Gwayne had no idea what mischievous (and vaguely insulting) thoughts were running through Rebecca's mind, but he knew well enough: Viscount Andrew's aid to the Seawright refugees would not be given without cost.
The age when lords vowed to lay down their lives for their people, when all men and women toiled selflessly to rebuild civilization, was long gone. Seven hundred years had passed since the fall of the Old Empire. Though the Kingdom of Andraste had yet to reclaim the heights of old Gondor, its nobility had mastered the art of self-interest to perfection.
No doubt, the very moment Seawright's refugees stumbled into Valewatch, Rebecca had inherited a debt as heavy as a millstone.
Still—a burdened life was better than no life at all.
"The House of Seawright will remember your generosity," Gwayne finally broke the silence, his voice calm but weighty. "But more important right now is the disaster itself."
From the start, Viscount Andrew had been eyeing Gwayne curiously—the man's ancient style of dress, the mighty sword at his side, and the air of undeniable authority about him. Andrew prided himself on knowing the names and faces of every noble house worth mentioning, yet he could place neither name nor lineage on this imposing stranger.
So, when Gwayne spoke, Andrew seized the opportunity. "Forgive me for asking, but… who are you, exactly?"
Hestia, having clearly been waiting for this moment, rose at once, her expression solemn. "You should know this name well, my lord. This is Gwayne Seawright—founder of our line, one of the Seven Generals of Dawn, Duke of the South, the Radiance of First Light!"
Gwayne straightened, fixing his face into an expression of dignified severity, and offered a small, imperious nod. However, as soon as he heard that grandiose final title, he couldn't help but lean toward Rebecca and whisper, "What in the gods' names is that?"
Rebecca quickly whispered back, "It's your posthumous title... The First King gave it to you after... uh... after your passing."
Gwayne nearly choked. "By all the stars—he couldn't think of something less ridiculous?!"
Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Viscount Andrew sat frozen, his face caught halfway between a polite smile and blank bewilderment.
Had Lady Hestia finally gone mad from grief and stress?
As Gwayne had guessed: without seeing it for themselves, no sane person would believe the founder of an ancient house had simply risen from the grave after seven hundred years. Even learned scholars and battle-hardened knights would have scoffed. It was the ignorant peasants, steeped in superstition, who might have believed it without question.
To his credit, Andrew did not immediately summon servants to wrestle Hestia into a straitjacket.
"Lady Hestia," the viscount said carefully, "I understand you have endured terrible trials, but surely... surely this story is a bit much?"
"We knew you would not easily believe," Hestia replied calmly. "Even we ourselves struggle to accept it. But we saw it with our own eyes: our forefather, Gwayne Seawright, rose from his tomb, still gripping the Pioneer Sword. We have verified by every means that he is no specter, no necromantic trick—he truly lives again."
Andrew managed a helpless smile. "If there is some request you wish to make... I beg you, just say it plainly. This... tale is unnecessary."
Gwayne raised a hand to halt Hestia and placed his greatsword—the greatsword—on the table between them. He leaned forward, voice cool and steady. "Tell me, Viscount, what purpose would such a lie serve? A viscountcy destroyed by monsters and elemental storms, a dragon sighted above the ruins—these things alone would already command the King's attention. Would we really go to the trouble of dressing up a man in antique costume, forging an ancient sword, and spinning some mad story, all for a lie?"
As he spoke, Gwayne channeled a pulse of magic into the Pioneer Sword.
Before their eyes, dark red runes awakened along the blade's length, glowing faintly. Near the hilt, a sigil formed—two crossed emblems: a blade and a plowshare.
The crest of House Seawright, sealed since the founding of Andraste.
Knights did not channel magic the way mages did, but they had their own ways of working it into their weapons and oaths.
Andrew stared. He had never seen the original Pioneer's Sword—but he had once visited the Royal Sanctum in Solis Ardent, where a replica of the sword was kept under glass.
The sword before him was no replica.
It bore the true marks—the subtle craftsmanship of the Elven artisans who had forged it seven centuries ago.
Had the House of Seawright exhumed their own ancestor, stolen their own heirloom, just to stage a farce? The cost of such a deception would be absurd beyond reason.
Yet to believe the alternative—that a man could rise from death after seven centuries... Andrew hesitated, caught between common sense and the impossible.
"You are welcome to send for Elven craftsmen to examine the sigils," Gwayne said, his tone easy. "They know how to verify their own work. Or you could search out the surviving veterans of the Second Expedition—some of the elder Elves still living in seclusion. Perhaps one or two would remember my face."
"No... no need," Andrew waved a hand wearily, massaging his temples. "For a man of your... legendary stature, perhaps nothing is truly impossible."
It was clear he still didn't fully believe—but he was willing to let it be. A practical man.
In the end, what did it matter to him if Seawright's founder had truly risen? What mattered was that House Seawright remained a political force, and how they intended to settle their debts.
Andrew had scarcely finished that thought when something else struck him. "Wait—you said a dragon appeared?!"
"A blue one," Gwayne confirmed. "Flew from the ruins, vanished northwest."
And with that, Gwayne recounted the full tale: the fall of Seawright, the monsters, the elemental tide, and the dragon's arrival.
Andrew grew paler and paler. Even the lingering, unhealthy flush of alchemic indulgence faded from his face. "Twisted spawn... remnants of the old cataclysms... and now dragons... What is happening to our world?"
"The world's fate is for scholars and kings to fret over," Hestia cut in sharply. "Our task is to get to Solis Ardent and deliver the warning."
"I have already sent a messenger to the capital," Andrew replied. "On a fast horse, bearing news of Seawright's fall. He should be halfway there by now."
Gwayne nodded. In truth, for a border lord, Andrew was doing a commendable job. He had sheltered refugees, strengthened patrols, sent word to the capital.
But Hestia pressed further. "It's not enough. Rebecca must deliver her account to the King in person. And Lord Gwayne Seawright—he must be presented to the court as well. We are grateful for your help so far, but we need more."
Andrew's eyes narrowed slightly. He rose and paced slowly in front of the long table, his hands folded behind his back.
"What exactly do you require? Horses? Provisions? Escorts?"
"All of it," Rebecca answered with more confidence than she felt. "And we ask you to continue sheltering the refugees—until we return with a new fief to settle them."
Andrew stopped pacing.
"That," he said, "is the crux of the matter."
He turned, facing them fully.
"I have given generously. I have sheltered your people, spent coin from my own coffers, summoned healers, spent medicines meant for my own folk. You must understand—I am but a viscount. I can only do so much."
Gwayne calmly sipped his cooling tea. At last, they were getting down to business.
Rebecca fumbled to respond. "Ser Philip... he brought gold and silver during the evacuation... it should be enough—"
"I know of the gold," Andrew interrupted smoothly. "And rest assured—I am no extortioner. But medicines and food cost dearly. The gold Ser Philip brought has been well-spent merely keeping your people alive."
Rebecca's eyes widened.
Andrew smiled thinly. "Again, let me stress: I am not a man who profits from the suffering of neighbors. I will continue to shelter your people. I will aid your journey to the capital. But I must know—once all is said and done... Will House Seawright be able to repay what is owed?"