Cauthrien
Warden-Constable of Ferelden
Staff member
Canon Character
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
- Posts
- 362
((15 Haring, 9:35; Mid-morning; Orzammar, Chamber of the Assembly; Niamh , Sofia di Castelbuono , Cordelia ))
For centuries, the Assembly of the Clans had played a key role in the political structure of Orzammar. The eighty deshyrs, made up of representatives from the most influential noble houses, had set law, advised the reigning monarch, served as a judicial body for the most serious of crimes among the higher castes and voted on the elevation of individuals to the status of Paragon.
They also could choose the new monarch, if the sitting ruler died without designating an heir. It had happened during the Blight, and glancing around the chamber, Cauthrien wondered if the deshyrs regretted their choice. King Bhelen had dissolved the Assembly after resistance to his frequently drastic changes had culminated in multiple attempts on his life, most of which, according to rumor, originated in the Noble and Warrior castes. The Chamber of the Assembly was now an audience chamber, with a solid phalanx of guards between the elevated throne and the stone risers where the spectators were sitting. No longer just the deshyrs, but members of the lower castes, as well, invited by the King to witness his continued alliance with the Grey Wardens. No casteless, though, she noted. The king might be willing to let them throw their lives away against the darkspawn in return for a bit of upward mobility, but he was canny enough to realize that according them any greater rights might arouse the resentment of the lower castes that currently supported him: the Smiths, Artisans, Merchants, Miners and even the Servants. Everyone, no matter how low, wanted to be able to look down and assure themselves that there was someone lower.
Guards had searched every guest for hidden weapons; only the Grey Wardens had been excepted, and Cauthrien could all but feel the evaluating eyes upon them, weighing the risks of attempting to enlist them in a bid to remove the ‘tyrant’ against the sure retribution if the attempt failed. Pyral Harrowmont had been executed as soon as Bhelen had taken the throne, and in the ensuing months, House Harrowmont had been driven to extinction, its members either found dead under mysterious circumstances or killed outright. None of the deaths had been tied conclusively to King Bhelen … at least, not openly, but the message had been clear enough. It was whispered that a single nephew had escaped and sought sanctuary with the dwarves of Kal-Sharok
Her expression gave no hint of her thoughts. Whatever she thought of Bhelen’s politics and actions, the Grey Wardens were not here to either support his rule or supplant it. She could not keep the King from capitalizing on their presence here, but she had no plans to assist him in it.
“The Grey Wardens of Ferelden have business before the King!”
That was their cue, and Cauthrien led the group, all of them wearing their dress uniforms, across the floor of the chamber, stopping before the throne and offering the King a crisp salute and a bow that was not too deep: respect without obeisance.
“Your Majesty, I am Warden-Constable Cauthrien MacLean. Warden Commander Howe sends his greetings and his respects, but his sister’s husband was recently murdered, and his presence is needed in Amaranthine.”
King Bhelen nodded, eyes narrowing. “Assassins,” he said flatly … and loudly enough for his voice to carry to the highest reaches of the chamber. “Please give your commander my condolences.” His gaze shifted past Cauthrien. “And your brave companions?”
Cauthrien stepped slightly to the side, indicating with a nod that they should each introduce themselves.
For centuries, the Assembly of the Clans had played a key role in the political structure of Orzammar. The eighty deshyrs, made up of representatives from the most influential noble houses, had set law, advised the reigning monarch, served as a judicial body for the most serious of crimes among the higher castes and voted on the elevation of individuals to the status of Paragon.
They also could choose the new monarch, if the sitting ruler died without designating an heir. It had happened during the Blight, and glancing around the chamber, Cauthrien wondered if the deshyrs regretted their choice. King Bhelen had dissolved the Assembly after resistance to his frequently drastic changes had culminated in multiple attempts on his life, most of which, according to rumor, originated in the Noble and Warrior castes. The Chamber of the Assembly was now an audience chamber, with a solid phalanx of guards between the elevated throne and the stone risers where the spectators were sitting. No longer just the deshyrs, but members of the lower castes, as well, invited by the King to witness his continued alliance with the Grey Wardens. No casteless, though, she noted. The king might be willing to let them throw their lives away against the darkspawn in return for a bit of upward mobility, but he was canny enough to realize that according them any greater rights might arouse the resentment of the lower castes that currently supported him: the Smiths, Artisans, Merchants, Miners and even the Servants. Everyone, no matter how low, wanted to be able to look down and assure themselves that there was someone lower.
Guards had searched every guest for hidden weapons; only the Grey Wardens had been excepted, and Cauthrien could all but feel the evaluating eyes upon them, weighing the risks of attempting to enlist them in a bid to remove the ‘tyrant’ against the sure retribution if the attempt failed. Pyral Harrowmont had been executed as soon as Bhelen had taken the throne, and in the ensuing months, House Harrowmont had been driven to extinction, its members either found dead under mysterious circumstances or killed outright. None of the deaths had been tied conclusively to King Bhelen … at least, not openly, but the message had been clear enough. It was whispered that a single nephew had escaped and sought sanctuary with the dwarves of Kal-Sharok
Her expression gave no hint of her thoughts. Whatever she thought of Bhelen’s politics and actions, the Grey Wardens were not here to either support his rule or supplant it. She could not keep the King from capitalizing on their presence here, but she had no plans to assist him in it.
“The Grey Wardens of Ferelden have business before the King!”
That was their cue, and Cauthrien led the group, all of them wearing their dress uniforms, across the floor of the chamber, stopping before the throne and offering the King a crisp salute and a bow that was not too deep: respect without obeisance.
“Your Majesty, I am Warden-Constable Cauthrien MacLean. Warden Commander Howe sends his greetings and his respects, but his sister’s husband was recently murdered, and his presence is needed in Amaranthine.”
King Bhelen nodded, eyes narrowing. “Assassins,” he said flatly … and loudly enough for his voice to carry to the highest reaches of the chamber. “Please give your commander my condolences.” His gaze shifted past Cauthrien. “And your brave companions?”
Cauthrien stepped slightly to the side, indicating with a nod that they should each introduce themselves.