Cauthrien
Warden-Constable of Ferelden
Staff member
Canon Character
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
- Posts
- 362
((Wintermarch, 9:41; Outside Denerim; Sofia di Castelbuono ))
The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky, but the air was frigid and the snow that blanketed the ground would not even begin to melt for another month or more. The breaths of human and horse alike billowed in the air as Cauthrien rode with Sofia along the West Road. The Antivan had grown no fonder of Fereldan winters, but being cooped up indoors for months on end suited her even less, so they had made a circuit of the communities just outside of Denerim, with the mage offering healing to anyone in need and the Warden-Constable ostensibly checking for any reports of darkspawn (there had been none; their presence had been decreasing each year as the Thaw progressed) and actually providing assurance that no templars would interfere with the Warden mage.
Technically, since the College of Enchanters had voted to separate from the Chantry, the templars no longer had authority over any mages, but technicalities mattered little these days. The tension between templars and mages had boiled into open war, with circle after circle toppling after Anders had blown up the Kirkwall chantry, and the discovery that the mage who had murdered Grand Cleric Elthina and scores of others had been a Grey Warden, albeit a deserter, had added greater fuel to the antipathy that a good many templars bore for the Wardens.
But thus far, most of the chaos had bypassed Ferelden, which was likely why Divine Justinia had chosen to hold the Conclave meant to bring the conflict to an end in Haven, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The unease about the Wardens that had swirled in the populace in the weeks following the events at Kirkwall had been dispelled as the Grey Wardens of Ferelden had remained at their posts, fighting darkspawn, providing magical healing and assisting the local guards in dealing with bandits and raiders. Even the dissolution at Kinloch Hold had been relatively peaceful, with many of the mages taking refuge at Redcliffe as they awaited the outcome of the Conclave.
This run had been a good one: a few broken bones and sprains mended, a few coughs treated with herbs and one widow's cow delivered of twins that had been turned wrong. Cauthrien had actually handled that last, and if it had stirred up memories of Natty's death, it had still been satisfying to see the spindly legged calves staggering to their feet and moving to nurse, knowing that their sale when grown would likely give the woman and her children enough to live on for several months. More than one person had asked about the Conclave, and the Warden-Constable had been quite content to tell them that she knew nothing about the matter.
Dragon shied suddenly, shaking his head and dancing sideways. “What was that?” Cauthrien drew back on the reins, pulling her mount to a stop. She’d felt … something: a ripple in the Fade, like water disturbed by a stone’s throw. She looked inquisitively at Sofia. “Did you feel it?” After more than five years, she still struggled to sense the Fade most days, and using the templar skills that she’d learned almost always led to a skull-splitting headache a few hours later. And while Dragon was sensitive to the presence of magic and mages, as most horses seemed to be, he generally had to be in close proximity. She glanced around, saw nothing, and the air was still; any sounds of combat would carry, if templars and mages were locked in combat nearby, but silence reined. Even the birds that had been calling moments earlier had gone silent, she realized uneasily.
The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky, but the air was frigid and the snow that blanketed the ground would not even begin to melt for another month or more. The breaths of human and horse alike billowed in the air as Cauthrien rode with Sofia along the West Road. The Antivan had grown no fonder of Fereldan winters, but being cooped up indoors for months on end suited her even less, so they had made a circuit of the communities just outside of Denerim, with the mage offering healing to anyone in need and the Warden-Constable ostensibly checking for any reports of darkspawn (there had been none; their presence had been decreasing each year as the Thaw progressed) and actually providing assurance that no templars would interfere with the Warden mage.
Technically, since the College of Enchanters had voted to separate from the Chantry, the templars no longer had authority over any mages, but technicalities mattered little these days. The tension between templars and mages had boiled into open war, with circle after circle toppling after Anders had blown up the Kirkwall chantry, and the discovery that the mage who had murdered Grand Cleric Elthina and scores of others had been a Grey Warden, albeit a deserter, had added greater fuel to the antipathy that a good many templars bore for the Wardens.
But thus far, most of the chaos had bypassed Ferelden, which was likely why Divine Justinia had chosen to hold the Conclave meant to bring the conflict to an end in Haven, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The unease about the Wardens that had swirled in the populace in the weeks following the events at Kirkwall had been dispelled as the Grey Wardens of Ferelden had remained at their posts, fighting darkspawn, providing magical healing and assisting the local guards in dealing with bandits and raiders. Even the dissolution at Kinloch Hold had been relatively peaceful, with many of the mages taking refuge at Redcliffe as they awaited the outcome of the Conclave.
This run had been a good one: a few broken bones and sprains mended, a few coughs treated with herbs and one widow's cow delivered of twins that had been turned wrong. Cauthrien had actually handled that last, and if it had stirred up memories of Natty's death, it had still been satisfying to see the spindly legged calves staggering to their feet and moving to nurse, knowing that their sale when grown would likely give the woman and her children enough to live on for several months. More than one person had asked about the Conclave, and the Warden-Constable had been quite content to tell them that she knew nothing about the matter.
Dragon shied suddenly, shaking his head and dancing sideways. “What was that?” Cauthrien drew back on the reins, pulling her mount to a stop. She’d felt … something: a ripple in the Fade, like water disturbed by a stone’s throw. She looked inquisitively at Sofia. “Did you feel it?” After more than five years, she still struggled to sense the Fade most days, and using the templar skills that she’d learned almost always led to a skull-splitting headache a few hours later. And while Dragon was sensitive to the presence of magic and mages, as most horses seemed to be, he generally had to be in close proximity. She glanced around, saw nothing, and the air was still; any sounds of combat would carry, if templars and mages were locked in combat nearby, but silence reined. Even the birds that had been calling moments earlier had gone silent, she realized uneasily.