Chapter 67: Child Protection

Without a purpose, I wandered the castle aimlessly. I found Connor, excitedly talking with a Circle mage I vaguely recognised from the ritual that had saved the young mage. I left them alone, as it seemed the mage was teaching Connor, and I didn't want to interrupt. I then ran into Teagan, who pulled me aside.

"Dare I ask what my sort-of nephew did?"

"Pardon?"

"I'm not an idiot. I see the guilt in his eyes when he looks at you, and you avoiding eye contact. I know how you feel about him, and any idiot can tell he loves you, so I repeat: what did he do?"

I sighed. "He didn't trust me."

"You can tell me, Sierra. I won't judge. You should be allowed to talk about what happened if you need to."

"I don't need to. I'd really rather not talk about it. I kept some information secret to save someone else's feelings, and he didn't trust that I might not have had some ulterior motive for it. And that's that. I disgust him, Teagan. I'll never forget that expression."

He sighed. "I am sorry, my dear. I had hoped ... well, it doesn't matter now. Just know, if you need somewhere to stay, you can always come here or Rainesfere. I can protect you, if need be."

"Why Teagan, are you flirting with me?"

He grinned. "Of course! You are a beautiful woman, Sierra." His expression grew serious. "I mean it though. I wouldn't pressure you, or expect anything. I am not trying to seduce you or gain your affection. But I know you don't have a lot of options, and you shouldn't be stuck following him if it causes you pain."

I patted his cheek. "You're very sweet, Teagan. And I appreciate the offer. But my place is with Aedan and the Grey Wardens. Thank you, though."

He nodded, and with a bit more small talk, excused himself to meet with Eamon.

I kept wandering, ending up out in the training yard. I watched some of the knights sparring for a while, and decided to put on my armour and join them. I slipped in through the kitchen entrance as a shortcut to my usual room, where I assumed my things had been taken. I made it only a few feet into the kitchen when I heard the disturbance.

There were loud voices, and a slap that sounded as though someone had been hit. I ran around the corner, only to stop in utter shock.

Cowering on the floor was a young boy, who couldn't have been more than seven years old. He was filthy, wearing clothes that were two sizes too small, and emaciated. His arms were up over his head, as though to protect himself from blows; the bruises, one on his face and several on his arms, showed just how necessary that protection was.

And standing over him, screaming in Orlesian, was Isolde. She held a wooden spoon, obviously taken from the hand of the cook who was standing next to her, crying silently. I watched in absolute horror as Isolde raised her arm and brought the spoon down across the boy's forearms, leaving a bright red welt. He yelped and tried to curl tighter; she raised her arm again.

I didn't even think; I jumped across the kitchen in two steps, grabbing Isolde's hand before she could smack the child again, ripping the spoon out of her grasp.

"What is going on here?" I thundered, and Isolde spun to face me.

"You!" Isolde screamed back. "You will not interfere! This boy is guilty of theft, and-"

To his credit, the youngster jumped up from the ground, his dirty cheeks tracked with tears, expression defiant despite the bruises and swelling on his face. "I didn't steal nothin'!" he cried, wiping his nose on his dirty sleeve, smearing the dirt further. "I was just carrying water like Cook said, for all the guests. I didn't take nothin'!"

"Then what happened to the wheel of Orlesian cheese I brought in?" the noblewoman shouted. "It didn't just eat itself, now did it?" She pulled at her arm, still held tightly in my grip, as though to strike the child again. I didn't let go, and grabbed her other wrist in my other hand just in case. My new strength from the Joining helped, as did weeks of constant travel and sparring; the soft noblewoman had no chance.

Looking at the gaunt figure before me, I knew there was no way the kid had eaten an entire wheel of cheese. His stomach would have been distended half-way across the room if he had. And regardless, there was no excuse for beating a starving boy for eating something, even if he had stolen it. The cook gestured to the kid, and he slid halfway behind her protective arm.

"Isolde! He is a child. Look at him! He no more stole your cheese than Andraste herself did."

"I am the Arlessa here, and I will have you arrested for assaulting me, you slattern!" She struggled again. "You have no right to interfere in how I discipline my servants!"

"You will not strike this child again, Arlessa, or so help me, you'll be needing help to chew your food for the rest of your days. You will desist or you will suffer, do you hear me?"

I shook her once to make my point, and released her arms. I turned to the kid and gestured; he came forward into the protective circle of my arms. I knelt down to look him in the eye.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Blake, my Lady."

"How old are you, Blake?"

"Eleven, my Lady."

"Eleven!" I was shocked; the kid barely came up to my shoulder, and I wasn't exactly tall. Looking at him, I realised that his stature was a result of chronic malnutrition. I'd have bet he hadn't felt truly full since he'd been weaned as a babe. "Where are your parents?"

He sniffled. "Dead, my Lady. Da was a kennel master, he died a long time ago, and Ma was a scullery maid here until ... until..." He didn't have to finish the sentence; I knew. Until the undead, released by Isolde's stupidity and selfishness, killed half of the residents of Redcliffe.

"So where do you live now?"

"The Arl said I could sleep in the stables, if I worked hard to pay my keep, my Lady."

Isolde interrupted. "You see? My husband grants this churl a place to live and a job, and he repays that kindness with thievery."

I stood so abruptly that it startled poor Blake; he stumbled back with a small cry. I just about to leap upon Isolde, intent on returning the child's torment a hundred-fold on the harridan's hide, when strong arms circled me from behind, pinning my arms, holding me back.

"What exactly is going on here?" The voice, which I placed immediately, sounded amused. Blake and the unfortunate cook sank down onto their knees, and Isolde folded herself into a curtsy, murmuring "Your Majesty."

I turned as he released me, rolling my eyes. So much for his identity remaining a secret! I knew Aedan and Tomas would be furious. "Theron." It seemed there was little point to hiding his identity now, but I would try anyway. Isolde jumped back up at my casual use of his alias. "I found this ... woman, beating this defenseless child with a wooden spoon, accusing him of theft."

"And you became involved because..."

"Are you joking? That harpy says the kid stole a wheel of cheese. You think a kid that poorly nourished could have somehow hidden an entire bloody wheel of cheese, or eaten it in a single sitting? A wheel of cheese probably weighs more than he does!"

Theron flushed. "Um, a wheel of Orlesian sharp, by chance?"

"Maker, don't even tell me. Love of cheese runs in the family, I see. You took the cheese, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

He reddened even further. "It's possible, yes."

I turned back to Isolde. "Next time, perhaps you should do some investigation into your charges before you start beating the nearest innocent servant!"

"You will address me with the respect I am owed as Arlessa! And you will not hamper my discipline of a servant in my castle, regardless of the circumstances, is that clear?"

Theron grabbed me again, as I moved to slap the harpy's face. "You may be an Arlessa, but I am the daughter of a Teyrn, and I outrank you, you shrew. And if you didn't make a habit of forcing those you are responsible for to sleep in the stables, beating them without provocation, and unleashing undead horrors upon them, perhaps I wouldn't have needed to interfere!"

Theron tried to hush me, but I spun to face him again. "That child sleeps in the stable, Theron. His parents died in service to the Arl. He's never had enough to eat in his entire life. He doesn't have appropriate clothes, and when do you think the last time he had a bath was? This is how your brother lived, until this harridan chased him off and sold him to the Chantry. This is not an isolated instance. You think that's the appropriate way to treat a servant, or any child? This is not Tevinter, and they are not slaves. Servants are not thieves, and those who are cannot help themselves." I felt very Drew Barrymore-esque, stealing lines from a movie.

"They can't?" Theron's expression was wry, and he held up his hand to forestall Isolde, who was about to interrupt.