The Mournful King

VI. The King

The Silent had forgotten how it felt to be clean. But now, after a hot bath and soap that smelled like sandalwood, his skin was a few shades lighter and he felt almost like a new man. He'd cut and trimmed his beard to a manageable shortness but left it there, and the same could be said of his hair now. The clothes he wore were the same peasant garments that Andraste had bought for him, but it was his clean set: a dark green doublet and leather pants tucked into his boots. He felt a world better, even if he was sore from riding hard on the roads. He stepped out into the halls of the palace, hunting Andraste down.

"You look quite good," she said by way of greeting as she emerged from her own room in the guest quarters, smiling faintly. She was wearing a deep blue dress that had probably been arranged for by Naris, cut in Yssan style with a low square neckline and lines that followed her body. It fit well for the short notice. Andraste looked softer away from her armor and sword, but he knew there was steel beneath. "Are you ready to see the King?"

The Silent shook his head, then shrugged. He wasn't the kind of man to excel at meetings with royalty anymore. He'd stopped caring, for one, and he no longer had his silver tongue to talk himself out of trouble. He would just have to hope that Andraste was tactful enough for the both of them. She didn't seem like the type to be crass or rude, which inspired some hope on his part.

He offered Andraste his arm without thinking, surprising himself as much as her. She accepted the invitation with a small smile. "Such a gentleman," she said. He knew a tease when he heard one, though this one was kinder than the mocking he'd become accustomed to.

The Silent shook his head. A gentleman he was not, even cleaned up. He still moved with stooped shoulders and lowered eyes, his confidence long gone. He scowled when he saw Naris waiting outside the King's private study. She seemed to need to know about the pair of them, and thus picked at the subject as though it was an old wound. The elf looked at him with a mostly hidden puzzlement, feeling familiarity but not quite able to place him. Eventually she would, but he hoped to be long gone by then.

"Your friend looks—and smells—better," Naris said approvingly to Andraste. "The King is ready to receive you." She opened the door for the, but did not enter. No doubt she would eavesdrop, in the Silent's opinion, of course.

Whatever the pair had been expecting to see, Fionn was not that. The proud to the point of arrogance man was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in his place, was an old man with hollow eyes. Deep lines had carved themselves into his handsome face and his hair was completely silver, cut short but combed. His beard had patches of white on each cheek, but was neatly trimmed like the Silent's own. The shadows around his eyes spoke of a man who was tired beyond the point where sleep could ease it. He rose from his seat, shoulders squared. Even postured so, most of the domineering, powerful presence was gone. "I am told Lord Astor sent you, Lady Andraste," he said. "I suppose that you are here to tell me that the enemy is at our gates."

"Yes, Your Majesty. Undead crossed the Stonemarch, led by a demon. If some have come, more will follow," Andraste said.

"A truth if ever I have heard one." Fionn sighed and twisted his signet ring before turning towards the window. "This does not come as a surprise, Lady Andraste. Naris informed me some time ago that the Widow intends revenge against Yssa, perhaps against all the world. Leus was not going to satisfy her forever."

"Lord Astor needs aid if he is to hold Arduinna, Your Majesty," Andraste said.

"And he will have it. I will send some of my best to hold the pass," Fionn said. He glanced over at them. "You and your companion are welcome as guests in my holdings. We owe you a debt for carrying this warning. But I have a question for you, Lady Andraste."