Bioware owns all but what I made up. : )

Bann Tyrel Loren isn't a nice man. Verbally abusive and physically (though only the once-after Bryce Cousland had a strong word). He is a schemer, like Rendon Howe, whom he befriends for his own benefit. Unlike Howe, Bann Loren is a coward and not willing to take the big risks, so he grovels around Howe like a mongrel eating his table scraps. His confrontation with Kai and Duncan have left the man frazzled to say the least. We find poor beleaguered Pick (or is he?) in Bann Loren's tent, ordered there to take a message from the bann and Howe's man to the carrier birds with word to Arl Howe about Kai, and her suspicions about Teyrn Loghain. It's not eavesdropping if they make you stay and treat you like furniture, is it? Or is it if that is your real purpose? This is, that I know of, the first time anyone gives Pick a voice of his own in fanfic. I say he is not all he seems. I hope you enjoy.

Shout outs to my betas, Ladyamesindy, mirelia853, and Vveivar . I couldn't do it without them. They are truly talented writers themselves, so, please check out their works (AO3 and ) and give them some love and reviews./comments. I am so blessed to know you all.

And my love and gratitude to you all my readers and lurkers. Your comments and reviews, your kudos all mean so much to me. You keep the fire of inspiration burning. Thank you all!

Blessings!

"Master" is quick to anger and he loves to use the switch. I've been beaten more here at Ostagar than I ever have been in all the time I've been at the Royal Palace. That's fine, I can take a beating if that's what's needed to do the job. Master was very angry, demanding to know where I'd been all this time. 'How long could it take to deliver a sword and a few paltry messages?' He'd yelled. If he only knew, but none of them know.

This time I was lucky, he didn't have time for the switch. Master cuffed my ears instead and bid me to come to Bann Loren's tent to fetch a message. He would have taken time to use the switch if he'd known I delivered the sword from the quartermaster to the wrong person. Ser Garlen forced himself on the quartermaster's elven assistant. I caught him at it as he had finished with her. He grabbed my arm as I went to comfort her and shoved his sword at me and ordered me to take it to the quartermaster to be sharpened and cleaned for the coming battle. He winked and licked his lips saying that the quartermaster's elf would be too busy playing with his other sword to be delivering weapons for her master. By the time he finished smirking, Cinnie had disappeared, Mythal protect her. He got angry and he walked off lacing his breeches, looking for her.

My hands itched to give him his freedom from this mortal plane by introducing him to my favorite dagger, Bellanaris. Since I'm on a mission, that is not possible, so it gave me immense pleasure to give that bastard's blade to that young noble woman and that young Warden fellow. I hope Ser Garlen has to fight with his dinner fork and the darkspawn drag him off and eat him. Elgar'nan, All Father, hear my plea.

My feet are starting to ache despite the thick rugs on the floor of the tent. I've been running around this camp since before sunrise. But discipline and early training serve me well, I let the pain recede from my thoughts.

Bann Loren bid me wait, if the blank parchment on the small desk in the room is any indication, he hasn't even begun the message he wants delivered. Why do they always send for a messenger if they aren't ready for me to take it? While this is a mild annoyance, it suits my purpose very well. I learn as much by their patterns of behavior, and what they say, as well as what they put to words.

I watch the bann as he paces back and forth, he takes frequent drinks from a metal cup and fills it just as regularly. He's sweating too. Perhaps the almost theft of his dagger has unsettled him? I see a jeweled sheath with the dagger in it on the table near the parchment and I can see the cut leather ties from here. These noble shems have so many things they forget half of it, but they squawk the loudest should the smallest thing go missing when they finally notice it.

The bann keeps rubbing a spot on the middle of his chest, under his chin, and the front his neck while muttering to himself angrily. I can't quite catch what he's saying but I do catch "Cousland chit" and a few other nasty names that Master would beat me soundly for saying. A "Duncan" is mentioned. That name I know. King Cailan asked me to tell him when this "Duncan" showed up with the young woman I gave the sword to. And I've learned who all the major players are amongst these shems. And more importantly those of no name, but of, I suspect greater importance in the coming days. I know who they are, what they do, who they speak to, who they send messages to, and what those messages say.

I know most of them, except the new one the young female shem. Her arrival being so recent. I have learned her name and some of her character from her behavior. She's a noble, but she acts with kindness towards others of lower station. She's fed the prisoner, Norval, I saw her look with sympathy on the tranquil fellow, and her look of disgust at the templars guarding the mages. She acts towards the flat ears here with gentleness and doesn't speak down to elves if her interaction with my persona of a beleaguered servant is to be believed. Not the usual response from these shems to be sure. And I must say she has earned another small fraction of my respect if she treated this Bann Loren so poorly that he is ready to wet his pants. I have seen better and braver things drop out of the back side of a halla.

The bann yelps and spills his drink when his man on guard comes to him and announces that a Doy Banach, Arl Howe's man is here to see him. I pretend to be a piece of furniture, this always served me well in the Royal Palace, and it serves me well now. Howe's man barely looks my way, his eyes passing over me the same way they do over the armor stand beside me. Perfect.

I cast my eyes downward in an imitation of subjugation, in case they should pay more notice to me than the chamber pot. I don't need my eyes to see as I concentrate on my the other senses to glean what I can. And I can paint the entire room in my head, as if my eyes are open and watching. My training serves me well. For when one has no sight one can "see" by way of the other senses, including the mind's inner eye. The eye that sees in the dark, the eye of the trickster, Fen'Heral.

Bann Loren's footsteps go by me, stopping at the table, glass clinks on the metal flagon and liquid pours out, he knocks this back and pours yet another. If the Bann keeps this up he'll be passed out before the sun goes down. Apparently the Arl's man has the same thought.

"How many of those have you had already?" The voice of the soldier is rough as though he's been punched in throat at least once.

"You have no business asking me such a question! I am a Bann, of noble blood. You are a flunky. I'll drink as much as I like." Loren's already ruddy complexion is getting darker, his eyes bulging. I wonder if he's going to have an apoplexy. No small loss if he does.

The soldier smirks at the bann, "I am the soldier of the Arl of Amaranthine, who is now to be Teyrn of Highever, and will be much much more. A man who has friends in the highest of places, and in your case, the very lowest places, Bann Loren, ser (the soldier draws this last word out filling it with contempt). And while he is putting Highever to rights, I am his mouth, his ears and his hands while in Ostagar. You best remember that. Or he may forget that you are a 'friend' at all."

The Arl's man walks past me and I hear the scrape of calloused hands sliding along the metal cup the bann is holding as it's taken from him. If swallowing could be laden with insulting irony, than this one is. The soldier downs its contents before pouring more carrying cup and bottle across the tent and slouching insolently into one of the wooden camp chairs.

"So what has gotten your smalls in a twist this time? Don't tell me you're taking the news of your wife and son's death badly at this late hour. You seemed fine with it when I told you earlier. In fact you seemed, shall we say, delighted? Rid of that failure of a son, and that drunkard of a wife, and the man who'd wronged you so long ago, Bryce Cousland. What could be better?"

"What? How dare you! I wasn't delighted! That was my son you're talking about!"

"Come now, Bann Loren. We know you always thought your wife slept with a scribe. There's no one here now that you need to pose are honest men here, ser. Let's not rewrite history at this late date. I'm afraid everyone of the nobles knew how you really felt about them both. The Arl, my lord, did you a favor. Which is exactly what you were hoping for. Now you can get yourself some pretty young thing and try again. Who knows, maybe this time you'll get it right."

The bann sputters, face purple with rage as he puffs up, mouth gaping like a fish on land. Maybe this is it, the final fit that takes him to the Fade? Unfortunately, no. The Arl's soldier waves an impatient hand while pouring himself another drink.

Bann Loren breath comes out in a long slow stream, and he looks as though he's counting to ten. Ser Banach's mouth quirks upwards in a triumphant smirk. Loren's face reddens again, but instead of yelling he goes to the table to fetch another flagon and opens a new bottle that looks like brandy that was sitting there. With a shaking hand he pours himself a generous portion into another flagon before drinking it. I find myself interested in what has this man so frightened.

So is the Arl's soldier, apparently. The wood of the chair creaks as his weight shifts forward, "Well, open the poke, ser, let's see what jumps out. Cat, or pig? If it mews, the Arl will be very disappointed, I assure you."

I have to stifle a laugh at the Bann's confused expression. As a noble he has no idea what Ser Bannach is on about. Only farmers and unscrupulous sellers of livestock would get the reference. But the implied threat, that Loren understands.

"Your lord didn't do the job properly, the Cousland chit survived! And now she's to join the Grey Wardens, of all things!"

"He did do the job, even if it wasn't the outcome either of you wanted exactly. She will join the Grey Wardens, her brother, if he makes it back from scouting the Wilds will die conveniently in battle, I'll make sure of that with a well placed dagger in his spine if needs be." The Arl's man shrugs at the bann. "As a Grey Warden, the Cousland brat will have no title and hold no lands. Again, no threat to you or my lord."

"But what if she's told the king?" Bann Loren is flapping his arms now in distress and he reminds me of a wounded goose in both manner and voice. A honking gander who needs his neck wrung. The Arl's man needs to be hung over a hot fire, head first. Shems on the whole are horrible. These two are the dregs.

"She has told the king."

"What?" At this the bann starts pacing in front of the desk so fast that puffs of alcohol ladened air waft past me every time he passes by. "What are we going to do?"

The Arl's man takes a drink from his flagon before answering. "Nothing."

"Nothing!"

"That's right, nothing. The king won't be a problem." This makes my ears twitch.

"Won't be a problem? What do you mean, he won't be a problem? He respected Bryce Cousland, and even loved the man. And he certainly loves the Cousland family. They made sure he got the throne. And that Cousland chit has him wrapped around her little finger, just like she did my son. I bet she's bedded Cailan, or will, the little slattern. She'll have him marching on Highever and then Amaranthine as soon as this battle is over!"

"I said, he won't be a problem." The Arl's man speaks each word slowly. "With your nervous disposition, ser, that should be sufficient for you, don't you think?"

His slur on the bann's temperament and this Bannach character's leer cause a twitch to develop in the bann's cheek and his lips to pull down in a thin line before rallying. "The Cousland brat's the one that foundered your horse, you know." It's the bann's turn to give a smug look.

I hear the leather and metal armor of the Arl's man creak as he makes a fist. The bann finally landed a hit. "That little bitch! I'd love to get her alone, I'd show her what it means to sabotage my Lord's property."

"I dare say that 'little bitch' would show you how much she cares by removing you permanently from the Arl's employ." I hear the grin the bann's voice and the implied 'I would enjoy that' in his voice. "She saw you coming from the Teyrn's tent. She's questioned the teyrn's guard who no doubt overheard your conversation. She even questioned the teyrn himself! She's dangerous, and she knows Teyrn Loghain was involved in the death of her family. I'm sure of it."

"The teyrn has plans that involve the little slattern for just that reason. He figured if she doesn't know of his involvement now, she will figure it out given time. He asked me to come to you so we could send a letter to my lord from the Teyrn with an update. A well placed word in the king's ear and Cailan will be insisting that she and that bastard brother of his are sent to the tower of Ishal. The king will think it's his idea, the teyrn will pretend to protest...and the Cousland bitch and that by blow of Maric's will cease to be a problem."

"How could Maric's bastard become a problem, he's a Grey Warden and the commoners don't know he exists. And what do you mean about plans at the tower, how can they be killed at it, it's behind the battle lines."

"Do you really want me to tell you?" The arrogant smirk of the Arl's man has returned. And the bann's sulking cowardice has as well. This makes the Bannach fellow laugh out loud while taking another drink. "I didn't think so. Suffice it to say, she won't survive and will be a suitable scapegoat."

"Scapegoat?"

"You do keep asking questions for which you don't really want the answers." Bannach swigs more from his flagon, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand-the disgusting pig. What he says next makes my ears twitch, again. "Cailan's brother may be a bastard and a Grey Warden, but when-. Should something happen to the king and he falls in battle, the people would want the line of Calenhad to be on the throne, a Theirin, Grey Warden or no. And I dare say, the People would love a hero like one of the Grey, that wouldn't be a detriment but a bit of gravy to the dish. They will find out there is one Theirin still remaining, it's inevitable. And Arl Eamon would see to it. Though I've heard the Arl has taken a bad turn and may not live. Pity that." A cold smile creeps across his scarred face at this. It gives both the Bann and I a chill. These shems and their machinations, it is worse than my keeper thought.

The Bannach fellow pours himself more to drink before continuing. "If the People can't have a Theirin they would take a Cousland as next in line. People do love their traditions. As Anora has no issue by Cailan...well you know, that would leave Anora out. No matter that her father is Teyrn of Gwaren and a hero. As a commoner, her blood is less desirable than other candidates more suitable to the People."

"Including your lord, no doubt. He has always had his eye on the throne for himself. And I know the history and the politics, better than you, commoner. Why do you insist on speaking to as though I am a slow child?!" The bann's face is turning an interesting shade of purple again.

"Because I am trying to make it clear to you that you have nothing to worry about and that you should leave, quietly, before the battle starts."

"Leave?"

"But not too early. Leave the tent and the furniture, clothes, all of your things. Make it look as though you're fighting in the battle. Then slip quietly out while everyone is preparing for the battle. Go home, drink, eat and figure out which pretty noble daughter you'll wed and bed so she can produce a Loren heir from between her thighs for you. Better men than you have this under control. You won't be missed, and if you are, by some very rare coincidence, the Teyrn will make an excuse for your absence. All you need to do is wait and reap the benefits."

I expected the bann to sputter and get angry again,howling about the insults to his character and yelling protests about the indignities that he would suffer leaving any of his possessions behind. Again, the more they have the louder they squawk if they have to lose any of it. But he surprises me, I hear his shallow breathing and his rapid heartbeat calm.

He nods thoughtfully, pointing at the piece of paper on the desk. "So, what shall we tell Howe?"

"Only how beautiful the scenery is, the wildlife, perhaps?"

"Are you mad?" Bann Loren looks at Bannach the way I would if I were allowed to look straight at him.

The Arl's man merely gives that sly smirk that has become so familiar. "I'm sure my lord would like to hear about the little fox that came pattering into camp today. A little fox with very big ears. A pretty little fox that the Teyrn, and my lord, have their eyes on and who the Teyrn intends to have caught in a trap, very, very soon. After all, animals can be dangerous, especially here in the Wilds. Best to take care of it quickly, no?"

Even as dimwitted as he is, the bann gleans onto the meaning. Thick as two planks, that one, but at least one candle shines in that cavern of a head of his. How he is considered of higher importance in this shem world, eludes me. He nods and sits down taking a quill and dipping into the ink bottle. "Yes, I think the Arl would love to read about that bold little fox that dares come so close to us at camp."

I listen as they discuss what should go in the letter, the bann writes it while the Arl's man offers suggestions over his shoulder. Finally they finish the rough draft, and the bann rewrites it in small neat writing two more times. He then tears the written portion from the larger piece and tears the extra copy from the first, rolls both small enough to fit the messenger birds small holders on their legs. He seals them both with a spot of wax and affixes a miniature sigil of his house it before it cools.

I pretend to have fallen asleep on my feet, and the Arl's man has to cuff my ears to get my attention. "Oh, oh, I'm so sorry, sers!" I make sure my voice quavers and stutters.

"Wake your lazy arse up and take this message to the birds for the Arl of Amaranthine's house, and the ones for Highever. Make sure you take them to the Keeper of Birds right away. You are not to take any other messages or tasks until this is done. You will make sure the messages are sent immediately, and you will come back here and tell us when it is done. Do you understand, you half-witted, knife ear?"

"O-o-of course, ser!" Though I'd like to give them a little message of my own, one that has them choking on their own blood. "Right away, sers!"

I make sure my hand shakes as I take the rolls of parchment, bending low and often as I back out of the tent. The bann's soldier on guard flashes me a sympathetic look and motions me over.

"Here, they won't pay you for your time, but have a beer on me at least." He hands me a few coppers of their shem money. "You should get battle pay for dealing with them."

I find myself shocked. Not all of these shem treat the elven like vermin, my clan will be surprised. I smile a shy smile and take my leave, running of course. I will deliver these messages as a good little servant should. But now I have another task. On the night of the battle I will take all of the elves that will go, with me and flee this place and return to my people. These elves maybe flat ears, who have forgotten their heritage, but they are my kind. I'll not leave them to be slaughtered if I can help it. And I know now that these shems are planning just that, a massacre by the sounds of it.

I must tell my clan's keeper that the storm she saw in her dreams is coming. And it will be far worse, than we feared. The storm is coming and we must fight against it or be swept away. For there will be no place we can run that it will not follow along behind us.