Cauthrien
Warden-Constable of Ferelden
Staff member
Canon Character
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
- Posts
- 362
(( 29 Drakonis, 9:35, Late Morning, Fort Drakon ))
Cauthrien pulled back on the reins, and Dragon obediently halted at the foot of the steps leading into Fort Drakon. He'd been well behaved on the ride over ... suspiciously so.
She dismounted, handing off the reins to a groom who approached. “Careful, he bites,” she warned the young man. She'd not made it halfway up the steps before a yelp made it clear that her warning had either not been heeded or had been insufficient. She didn't bother turning around; after getting in his bite, the gelding would allow himself to be led until he decided the time had come for more mischief. As far as she had been able to tell, escaping – or at least, putting himself out of reach of his daily feed ration – played no part in the motivation for his antics.
“Warden.” Captain Garrett, commander of the prison portion of the fort, greeted her as she entered.
“Captain,” she responded with a polite nod. “Your message said that you had some possible candidates for me?”
“Aye.” Garrett knew well enough that she had no interest in run-of-the-mill thieves, rapists or murderers. While a lifetime of service as a Grey Warden was considered suitable penance for most crimes, Cauthrien was acutely aware that she would be trusting her back, and the backs of those that followed her, to whoever she recruited. She had taken seven recruits from Drakon since she'd been assigned to Denerim. Of those, four had not survived their Joinings and another, a smuggler facing beheading for killing a rival, had decided afterward to desert and return to his old life. She had tracked him down and killed him on the docks, leaving his body to lay where it fell. His name was not recorded in the book of fallen Wardens.
She'd lost no sleep over that. The Grey Wardens were at war, and desertion in wartime was punishable by death. She had grown more cautious in her selections, however, and had taken no candidates from the prison since.
“Two more from Breaker's crew,” the captain clarified as she followed him deeper into the prison.
That made sense, in a depressing sort of way. The Blight and civil war had left more orphans than the Chantry could take in. The older ones in particular fell through the cracks, surviving any way they could. In every major city, criminal gangs scooped up the unsuspecting youths, using them as throwaway troops. In Denerim, Cyrus Breaker (short for “Bonebreaker”, according to most who knew him) was the most ruthless of the bottom feeders. Roland had been one of his.
“How old?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“Nineteen and seventeen,” Garrett told her. “Cousins. Breaker was using them as protection on a load of smuggled lyrium. When the guards broke it up, they tried to fight.”
“And got the crap kicked out of themselves,” Cauthrien finished with a frown. “Gutsy or stupid?” The former, she could work with...maybe.
“Desperate,” the captain said with a shrug as he stopped outside the cell blocks. Three doors loomed, each leading to a different block of cells. “Hungry. Scared. Breaker doesn't reward failure, and he's got plenty of warm bodies these days. Someone that messes up is just as likely to wind up at the bottom of the river as get another chance. Keeps the rest on their toes.”
“Bastard,” Cauthrien murmured. “All right, let me talk to them.” She hesitated as he turned to enter the door on the left. The dead man's wing, housing the prisoners awaiting execution. “Did they kill one of the guards in the fight?”
Garrett shook his head. “Out of room on the holding block,” he grunted, inserting his key in the lock and opening the massive door. “Got more halfassed criminals than I know what to do with. They're looking at a year, tops, but I thought I'd give 'em a taste of what's waitin' for them at the end of the road they're on now.”
Cauthrien nodded. “Do they know I'm coming?”
He nodded. “They're the ones asked to see you,” he replied, adding in response to her surprised look, “Don't ask me why, because they didn't say. Second cell on the left. First one's empty. Safer to talk to them from there than standing in the aisle.”
She nodded, stepping through the door. The light was dim, filtering in from narrow, barred windows set too high on the walls to allow the occupants of the cells to look out onto the world. The air was saturated with the stench of unwashed bodies, piss and shit. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom as she drew shallow breaths through her mouth. Chains rattled, and from somewhere further back in the shadows a laugh rose up, high and hysterical, before trailing off into what sounded like sobs.
The cell door to her left stood open, and she stepped inside, studying the occupants of the next cell. They looked like two frightened puppies, huddled together in a corner well away from the front of the cell, though they looked as though they'd be a decent size on their feet.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked quietly.
The one who looked to be the younger of the pair glanced at her quickly, as though afraid he'd be struck if his gaze lingered, then turned away, shaking his head. The older one put an arm around the other's shoulders, watching her with a wary curiosity.
“Yer a Grey Warden, are y'not?”
“I am,” she confirmed. “The Captain said that you asked about joining the Wardens.”
The youth looked almost ill with fear, but he nodded. “We just...we wanted to ask -” He broke off, swallowed and glanced over his shoulder nervously.
“You'll have to forgive the lads their deception, Warden.” The voice that rose from further down the line of cells was a gravelly purr, low enough in tone that she almost couldn't hear it, but the boy she'd been talking to cringed as if it had been a shout. “They were doing a little favor for me. They're not really the ones who want to join the Wardens. I am.”
Cauthrien pulled back on the reins, and Dragon obediently halted at the foot of the steps leading into Fort Drakon. He'd been well behaved on the ride over ... suspiciously so.
She dismounted, handing off the reins to a groom who approached. “Careful, he bites,” she warned the young man. She'd not made it halfway up the steps before a yelp made it clear that her warning had either not been heeded or had been insufficient. She didn't bother turning around; after getting in his bite, the gelding would allow himself to be led until he decided the time had come for more mischief. As far as she had been able to tell, escaping – or at least, putting himself out of reach of his daily feed ration – played no part in the motivation for his antics.
“Warden.” Captain Garrett, commander of the prison portion of the fort, greeted her as she entered.
“Captain,” she responded with a polite nod. “Your message said that you had some possible candidates for me?”
“Aye.” Garrett knew well enough that she had no interest in run-of-the-mill thieves, rapists or murderers. While a lifetime of service as a Grey Warden was considered suitable penance for most crimes, Cauthrien was acutely aware that she would be trusting her back, and the backs of those that followed her, to whoever she recruited. She had taken seven recruits from Drakon since she'd been assigned to Denerim. Of those, four had not survived their Joinings and another, a smuggler facing beheading for killing a rival, had decided afterward to desert and return to his old life. She had tracked him down and killed him on the docks, leaving his body to lay where it fell. His name was not recorded in the book of fallen Wardens.
She'd lost no sleep over that. The Grey Wardens were at war, and desertion in wartime was punishable by death. She had grown more cautious in her selections, however, and had taken no candidates from the prison since.
“Two more from Breaker's crew,” the captain clarified as she followed him deeper into the prison.
That made sense, in a depressing sort of way. The Blight and civil war had left more orphans than the Chantry could take in. The older ones in particular fell through the cracks, surviving any way they could. In every major city, criminal gangs scooped up the unsuspecting youths, using them as throwaway troops. In Denerim, Cyrus Breaker (short for “Bonebreaker”, according to most who knew him) was the most ruthless of the bottom feeders. Roland had been one of his.
“How old?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“Nineteen and seventeen,” Garrett told her. “Cousins. Breaker was using them as protection on a load of smuggled lyrium. When the guards broke it up, they tried to fight.”
“And got the crap kicked out of themselves,” Cauthrien finished with a frown. “Gutsy or stupid?” The former, she could work with...maybe.
“Desperate,” the captain said with a shrug as he stopped outside the cell blocks. Three doors loomed, each leading to a different block of cells. “Hungry. Scared. Breaker doesn't reward failure, and he's got plenty of warm bodies these days. Someone that messes up is just as likely to wind up at the bottom of the river as get another chance. Keeps the rest on their toes.”
“Bastard,” Cauthrien murmured. “All right, let me talk to them.” She hesitated as he turned to enter the door on the left. The dead man's wing, housing the prisoners awaiting execution. “Did they kill one of the guards in the fight?”
Garrett shook his head. “Out of room on the holding block,” he grunted, inserting his key in the lock and opening the massive door. “Got more halfassed criminals than I know what to do with. They're looking at a year, tops, but I thought I'd give 'em a taste of what's waitin' for them at the end of the road they're on now.”
Cauthrien nodded. “Do they know I'm coming?”
He nodded. “They're the ones asked to see you,” he replied, adding in response to her surprised look, “Don't ask me why, because they didn't say. Second cell on the left. First one's empty. Safer to talk to them from there than standing in the aisle.”
She nodded, stepping through the door. The light was dim, filtering in from narrow, barred windows set too high on the walls to allow the occupants of the cells to look out onto the world. The air was saturated with the stench of unwashed bodies, piss and shit. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom as she drew shallow breaths through her mouth. Chains rattled, and from somewhere further back in the shadows a laugh rose up, high and hysterical, before trailing off into what sounded like sobs.
The cell door to her left stood open, and she stepped inside, studying the occupants of the next cell. They looked like two frightened puppies, huddled together in a corner well away from the front of the cell, though they looked as though they'd be a decent size on their feet.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked quietly.
The one who looked to be the younger of the pair glanced at her quickly, as though afraid he'd be struck if his gaze lingered, then turned away, shaking his head. The older one put an arm around the other's shoulders, watching her with a wary curiosity.
“Yer a Grey Warden, are y'not?”
“I am,” she confirmed. “The Captain said that you asked about joining the Wardens.”
The youth looked almost ill with fear, but he nodded. “We just...we wanted to ask -” He broke off, swallowed and glanced over his shoulder nervously.
“You'll have to forgive the lads their deception, Warden.” The voice that rose from further down the line of cells was a gravelly purr, low enough in tone that she almost couldn't hear it, but the boy she'd been talking to cringed as if it had been a shout. “They were doing a little favor for me. They're not really the ones who want to join the Wardens. I am.”