Chapter Text
The independent county of Havenvale has many advantages which may be attractive to visitors and particularly to individuals who seek a combination of civilization’s perquisites with a certain quaint air of the wild, lent in this instance by the mountains crowding around and the local gentry’s famed prowess with the sword and musket.
It is perhaps appropriate to begin with a description of said gentry. Chief in stature among them is the Lady Cassandra Pentaghast of Hunter Fell, who can lay direct claim to royalty but has instead dedicated her days to the martial arts in training to support the Chantry and act as guard to the well-regarded Mother Justinia. The next is Madame Vivienne, who is prominent amid the mage Circles of the neighbouring country of Orlais; in fact her estate Ghislain is but one of several properties which, though under royal rule, are accessible to her by dint of her status as court enchanter. Of perhaps lesser status but greater wealth is Lord Pavus, a transplant from distant Tevinter; though an accomplished mage he has little to do with the Chantry Circles, and instead amuses himself with hunting and scholarship at his estate Asariel.
The last long-time resident is the reclusive Miss Cousland of Amaranth, famous for having ended the Blight war with her rumoured paramour Prince Alistair some ten years previous to this description; as the sole surviving Grey Warden of Ferelden, Alistair having died in service, she has some cachet among curious onlookers but has lived as a near hermit, having regular dealings only with her servant Harding. Amaranth was a gift from the queen as what is popularly understood to be a political trade, and with the exception of the occasional Deep Roads expedition with her fellow Wardens Miss Cousland retired from public life very shortly after the end of the war.
It came to pass one day that Madame Vivienne was visiting with Lady Cassandra, and they had a guest at Hunter Fell, Lady Josephine Montilyet.
“Did you hear that Ostwick is to be let again?” said Lady Cassandra, deftly running needlepoint as she spoke.
Madame Vivienne laughed. “No one stays there for long. I dare say a servant could afford to rent it at asking price.”
“I heard,” said Lady Josephine, “that the young man in question is a fellow of distant family and no fortune. I cannot imagine what he stands to gain by coming to Havenvale.”
“You mean apart from the attentions of some of the most powerful women in the realm?” said Madame Vivienne. “A man who realizes it, and has the self-importance to fancy himself a catch, would be a fool to pass it up.”
Lady Cassandra, who privately believed that this was an unfortunate turn for the conversation to take, for she abhorred the mercenary aspects of matchmaking, shook her head. “That supposes that any of us are available.”
“Of course your careers come first,” said Lady Josephine. “I am similarly not inclined to give chase – or be chased, for that matter.”
“Which, if we discount Lord Pavus, just leaves Miss Cousland, the poor dear,” concluded Madame Vivienne. “I should hope for her sake that our newcomer is of quality.”
“She is not obligated to pay him any attention,” Lady Cassandra said, a little stiffly.
“There are obligations and then there is simple self-interest,” said Madame Vivienne. “It’s quite understandable to have no interest in people who cannot possibly meet your level. And she is, after all, a teyrn’s daughter. But after a certain age one would think one might let go of some of one’s more exacting requirements. It does your house no credit to be two-and-thirty and unmarried, no matter how sterling your standards are.”
Lady Cassandra set aside her needlepoint. “Really, Madame Vivienne,” she said. “Miss Cousland has known enough hardship without having to take darts from me or you.”
Vivienne adjusted her posture ever so slightly, the better to look regal. “Of course you’re right, my dear. I meant nothing by it.”
“But who will the newcomer be?” said Lady Josephine, evidently ready to set the conversation back on track. “The connexions I heard this through didn’t even have a name…”
***
Mr. Turin Trevelyan was in fact a fellow of distant family and no fortune. He was not yet old enough to feel burdened by this, and in fact his intention in coming to Havenvale was to seek the adventure of training with the famed warrior ladies of the county. The thought that they might refuse had not, as of his appearance at Ostwick, crossed his mind.
He had not been in his spacious new house three hours when a servant appeared outside on a finely bred horse to deliver an embossed invitation to the Ghislain estate, to-morrow night. It gave him precious little time to unpack and prepare, but he brought out his best finery with a smile.
He rode the horse he had first ridden into the county on and took it slowly across the wooded countryside. The mountains on all sides were snowy despite the spring of the valley floor. His path took him around the famous stone chapel, situated picturesquely on a rise from where he could see the dark roofs of Ghislain. He noted a closer estate with brown roofs, nearly hidden by the trees to one side; but his path did not take him that way.
Just inside the hedge of Ghislain he slowed. Madame Vivienne was, it was rumored, in possession of some eight thousand crowns. She was unmarried and famously self-sufficient. None of this escaped Turin’s notice, as among the lessons he had taken from his education in the Free Marches was a keen appreciation of economics. He dismounted and let a masked servant take his horse. The Orlesian fashion continued as he walked indoors and heard a strain of strings. A second masked servant escorted him to the large golden hall.
A darkly complected fellow sporting a neat curled moustache turned the moment the servant announced “Mr. Trevelyan of Ostwick.” His eyes seemed to light up and he hurried at once to greet the newcomer.
“Mr. Trevelyan,” the stranger exclaimed, “you’ve sailed in so quickly you’re ahead of the rumours. No one will know what to make of you.” He set a hand on his ruffled breast and bowed. “Lord Dorian Pavus, at your service.”
“Lord Pavus.” Turin bowed as well; Lord Pavus’s fortune was second to none in the county. “I’m honoured. Your family is famous in the Free Marches.”
“For the amount of your wine my father consumes, I should hope so. Come with me, I’ll introduce you.”
So Turin was led to a dark-skinned woman in a horned hat and a woman in an unusual confection of yellow and blue. Lord Pavus was effortlessly glib. “Madame Vivienne, Lady Josephine, this is Turin Trevelyan. Turin, meet Madame Vivienne, court enchanter to the Empress, and Lady Josephine, a guest over at Hunter Fell.”
“Ladies. It’s a pleasure.”
“Mutual, I’m sure,” said the dark-skinned woman, Madame Vivienne, her eyelashes black against golden eyeshadow. “I do hope Ostwick is to your liking.”
“You must let us know if there is anything we can do to help you settle in,” added Lady Josephine.
“You’re very kind to offer. I’ll confess I’ve had very little chance to acquaint myself with the area.”
“Then start here,” Lady Josephine said warmly. “Oh! Here comes Lady Cassandra.”
Lady Cassandra was, Turin happened to know, in possession of the enormous sum of twelve thousand crowns, and was also unmarried. He drew himself up straighter, the better to make a good impression. He bowed nearly to the point of reverence when the beautiful woman with the close-shorn hair and scarred cheek approached. “Lady Cassandra, I presume?”
“You presume correctly,” she said in a delightful accent. “Mr. Trevelyan. I am pleased to welcome you to Havenvale County.”
“It seems most agreeable so far,” he said.
“It shows well in spring,” agreed Lady Josephine. “And it will only get greener over the season.”
“Glad am I to hear it, but I was personally speaking of the company,” said Turin, and was gratified to see a playful smile lend levity to her remarkable dark eyes. He had researched this county well, but of Lady Josephine he knew nothing, except that she had charm.
Lady Cassandra insisted on being the first to dance with the newcomer, a distinction nearly unheard of in the county. She followed him with clean precision, more painstakingly accurate than graceful.
“You are the talk of the town,” she said, maintaining the perfect courteous distance. “One word of advice, don’t let Lord Pavus take you hunting.”
“Why ever not? I flatter myself that I’m a tolerable shot with a musket.” It was, in fact, the demonstration he hoped to make to prove himself to the warriors of Havenvale.
“Your aim will matter little when he starts throwing fireballs,” said Lady Cassandra.
“Ah. I see.”
“Nevertheless, you should find him very sociable.”
“Do you yourself hunt? I have heard great things of the warriors of the county.”
“Do not believe everything you hear.” She set her jaw in something approaching hostility. “But,” she added, with a little curl of a smile, “we keep in practice.”
“I pray I might have the honour of joining you.”
“Ah, but not today.” She shut her mouth and seemed content to dance in silence the rest of the way.
Madame Vivienne stepped in next, sweeping Turin back onto the dance floor before he quite knew he had been selected. He lined up with the others, took a bow, and started dancing with his hostess and her tall horned hat.
“It is good to meet you,” she said. “We hear so little from the Free Marches these days.”
“With the troubles afoot I imagine there isn’t much reliable word. I myself come out for…other reasons.”
She turned up her finely molded face. “Really?”
“Er, yes.” It occurred to him for the first time that the ambitions that had sounded so practical at home might not be so kindly received here. But then, a hot iron left unstruck had never done anyone any good. “I had honestly hoped to study the sabre with Miss Cousland. Her skill with it is the stuff of legend, even as far as the Marches.”
Madame Vivienne didn’t laugh, though it was a near thing. “Oh, my dear. Miss Cousland lets no one in. Better ask Lady Cassandra, or else give it up altogether.”
“That I cannot do,” he said stoutly, “so I may well ask Lady Cassandra myself.”
“As you wish. Tell me about the Trevelyans. They don’t have much traffic with the southern lands.”
She listened and asked questions like a cat hunting. Turin, to his own discomfiture, played the mouse. She in turn seemed to be pleased.
Once the song ended the musicians set to rest and Turin found himself beside Lord Pavus. The gentleman gave him a radiant smile. “I would insist on a dance but they always tell me I’m dancing the wrong part,” said he. “Perhaps some other day. Something to drink?”
“Gladly.” Everyone here was so complaisant, so agreeable, Turin found that he had only to accept every invitation sent his way to fill his calendar and make a start at becoming truly part of the neighborhood. Training could wait for a night; for now it was enough to see and be seen.
***
The popular opinion of Mr. Trevelyan was a very positive one; his manners pleased everywhere and his skill at dance was pronounced perfectly delightful. His carriage was generally held as distinguished and his aspect amiable. Alas, then, that he should be of such low prospects. No one expected him to host at Ostwick any time soon; further impressions must perforce be formed by socials at one of the other estates. The ladies expressed satisfaction at his first impression, save for a slight tendency toward familiarity, which they attributed to his outgoing nature; notwithstanding they agreed to hold another dance very soon.