the First Warden but only to the people of Ferelden.”

           “To the humans of Ferelden,” the Wanderer said.

           “To all the people of Ferelden,” he told her.

           “And he didn’t like that,” Kiv summed up. “To put it mildly.”

           “So he sent people to get the Landsmeet to dislike you?” Guinevere asked. “That’s petty. How old is the First Warden, five?”

           “It’s not just that,” and he noticed that Kiv was smiling at Guinevere a little as she said it. The smile didn’t last long. “They’ll view Weisshaupt favorably. Not only will we be unlikely to get the help we need, but they’ll push for me – us – to resume taking orders from the First Warden again. Keep us on a leash.”

           “And by going to the Landsmeet with it, they’re pressuring Anora, too,” Alistair put in. “But with the Landsmeet split…”

           Kiv shook her head. “She’d be pissing off a large chunk of the Landsmeet no matter what she does.” She looked to the letter he was holding. “I think that letter is her middle ground: warning me about what’s going on without actually telling me which way she’s going herself.”

           “Anora would support you,” he said, “I’m sure of it.”

           “It’s moot until the stalemate breaks, one way or the other.”

           “Is this common?” the Wanderer asked curiously. “That you must deal with human politicking like this?”

           “Too common,” Kiv groaned. “I was trying to get us out of politics, but I suppose Ademar – the First Warden – prefers the political battlefield to a real one. He’s dragging us back in. And now I have to figure out how to get us through to the other side.”