#starstranded

These men were undoubtedly warriors and not yet able to process what had happened here. The bearded and saxon looking one, standing closest to her, turned around to another man that looked more like a dane with his armor and pelt. “Lord?”

The dane stepped forward, giving her a good look at the third man, another dane as it seemed. “Who are you?” the one addressed as lord asked roughly while walking up to the corpse.

Cenwynn backed away, lowered her head and answered, “I am no one, lord. A slave.”

The man mustered her and pointed to his bearded companion. “I have been a slave and he has been. But you, lady, are no slave.”

“Still, I am no one,” she insisted, carefully taking another step away.

The dane sighed irritated, it was apparent, that the girl would say no more. “We are here to bring this man to the king. To face a trial for conspiring with danes. Death penalty was awaiting him surely, but we were to bring him alive.”

She looked puzzled. So, the man was saxon after all, albeit she didn’t care much, where he was from. Then she stepped in his direction and smiled dryly. “So you are the ealdorman they sent. Of course, I know what he did,” she said pointing at the dead man with the axe. “I wanted to bring him to justice myself.” She let out a humorless laugh, before restraining herself again. ”I just made a murderess and a fugitive on my own land of myself. Had I known the king would send his men, that wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“Your own land?”, the silent man in the back asked confused.

The bearded one turned to him and said in realization, “she’s his wife.” His accent was curious.

“I was,” she corrected, again pointing at the corpse in front of her. “Now I am free.” For a moment she thought to have seen a pleased look on the bearded mans face. If there was such a look, it was as quickly gone, as it had appeared.

His lord intervened, “you certainly are not free. We will have to bring you to Wintanceaster instead.” Her smile was unwavering, that took him aback. “Why have you killed him? Surely not for conspiring with the enemy.”

Her story was short, but still a sad one. Her betrothal was meant to secure an alliance, for her husband knew he was facing a sentence for treason, and her family had great influence. But her father had refused for years to marry Cenwynn off. Her new husband had the danes abduct her fathers only son to pressure him into giving his daughters hand in marriage.

She was only married a few days ago. After facing countless mistreatments so soon into the marriage she hid herself away in the woods. “I knew I would not survive this. It was either him or me.” The three men seemed impressed, that she had successfully hid herself in the woods, knowing her husband would send his guards away as soon as daylight rose, to search for her.

“And that leads us here,” she completed her tale.

“Lord, we have to cover this up and help the girl,” the man with the beard said. Cenwynn still couldn’t place his accent. What a strange group they were. They huddled close together a bit away from her to discuss the situation and somehow, she knew not to run away.

Then the ealdorman looked at her long and hard. After a long, tense silence he asked: “Could anyone know that it was you?” She confirmed, she was not seen by anyone.

“We tell the king it was us. That he wouldn’t come willingly. That he was killed in the ensuing fight,” the bearded man proposed. Cenwynn barely processed his words, not quite grasping why they would take the blame for what she did.

“That works,” the ealdorman said. “She can come with us and confirm what happened as a witness.”

The slender dane in the back was not so easily convinced. “She doesn’t exactly look like a grieving wife. Not convincing enough.” The one with the accent laughed at that.

“Oh, I can,” Cenwynn said confidently and lowered her head. When she faced the slender dane again, her eyes were full of tears and just at the right moment she let some of them fall down her cheek, while simultaneously making crying sounds, that let the man take a step towards her in concern. She signaled him to stop, acted like she struggled to regain her composure, then lowered her head again and finally looked up at him with a smile. His companion now had to stifle his laugh, while their lord looked at her amused.

“Do you have any garments other than your wedding gown?” the lord asked further. The girl absentmindedly looked down on herself, she had completely forgotten, that she was still wearing that.

“I have. All my belongings are here.” She pointed towards the house.

“Finan, guard her while she washes the blood away and changes. And see that she doesn`t bolt out of there.” The bearded man, named Finan, nodded. “Sithric spar with me, so it looks like a fight took place here,” the lord ordered and drew his sword.

It felt like the keep was outwardly rejecting her. She clutched the two mugs closer to her heart in an attempt to fend the discomfort off.

She should have been used to stormy nights. After all, Svea Cousland had grown up on the coast. In Highever she knew the spots where the builders had filled in all the cracks to make it quiet for her.

In the Vigil, there were no quiet spots.

Ironically there had always been a high chance that she would live in Vigil's Keep one day. Just no one could have dreamed up the circumstances. After everything she’d been through, it felt like a victory to stroll about the place in Grey Warden armour at day and her cosy family-crested nightwear at night.

One particularly nasty draft ruffled the shawl around her shoulders, and she quickened her pace to follow the glint of candlelight to the grand hall.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't a candle at all.

A magelight was dancing over the table at the far end of the hall. On the table, a tabby was chasing the shining ball of blue, though the wild jumping only got him tangled up in the tablecloth.

"You know, the others will not like it if you get him used to playing on the table," Svea announced herself. "No one is particularly fond of him even sitting at the table as it is."

The mage scoffed and scooped the cat into his lap while his commander sat down opposite him and slid him one of the mugs. He sniffed the steaming hot tea. She'd made sure to grab Anders’ favourite.

"How did you know to find me here?"

"Just a feeling."

She would never admit it, but she thought Anders had something about him, whether it was intentional or just a mage thing he wasn't consciously doing. On nights like these, the air around him was almost drawing people in with a pulsating warmth and soothing aura. It made him a good companion for late-night chats. On top of that, it seemed he as well had increasing trouble with sleeping as of late. Tonight, it was likely the same worries keeping them both restless.

Come morning, when the Warden-Commander would be well on the road to Denerim to attend the landsmeet, in Vigil's Keep a templar would undergo his joining. And Svea had the bad feeling the man would make it through. Honestly, she had expected Anders to bolt the day the recruit first showed up, still in his templar armour and eyes on the mage the moment he'd spotted him. Out of some combination of trust, loyalty and friendship, Anders was still here, but she needed to make sure his trust was not misplaced in her.

"You haven't been sleeping as much as you should," she said watching Anders grab a nearby pot of honey to add several scoops to his already aching sweet beverage.

"You as well." He pointed accusingly with his spoon.

"True."

She started to stir her tea absentmindedly this way and that, changing directions and back again.

"It's just... I'm worried about leaving everyone so soon." There was no point in making him feel bad by being singled out. He would already know she was mainly worried about him.

"Well, it's not like you can postpone this, can you?" He bent to sip his tea just to break out in giggles halfway. "Imagine! *Sorry, I can't see the king right now I need to spend time with these apostates and rogues.*"

Despite her mood, she laughed along. It was an amusing thought.

"Besides," Anders went on, "you are the Queen. Warden-Commander. Hero of Ferelden. Lady Saved-All-Our-Asses-From-The-Blight. There must be something you can do."

"Yet, I feel like I'm on thin ice. I just don't know with whom exactly."

Sometimes Svea’s recruits did not yet fully grasp how the Wardens operated and what the post of Warden-Commander entailed. Maybe she didn't even herself. But it was important for Anders’ sake they'd talk about it.

"You know what I'm saying, right?"

"You might not be the Commander forever," he said casting his eyes into his lap. "And not be able to stick your neck out for me any longer." She noticed his hands tighten in the cat’s fur.

"Right now I'm not really anyone's favourite. Half of Ferelden thinks me a power-hungry schemer and the other half thinks I'll hand them to the Orlesians.”

It was sickening, really. The more responsibilities and titles she got, the more her superiors and the politics made her feel powerless and trapped. Two feelings she wanted to shield Anders from, now that he was with the Wardens.

“What I'm actually doing is not answering missives, making deals with talking darkspawn and witches left and right, and I have gone toe to toe with the templars, the chantry and several noble houses directly."

"Don't forget the part where you conscripted a bunch of assholes to the Warden ranks."

Svea rolled her eyes but continued undeterred. "As it stands, I have been a Warden for about a year, untrained and unsupervised. Queen of controversial decisions, Commander Was-Our-Only-Choice and Lady of Causing-More-Problems-Than-She's-Worth, is what I am,” she said, only half-joking.

But Svea didn’t get to finish that train of thought. Apparently, Anders was not one to stand for talking oneself down like that. He abruptly rose from the bench, with his warm aura leaving the table’s vicinity and a startled Ser-Pounce-A-Lot into fleeing the hall.

"To think this is the thanks you get.” He started to pace in front of her, weaving one hand into his hair pulling some strands loose and gesturing with the other. "You ended the blight!"

"Yes, that's what made me Commander, but now the Order will rein me back in. Can’t expel me. But I'm being sent on all these assignments and soon they will counsel me to step down to have more time for royal duties. Did you know they ignored who I’d endorsed to be my substitute? It's obvious my 'Archdemon-Slayer'-grace period will end soon."

Voicing her concerns somehow made them even worse instead of easing her mind. She found she was clenching her hands and holding back tears of frustration. Anders, always the healer, picked up on it immediately and halted his pacing to sit back down.

"Wardens, Chantry, Nobility. I am a nuisance to, well, everyone really, and I need to make sure that does not further reflect on anyone else. Especially all of you, my friends." She scrunched up her nose and gave him a look. “I feel like I’m failing you, Anders.”

“You’re not failing anyone. It’s Fereleden that’s failing you.” Anders slowly extended his hands to her, his comforting aura creeping back into the space between them. Svea slipped hers into the offered palms. "Besides, us nuisances have to stick together, don't we, Commander?"

He gave her that wink of his and waited for a smile to creep on her face before he continued. "Here's what you'll do. You'll go to Denerim and enjoy the time you have there with your husband. Don't worry about little old me, I'll stick close to the rotting corpse spirit. Pretty sure Rolan shits his breeches whenever he's in the room. If necessary, I'll bunk up with Howe, bet he'll love that."

"Oh, he'll be *delighted.”*

Anders was grinning ear to ear, but the look in his eyes was the look of a man desperately trying to make himself believe his own words. And convince his friend along with himself.

"Promise me, Svea," he punctuated with a stern look. "For the next few days, you'll not worry about Wardens or Darkspawn. Enjoy Denerim. Make the most of it.”

Anders was right. She had been looking forward to seeing her brother. Rumour was he was looking to get engaged. And of course, she longed to reunite with Alistair. Next to him, her time since the last landsmeet had been positively calm and uneventful.

Anders noted the faraway look in her eyes. “Seriously, we’ve all noticed how you’ve been missing his royal handsomeness.“

She had heard it all from Anders, every smart remark under the sun about being married. He had a permanent bruise from where she'd box him for his inappropriate comments. But these days the only way he reacted to the topic of love was by giving an understanding nod and starting to get quiet.

“And you, Anders?” Svea startled him out of his thoughts. “Who have you been missing?”

She caught the charming look creeping onto his face, the one he used to lie his way out of situations, but then he looked away, seemingly mulling something over.

His poignant sarcasm had grown into pure cynicism as of late and he'd taken to sulking and - one might say - even brooding when no one was around. At first, she'd thought he'd finally started to process what happened to him in the circle. But as he'd made progress in working through that, something that had happened less recently started to preoccupy his mind.

Before she left for Denerim she had to get to the bottom of that.

“Do you think the circle in Kirkwall heard about Kinloch Hold?”

That, she was not expecting. “I’m sure they know in detail, Wynne has been reporting to the college of enchanters.”

“Meaning, if one didn’t know I’d escaped shortly beforehand, they’d likely think me dead,” Anders concluded.

Svea had no idea what point he was trying to make or where this conversation was going.

“I mean, the templars know you’re here. Remember Rolan? We were just talking about that.”

“Sure, a templar would know,” he said occupying his hands with the empty mug. “But I’m not talking about a templar.”

“So there is someone you have been thinking about,” Svea said a bit too triumphantly before toning it down a notch. “And you’re worried they think you’re dead.”

“He,” Anders replied without missing a beat then blushed. “It’s not like you and Alistair, though, we haven’t seen each other in - maker - it must’ve been over ten years now.”

She jumped up and then shot Anders an apologetic look about her excitement while he was reminiscing about a lost lover. She wandered to the nearby sideboard, which was always stocked with parchment and envelopes. For the Warden-Commander it was important her wardens were able to keep in contact with their families.

“Write to him,” she said and placed the writing utensils in front of him.

Anders stared at the parchment for a long time and there were muscles in his jaw twitching that had never appeared before. Svea went to straighten the tablecloth and picked up the empty mugs to give him some space.

“I’ll think about it,” Anders finally concluded.

“Sleep on it. Should you decide to write the letter, do not worry about any templars reading it.”

Anders lifted his head quizzically.

“No one would dare open a sealed letter from the queen not addressed to them, would they?” she clarified with a gleam in her eyes. “My quarters - in particular, my lowest desk drawer - will be closed upon my leave. I think Sigrun will appreciate the challenge.” With that, she turned to leave.

“Wait,” Anders stopped her and raised to lay a hand on her shoulder. He looked uncertain before he stammered out some form of thanks.

“One more thing, Anders.” Svea smiled at her friend sadly. “As dashing as you look in your Grey Warden robes, the Seamstress is expecting a visit from you in the next days. You might have use for robes that do not identify you as a warden at some time in the future.”

Anders’ hand on her shoulder tightened before he pulled her in for a hug, unable to conjure any other form of communication anymore.

“See you in the morning for my send-off then?” Svea asked upon him letting go of her.