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[Maria13]

Intro

This is the first part of the first chapter (dubbed The Gift) of something that I hope will be a little longer dealing with the consequences for the main characters Alistair/female mage PC of having agreed to the Dark Ritual.  I wanted to take the characters a little further from a time of strife to a time of plenty... and perhaps back again. 

Mature content, not in the first chapter but sex, and sex of all kinds plays a large part in DA and I do not think that any fan fic would be true to its source if it did not reflect that to some extent.  Let's face it, the Dark Ritual was itself a sexual act, at least on one level.

Acknowlegement
Everything is Bioware's and Gaider's, genius game, great characters, involving world.  My stuff is just gloss.

Request
If you read, feel free to offer some comments.  It's my first time (no, let's not push that...) and I will be grateful.

Alternative site
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2219752/




The Gift (part 1 of 3)


The deputy sub steward of the royal household in Denerim could not understand why the King had decided to travel to the Brecilian forest at that time of year. By all accounts he was a sensible man and usually well-informed, did he not know that it was almost a full two months before the grouse season? Of course, the forest was full of halla but even the deputy sub steward was now aware that diplomatic niceties vis-à-vis the Dawlish elves would not permit a hunt of halla, even if there were a desperate need for a cull. Then there was fishing, but again that was better in the salmon spawning season... As for rabbits, there were always rabbits but then rabbits, like rats, could be found everywhere and anywhere, hardly necessitating a full-blown expedition to the far off forest...


If the deputy sub steward were to be fully honest with himself what most aggravated him was that the King's sortie was that his wife was just beginning to recover from the birth of their third child and he had hoped that they would be in a position to resume marital relations within the next few weeks. The King's unexpected little excursion and the preparations for it, Maker bless his socks, put paid to that.


As he had anticipated the first day after their arrival was pure boredom but hard work with all the setting up of the temporary household. The ground was still frozen even though it was spring and it took some time to pitch tents and set up fires and turn a bare piece of earth by a stream into something resembling an encampment.

The second day was a little more entertaining, at the beginning, at least. The deputy sub steward, for some reason he was unable to fathom, was invited along to the King's delegation to the Dalish elven settlement.

The King was in his hunting apparel, a rather fetching shade of green, that clung lightly to his good muscular figure, and went quite well with his short cropped blond hair and light blue eyes rather than in his royal robes, officially greeted the lady Lanaya the current Keeper of the settlement.


She was actually rather attractive, for an elf, that was, thought the deputy sub steward. Although slight in height, she seemed somewhat more solidly build than most elven females with wider hips. Her face was rounder and she even appeared to have dimples. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, her skin as pale as milk, even her facial markings were becoming, emphasizing her fetching, smooth features rather than crowding them.


The King began by making a little speech. He read it very carefully from a small piece of vellum he drew from the sleeve of his tunic. This was strange for the King who was, for the most part, an off the cuff, impulsive, orator, and all the better for it, too. However, this speech was in what the deputy sub steward assumed was Dalish, this impressed him greatly. From what he was told later, the deputy sub steward understood that it was something about how in the new Ferelden all the different nations were to work together in peace and harmony and how this was make everyone stronger and more prosperous. The King had pronounced variants of this same speech everywhere he went for about the last two years.


The deputy sub steward who had not a little training in the obscure art of customer service, also took the opportunity to observe the response of the half dozen or so of Dalish dignitaries present at this speech. They all appeared to be working very hard to remain hieratic and coolly disaffected but his reading of the slight fluctuations in their body language indicated that they too, were impressed.


Once he had finished Keeper Lanaya, or whatever her official title was, leaned towards the King and said in perfect Fereldan:

“Alistair, as always, welcome...”


They then exchanged ceremonial kisses, or at least he assumed they were ceremonial. The King apparently took this opportunity to whisper something in her delicately pointed ear. The deputy sub steward would later swear that he saw a sudden blush creep into her cheeks in reply.


There followed an exchange of gifts. These, the Deputy sub steward knew more about these because he had been directly involved in their procurement. “Dwarven crafts and goods for the elves, and elven crafts and goods for the dwarves. And some of our own stuff, whatever that is, thrown in”, the King had pronounced. So the household stewards had scoured the local markets for dwarven goods and used the Denerim palace commercial grapevine to suggest to any dwarven merchants about the area that now might be a good time to visit the capital.


Several mornings were thus spent with the King reviewing the goods preselected by the stewards. It was the King himself who had chosen the diamond pendent. A single diamond, translucent, white, exquisitely cut, with just a hint of pale blue throughout, on a plain, silverite, chain. The deputy sub steward recalled distinctly the King holding it up to the light from the windows in the high hall and nodding approvingly to the Head Steward as it glittered in his hand seeming to illuminate all of itself what was until then a gloomy Denerim day.


After he had handed over the other gifts, the King produced this one, holding it up to the light as he had done in the great hall. The expression on Keeper Lanaya’s face was difficult to read but the deputy sub steward thought the emotion it most closely expressed was sheer astonishment. After a few moments she mumbled something to the King and turned around. The King gently lowered the pendent over her head and clasped it at the nape of her neck, taking good care, it seemed, not to touch her.


Then there was a picnic or some sort of feast outdoors. The food was too herby and did not have enough salt. The cheese, however, was excellent and he overheard the King say as much to Keeper Lanaya. She seemed pleased and flushed again, the jewel shining at her breast. Dalish ale, on the other hand, was far too weak, and did not compliment the cheese well. The deputy sub steward noted he much preferred the dwarven brews. But he soon found himself reaching for more of the feeble ale when the poetry recitals and the detailed narration of intricate elven legends and lore began. And never seemed to end.


Eventually after a few hours, even the King, who had been provided with an interpreter and who earlier appeared to listen with some enthusiasm, began to look bored and visibly drooped at the end of the table. By then evening had began to fall, the deputy sub steward together with others in the royal retinue and some delegated elves lit torches and proceeded to escort the King back to his camp.


Then it began to rain. The party members’ heavy warm clothing became after little more than half an hour a freezing, water-saturated mess. The King impatiently removed his woollen cloak, shoved it into the arms of his knight escort, Ser Lawler, took a torch, and picking up the pace began heading towards camp splashing through the fresh mud at a lively trot that his retinue tried, with the exception of Lawler, mostly in vain, to match.

Modifié par Maria13, 29 septembre 2011 - 02:16 .

[Freckles04]

If you could put spaces between your paragraphs, it would be much appreciated. It's very difficult to read like this. Thanks!

[Maria13]

 
The Gift (part 2)

     The rain cleared up over night and dawn came fresh and sunny. The King woke up rather late and said he wanted to try his hand at fishing. The problem was that although some primitive fishing rods had been packed, there was no-one at camp who had more than a rudimentary knowledge of fishing.

Lawler picked what he thought would be a likely spot and he and the King and several others having baited their hooks with dried bread, did their best to cast off. “Now what?” asked the King.

“It is my understanding that now we wait.”

“But for how long?”

Lawler shrugged. So they waited for about an hour and then decided to cast off again. After about twenty minutes more, the King asked to be brought some books, buried the rod in the river bank and began reading reclining against a tree trunk testily telling Lawler that if the fish wouldn't do the courtesy to bite he didn't feel he should do them courtesy of waiting for them to.

There was some fuss when one of the knights felt a tug on his rod and managed to hoist a fish out of the water but the fish was so small that it would hardly satisfy a kitten.

At that point the King said he was fed up and headed back to camp for an early lunch.




     That afternoon the King sent word around camp that instead of training as he usually did with Lawler, he would pay a bounty of 20 sovereigns to any one who could beat him in a fight.

This was the first time since coming to the throne a little over two years ago that the King had made an offer of this kind. Many of the knights knew very little of him personally, he seemed more given to mingling with the commoners, and even elves, dwarves and mages rather than with the aristocracy, but then most of them in turn spent most of their time sequestered in their estates, far from Denerim. It was probably because of this that many of the knights who took him up on his offer expressed their dissatisfaction within Lawler's hearing when it became clear that the rounds were to be undertaken with wooden swords and shields. Lawler simply limited himself to a wolfish grin in response.

In any event for the gentlemen concerned it turned into a rout, a rather humiliating rout. None of them had grasped until that afternoon just how much of a brawler their new king was. But he soon showed them. As well as good body strength, some relative speed and an undeniable talent with a shield and sword he also deployed insults, rough fighting and what they considered to be general loutish behaviour to devastating effect.

As the King pointed out later that evening over more than a few casks of wine, high dragons, darkspawn, maleficari, abominations, summons, bandits, assassins, thugs or even Lawler, understood nothing of etiquette, civility or fair play when it came to fighting: “They just want to take you down, so you bloody well better take them down first and do it fast” he concluded.

Someone mildly pointed out that darkspawn etc had no verbal skills and therefore didn't care that you had just called their granny *uh-hum* a **** or their father a vagrant. The King explained that it was all a matter of tone of voice and posture.

The only one of their number who managed to come out of it with any dignity whatsoever was Oswyn, one of the sons of Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak. It was rumoured that at some point prior to the end of the Blight he had been held captive by Bann Howe (yes, that Howe) and tortured. In any event he had not been able to walk properly since being freed from the dungeon, although it seemed he had done a lot of work on his upper body strength and overall agility since. The King had offered to take a handicap for their bout but Oswyn had refused. There had ensued a very heated and rapid exchange of blows with both shield and sword as the King attempted to get through Oswyn's guard and Oswyn sought no less vehemently to deny him. Eventually the King had prevailed though he acknowledged that it had been a close run thing and asked that evening for a toast to Oswyn, who had blushed rather fiercely, when this had readily been forthcoming.





     On the fourth day the King decided to go for a run after breakfast, initially it seemed he planned only to take his marbaris, Mince and Meat and his knight escort. Several more of the gentlemen expressed an interest and in due course he was prevailed upon to set out with a small party. The deputy sub steward was much relieved that he wouldn’t have to service their amusement for at least half a day, anticipating that they would be out for a few hours, withdrew to his tent for a well-deserved mid-morning nap.

He was wakened around midday by a hubbub that indicated the party’s return. The King, zipped through the middle of camp with Mince and Meat at his heels, equally excited, yelling that the last man into the stream would be a smelly genlock, whatever, that was.

He was peeling off his clothing as he went and the deputy sub steward who was still feeling a little groggy, despondently began to collect them following in his wake. When he got to the edge of the stream completely naked, he jumped in. Mince and Meat, far more sensible they, stood on the bank growling.

In twenty minutes there were half a dozen rowdy, naked, men cavorting in the icy stream. Of the men only Lawler refused to get in, standing fully dressed by Mince and Meat, the King appeared to be berating him, calling him a coward and saying something about his aversion to clenliness. Lawler was responding indignantly calling the King (!), an arrant fool and saying that he couldn’t very well defend him in the brook could he? Someone, probably in revenge for a humiliation sustained the day before, put paid to the argument by dunking the King from behind.

At that point one of the camp boys, the infant son of one of the washerwomen, came up to the deputy sub steward from behind and desperately started tugging at his sleeve. “What is it, lad?” said the deputy sub steward but the child just stared up at him apparently mute with despair.

Too late, the deputy sub steward turned round and saw Keeper Lanaya and several of her courtiers in very colourful garb advancing on them rapidly.

The deputy sub steward would later blame his slowness to react on the fact that he had not yet fully recovered from his nap. Of course, the fact that he still had his arms full with the King’s sweaty belongings did not assist.

The result was that Lanaya, and her company sailed past before he could barely get a word out of his mouth. She then stopped dead.

“Alistair… What are you doing in the river?”

“Keeper… How wonderful to see you… And you’ve brought all your gentle ladies too…”

The King approached the river bank a few paces careful to ensure that the water depth still covered his modesty. Lanaya bent politely towards him.

“You’re going to have to give me a moment here…” he muttered.

“Of course.”

Keeper Lanaya made a subtle signal to her ladies and they withdrew from the edge of the stream. One of them apparently made some remark and suddenly the air was full of quiet laughter. It was quite unlike human laughter, less harsh and raucous, more like a fluttering breeze through fresh spring leaves. Quite delightful to hear.

But the deputy sub steward could not dwell for long on that and rushed to the King’s tent, dumping the clothes on a table. He ran out, and started to issue orders: “Cordial, biscuits, chairs for the ladies. And bring some bloody towels, big ones!”

Modifié par Maria13, 04 avril 2010 - 10:13 .

[Maria13]

The Gift (part 3 of 3)

It was not until the morning of the fifth day that something of note happened.  About half an hour after dawn when the shadows of the forest and hoarfrost still lay thick upon the ground and when the deputy sub steward had just began his morning round to ensure that the braziers were lit and breakfast porridge was being prepared. 

A deep sound suddenly permeated the valley, shattering the dawn silence and the feeble birdsong.  It was something similar to a hunting horn of the lowing of cattle, possibly the halla in rut?  But no, it was much more modulated and controlled.  As he turned stunned from the valley to encampment the deputy sub steward saw lights suddenly being kindled in every tent.   Following that sound the dawn seemed to attain a greater stillness than just before and the deputy sub steward had barely began to convince himself that he had not heard what he had heard, that it had been some kind of auditory hallucination when the sound resonated again.

King Alistair had always be been an early riser so it was no surprise when he burst out of his tent wearing his nightclothes under the same woollen cape he had discarded in the downpour a few days before and that the deputy sub steward had taken care to ensure had been thoroughly dried without it shrinking.  He stood in the middle of the clearing in his slippers facing towards the woods as if waiting for something.  The second wave of sound did not appear to perturb or surprise him.  Ser Lawler now stood quietly at his right shoulder.

More silence and then a final burst of sound and there was a sudden movement from the woods.  Too near not to have been seen before, something broke forth in a blur from the still darkened tree line.  Even the king took a step back. 

Two shapes.  A knight on a horse in full armour including visor and a smaller, hooded, form sitting side saddle on something resembling an ass or a donkey, almost huddled against the knight. 

Insofar as the deputy sub steward could make out in the poor light, the knight’s armor was blotched in a diversity of drab colours grey, brown but above all green with no discernible pattern.  His helmet was horned, like a chasind helm, and in one hand he held a heavy, dull sword.  The other figure remained bunched up beside
him, enveloped in a dark cape.  The knight opened his arms holding the sword aloft.

“What do you want?”  The King had spoken and he sounded both unimpressed and impatient, with the slightest edge of a threat. 

Suddenly the deputy head steward realized the clearing was full of armed soldiers forming a protective arc around the King. 

“I bring a gift”  the voice was deep and unnatural.

“A gift?” The King looked surprised:  “What gift would you bring a king at this hour of the morning?”

“A gift more precious than his life”

The knight then leaned towards the other figure and seemed to speak to her.  A her. The deputy sub steward saw a pale face and a blond plait fell in front of it from the hood, something in the sharp features told him she was an elf but not one of the ones from around here, there were no tattoos on her face.  A city elf, then.

She passed the strange knight a bundle that she held tightly in her arms.  The knight took it then quietly held it up in front of him.  Bowed his head towards it and seemed to whisper something.  He passed the bundle back to the female elf and looked at the King.

“Approach.  Alone”

“If this is some kind of trick...”

“This is no trick, Ser”  the deep voice dripped with contempt.

The King took two steps forward.  Lawler followed him.  The King turned around and said a few words.  Shaking his head the knight escort stepped back.  The King walked towards the mounted figures until he stood in front of them.  It was too strong to say he swaggered but there was some sort of boldness to his steps.

Very quickly the female elf slipped from her saddle and walked towards the King gently handing him the bundle. The deputy sub steward estimated that she was a good 25 cm shorter than the King.

The King looked down at the bundle and looked up again quickly, stunned, all confidence melting away from his demeanour.

Then things happened very fast.  The pair reeled around their mounts to leave.  Lawler moved very quickly and stood once again at the King’s shoulder.  The King handed him the bundle and started to run behind the pair.  The Knight Escort in turn looked shocked.  The King started shouting.  The soldiers seemed too surprised to react.

“Zev, it’s Zev, isn’t it?  Where by the darkspawn is she, where is she?”

The strange knight turned around in his saddle:

“I know you not…”

But by this time the King had almost caught up with him and was grabbing for his foot in the stirrup.

“There is a note.  Read it…”

The soldiers at last came to life.  The deputy head steward over the din of weaponry and twenty soldiers arming would later say that he heard the knight say to the King, in a much gentler tone than before:

“… No less is expected of you, Alistair”

The King’s hands fell to his side:

“And I shall do no less.”

The King then turned on his heels and headed towards Lawler who was still standing transfixed on the spot.  He made a shooing motion for the soldiers to withdraw.  He held out his hands and the Knight Escort passed him the bundle wordlessly and walked ahead of him as was his wont to ensure the way was clear.  The King pulled the bundle close to his chest and began to stride towards his tent in Lawler's wake.  As he passed, the deputy sub steward could swear that his eyes were red and his cheeks were wet.  Just before entering his tent, the King did a sudden about turn. 

“You” he said to the deputy sub steward “Eoin, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sire” said the deputy sub steward trying his best to recall how to bow and settling for a simple nod.  A strange snuffling sound came from the bundle the King still clasped to his chest.  By instinct, it seemed, the King used his free hand to gently pat it.

“Those horses”

“Yes, sire”

“I want a dozen. In Denerim.  Six months.  Give you time to settle with your wife and new child, I guess, though eventually, you’ll have to travel.  Do so. Spare no expense.”

And he turned again and went abruptly into his tent with his Knight Escort hot on his heels.

 

Modifié par Maria13, 10 avril 2010 - 03:12 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 2

Dragon 9:33
Molioris/Bloomingtide[/b]

Denerim

The daily bustle of Denerim market place never seemed to change, neither did the sounds, nor the smells, although it was a hot day today, for spring so the aromas of animals dead and alive, fish, fruit, vegetables, leather, spices, perfumes and simple humans, elves and dwarves, were more pungent than usual. 

“I am more pungent that usual”, she thought, and, immediately after that: “My feet hurt…”

It was the hurting feet that finally determined the question so she quickened her pace towards the great gates of the palace.  Of course, she hadn’t expected it to be easy but… The guard with the ill-fitting helmet looked down at her.  She was glad so see that there was an unsightly cluster of pimples across his forehead, so she decided to concentrate on them rather than meet his eyes, which didn’t seem to have much behind them.

“So you want to see the King…”  He said as if she were the slow one rather than he.

“Yes, I do.”

“So would I.  And my granny would, too. She thinks he’s great.”

“Yes, but, and, with all due respect to you and your granny, he would want to see me.  And he might not like your talking to me like this…”

“Try this for size, then” Said the juvenile: “Buzz off elf back to your alienage.”

“As I explained to you, I am a mage, I do not live in an alienage and I never have…”

“Then ****** off back to your bloody tower…”

Another guard sauntered over: “Is there a problem here?”

“Not at all” Said Neriya: “I was just about to dispatch your boy baby-face here to a permanent vacation in the fade with his nappy around his ankles, you might care to join him…”

The second guard opened his mouth, and made to reach for his sword, when a voice called over:  “Stop! Stop whatever you were about to do, Danvers, Travis, stop it now[/i]! Let me deal with her…!”  A middle aged man with short greying hair ran quickly over.

“Captain Kaylon…”

He did a double-take: “Councillor Surana.  My apologies, I was at lunch...”

“I am happy to see you…”

“Travis, go fetch the chamberlain. Say I sent you we have an important visitor here. And you Danvers, what did I tell you just yesterday?”

Baby face’s eyes went even blanker: “I am to be polite and accommodating to all potential visitors…”

“Good.  Glad you really took that on board.  Let me add further to your vast store of knowledge then… See that shiny, twinkly stick she has on her back there?”

“Yes captain.”

“Well, it could either blast you straight into the never, never, before you could even say: “Holy flaming Andraste!”, turn you into an interesting ornamental ice monument or give you a very, very nasty rash…You do not argue with the stick, got it? Or[/i] with the person carrying the stick”

Baby face nodded.  A smartly dressed dwarf with a neat beard appeared with Travis.  Captain Kaylon went up to him and whispered a few words.  The dwarf’s grey eyes flitted to Neriya, he smiled, bowed, and held out his hand for her to shake.  “Chamberlain Crabbe” he said.

“Neriya”  As she followed him up the steps she heard baby face whine: “But how was I to know that the hero of Ferelden was an elf[/i]!”

Crabbe, who obviously had also heard, shook his head and said in a very smooth deep voice: “I really don’t know what they teach these humans at school today”.

 

Neriya had fallen asleep by the time the chamberlain came to summon her.   He had shown her to an alcove with individual marble seats with little red cushions.  He had asked her for her staff which she had meekly handed over, assuring her she would get it back later.  He offered to send a message to the King straightaway but on hearing he had an audience, she had declined and said would wait until it was over.  He’d offered her some refreshments but she had refused, she didn’t quite know why.  She asked him not to announce her.

It was early afternoon when she Crabbe showed her into a small unfamiliar room with a grey tiled floor and a large fur mat placed in the middle of it, just in front of a dais.  On the other side of the door, to the left, was another person.  Definitely not a domestic servant, he was a young, human male, lean and alert with long lank, black hair and eyed her suspiciously. 
 

Alistair was sitting on what appeared to be a comfortable chair on a dais two steps up, there was a window behind him that gave out onto the central courtyard.  He was looking down. He seemed to be reading something.  She thought it inappropriate to remain standing so she sunk to her knees while he finished, the mat was more
comfortable than the marble bench after all.  Then he looked up with a slightly interrogative look that froze when he saw her.  There was a long silence. 

“Umm…” Then he cleared his throat.  “I will see this lady in my private chamber”

While Crabbe barely reacted, the young man well nigh jumped to attention. Alistair waved him down: “It’s alright, Lawler, I know her we go back”

He stood and extended his hand to her: “Neriya, come.”

She stood in turn and took his hand and climbed the two steps and he led her towards a door on the right that was invisible from below the dais.  They entered an even smaller room with a tiled floor, a mat, this time woven, a small table, two chairs and a fireplace.

No sooner had the door closed behind them, he abruptly pushed her against the wall: “Where the hell…”

Suddenly the air around them sizzled.  Alistair released her and jumped back as if he had been stung: “I forgot you could do that.” he said morosely rubbing his arms.  There was a pause: “But let me continue with what I was saying, where the hell have you been all this time?” Not quite shouting but almost.

“Here and there.” She said calmly.

He pulled out one of the chairs  from beneath the table and straddled it, glowering at her.  She sunk down  ratefully into the other and propped her face on her hands.  Quite abruptly the room seemed even tinier than it actually was.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?  Why did you send no news? For more than a year?  I thought something had happened to you, that I would never see you again…”

“Alistair, you had me followed.”

“And so?  I was worried.”

“I did not take kindly to that.”

“Oh, and what would have me do?  In any event he only trailed you for about three weeks and then suddenly, for some, very mysterious reason, he got spooked and returned to Denerim with his tail between his legs.  Since then: Nothing, nothing until now.”

Neriya sighed.  “I needed space.”

“You had space: Here”

“I needed to get away from here. From Denerim, from the court...”

“And from me, obviously.”

“It had nothing to do with you… Or not very much, anyway.  I just needed some time to reflect after all that…  All that had happened, everything we did…”

To his credit he was silent for a while as if fully taking that in, filling in the gaps. “But I… Care for you. You could at least have sent some word.”

“I know this, but had I sent word, I suspect the space I needed would have come to an end pretty quickly, so I didn’t.”

Alistair looked moodily at the floor.

“And how are you?” she asked, to break the ice or his mood.

“Well enough.”

“Yourself?”

“I keep well.”

He looked her over suspiciously.  “Maker, tell me those markings on your hands are not permanent…”

“They are tattoos.” She said unable to keep a touch of pride from her voice.

“On your hands?”

“Yes.”

He ran one of his own hands over his forehead and then through his short blond hair, as if attempting to take this in. “Why would you do such a thing to your pretty hands?” and then “What do they mean?”

“Nothing of great import.”

It was his turn to sigh.  “Will you tell me anything at all so I can make sense of this?”

“I will try... But it's a lot to cover all at once.  I just needed... Alistair, I am sorry to trouble you, but I am a little hungry.”

He shot her another look, one of those looks who people who did not know Alistair as well as she did would not believe was within his repertoire. She first became aware of that look just before the beginning of one of their early battles with the darkspawn, when she herself hardly knew him. In time she learnt that it was the look, full of calculation, he would direct at, whoever (or whatever) he believed to be the most powerful adversary on a populated field.  The one he really, really, wanted to take down quickly.  He was effectively carrying out a speedy appraisal of possible weak points.  She could see from the set of his jaw that he was not happy with what he
thought he had perceived in her appearance. 


“How could I be so rude?  Wait here while I make some arrangements.”

Alistair strode towards the other door and opened it.  Lawler who was now standing outside leaned in and there was a murmured conversation between him and Alistair.  Lawler glanced at her once, a quick flash of dark eyes, and quickly departed.  Alistair closed the door behind him and straddled the chair opposite her once again and looked at her.  “Can I touch you now?”

“Of course you can.”

 He leaned over and gently ran the very tips of his fingers across the sweep of her jaw hardly grazing her skin.  He then plucked a few stray wisps of her white hair and tucked them carefully behind her pointed ear.

“If you’re going to attempt to tidy my hair like that, a strand at a time, I warn you it will take you a lifetime…”

He smiled, then he looked serious and then as if he could contain himself no longer, he blurted out: “Is there anybody else?  I mean, I would understand… Or try to, anyway, after I had run him through.”

“Now, that would hardly be reasonable would it? I hope you’re joking.  No. No-one else.”

He looked relieved but before he could say anything further there was a knock on the door and another brief exchange between him and Lawler. “Food will be about twenty minutes, by the way.”

“The reason I came to see you was…”

“Well?”

“Because I wanted to see you…”

Something subtly altered in his manner, it was as if the room had become less crowded.

He said very slowly as if afraid of missing something: “So you came to see me because you wanted to see me and there is no-one else.”

“Yes”

“Do you still...  care for me?”

“I do.”

“Would you want to lie with me after dinner?”

Neriya shifted uncomfortably in her chair.  “That’s a bit fast.  I think I need to clean up first… and...”

“Nonsense.  I want you just as you are.  Fresh from the road.”

“I can see you find that appealing…”

“Don’t you remember how things were between us? How we would race back to camp after battle, rush into one of our tents, fall on the narrow camp bed and make love as soon as we could peel my armour off or sometimes even before that?”

“Yes but then we were both…”
 
“Sweaty, bloody and covered in gore?” He said with some relish.

Neriya had a sudden flashback, yes there were numerous occasions when they had been intimate with each other just as he had described but there were other memories from that period far less agreeable.

In particular she recalled herself screaming hysterically “Please someone do something, please, please, please…” when Alistair had suddenly started bleeding uncontrollably from his mouth as they were kissing, the blood soaking her blouse as he had slumped heavily against her shoulder.  She did not know whether it was panic or something else but the moment she started screaming the air surrounding her had seemed to warm up and roil in bloodied waves around them both.

She doubted Alistair remembered anything much about the bleed, or perhaps anything about it at all.  In fact, she now recalled, he had had a slightly woozy, distracted, air about him for all of that evening, and most probably since the wound that caused the bleed had been inflicted earlier on in the day.  For her, on the other hand, it had been a turning point of sorts.

And then there were other days and weeks when he could not bear to have her touch him because his body had taken such a beating, if they could muster the energy, they would lie opposite sides of the bed describing what they would do to each other and with each other once he had recovered. Uncountable times when he had simply
collapsed next to her through sheer fatigue. Bruises, cuts, tears, bone breaks, sprains, scars… she was the mage he the warrior, and a melee brawler at that, the party member who took most punishment, although she often did not escape unscathed herself.

 “I was going to say younger. Uh, you have an inconveniently selective memory…”

“Of course, and, thanks to you, it's all I've had for more than a whole year to amuse myself with.  Just my memory”  There was a discreet knock on the door.  “Ah that must be the food”

He was passed several things through the door and set them out in front of her himself, a bowl of stew, a bread roll, a platter of fruit, cutlery, a napkin, cutlery and a bottle of wine with two cups.

“Aren’t you having anything?”

“I ate a few hours ago, but I’ll share the wine.” He poured some of the red in both their cups.

She took a few mouthfuls of the stew “This is good.”

“And there I was thinking that you’d miss my  cooking.”

“Alistair, if there is one thing I would never miss about you, that would be your cooking.  It was foul.  You were such an appalling cook that in camp you have the rest of us convinced that you were ruining the meals on purpose so as to avoid your next turn at the pot.”

“What, me?  Never.  Here, have some wine” He pushed the wine cup towards her.

“You know full well that you don’t have to get me drunk to get me into bed with you.”

“I know, but sometimes it’s more fun, especially when we’re both drunk.  Talking of which…”  He went towards the door.  Further muttering with Lawler ensued.  Then he returned once again and sat opposite her.  There was about five minutes silence while she ate alternating a spoonful of stew with a bite of bread, he watched very attentively, sipping from his own cup every now and then.  She finished the stew and set about peeling one of the apples.

“Can I have some?”

Without asking she knew exactly what he meant.  She pared a peeled slice off with the knife and held it out for him between her thumb and forefinger.  He caught it gently with his mouth.

“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” she said.

“The good ones shouldn’t die at all.”

Two apples were consumed in that way and then eight strawberries which they dipped in wine before feeding to each other. 

As she offered him the last berry he caught her wrist and, as she dropped the stalk, began to lay heavy wet kisses on her palm and on her fingers.  She shuddered.

When she was with him like this in such an intimate way it always felt as if there were a sort of change or  transformation taking form inside her very gradually.  As if she were moving slowly but inexorably
from one state or way of being towards another, as if she could not be with him as she was but had to become someone or something else in order to engage so closely with him.  It was not an emotional change.  Her emotions were intact, unimpaired.  It felt as though it were organic, almost physical.  And it did not seem to affect him at all, he seemed blithely unaware. She really did not wish to dwell on it just now, she was happy with the moment as it presented itself but, she told herself, it was really something that she needed to address, and sooner rather than later, to meditate upon when she was alone.

He waved his hand in front of her eyes.  “Where do you go when you daydream like that?  What are you
thinking?”

“The fade, probably…”

“Really?” He seemed fascinated.

“No, not really.  I am probably tired…”

“Well, perhaps you should sleep, then… I can put my plans on hold.  A nap might do you good after the food.”

“No.  I am here now, I am good for the time being.”

He stood and she imitated him.  He bent over the table wrapped his arms gently around her shoulders and kissed her chastely on the cheek.

He then stepped over and opened the door and handed what was left of the bottle and the cups to Lawler, caught her by the wrist and pulled her gently out into the corridor, determinedly propelling her to the left.  She turned round and found herself almost nose to nose with Lawler who was following them with a questioning expression. 

Obviously sensing something but not willing to stop, Alistair said: “Lawler, this is Neriya Surana, slayer of the Archdemon, hero of Ferelden, erstwhile Counsellor.  Neriya: Lawler, right hand man, wastrel, body guard, general factotum and fixer.”

Lawler who had niftily in such a short space of time managed to transfer both the cups and the bottle to his right hand, nodded briefly in acknowledgement and held out his left towards her.  Since she was still being very determinedly pulled down the passageway, their fingers barely touched.  Addressing Alistair over her shoulder he said:  “So this is the big girl.”

“Yes” said Alistair “This is she.”

“You’re right” said Lawler, overlooking the worn tattered clothing and taking in the unruly white hair, the nicely shaped lips the somewhat flushed cheeks and the dark, dark eyes “she is a looker.”

“Oh yes, she is, but she’s mine.”  It occurred to Neriya that Alistair had given that last word a little more emphasis than the circumstances really warranted.  But by that point they had arrived at the chamber door.  Alistair opened it and ushered her in to a large, airy room quite spartanly furnished but dominated by a very large four-poster bed and then turned to take the cups and wine from Lawler. 

In a slightly apologetic voice he said: “Lawler, I cannot recall for the life of me whether I  have any appointments later this afternoon, send word to Crabbe.  If I do, postpone them.  I am indisposed.  Thanks.” And he closed the door.

“The big girl?” She asked.

“LOML”

“What?”

“Love of my life.  But we are guys, Neriya, we do not use full expressions like that.  It is... unmanly.”

“Unmanly...”

“Well at least you are not the IQ.”

“IQ?”

A fleeting smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “The ice queen.”

“Oh.”

 

Modifié par Maria13, 09 mai 2010 - 04:27 .

[Tawmis]

Must. Have. More. My muse has taken a vacation (mostly entirely too busy to write at work) - so this was a very refreshing read! And quite inspiring!

[SRWill64]

I really enjoyed this. Thank you.

[the_gmole]

Loved this and need more! thank you

[Maria13]

Thanks for the the comments, guys!

[Maria13]

Third chapter.  Adult content.  Don't say you weren't warned.


Chapter 3

He caught her in his arms and then looked down at her: “Andraste’s mercy, you barely weigh a feather.  You have not been looking after yourself, you…  Well, in any event, that is not going to save you from what I am about to do to you...”  He marched with a very determined stride towards the bed which she now noticed was covered in pillows and cushions.

“Now before we do this, tell me you are not wearing anything you value.”

She sighed, “Apart from my pendant and my purse, I am not.”

“They are safe.”

He placed her gently in the centre of the bed.  He moved to the bottom of the bed and having pulled off his boots, began very purposely, to strip off his clothes.  The dark blue doublet with the silver filigree, the matching trousers, the fine linen shirt with the ruffled cuffs.  She propped herself up on an elbow and watched.  As he removed the last of his small clothes he remarked, “As you can appreciate, I am very pleased to see you.”

He clambered on to the bed and began to crawl towards her. She sunk into the mattress as he approached until he was poised over her, he quite naked, she fully dressed, his body full of tension, looking down directly at her with deep hazel eyes. “Very pleased” he added unnecessarily. 

She held his gaze.  In what used to be their own form of intimate salutation at just such moments, she traced with her fingers the route of his scar, the one that ran nearly from his right armpit to his right thigh.  In response he lowered his mouth to hers.

After that he propped a few of the cushions behind her head and began to tug at her clothing, the flimsy cape yielded almost immediately, extending itself over the bed.  He untied her money belt and cast it to the floor in the direction of the fireplace with a clatter.  He then started to pull at her gown, but, although made of cheap dyed red wool, this was far more resistant and seemed determined not to give way easily.   That was until he discovered some loose stitching on a side seam, this weakness enabled him to disassemble the dress with a few well-placed jerks.  She was not wearing a breast wrap.

 “You're letting yourself go” he mumbled moving his hands lightly over her breasts before dropping his mouth to them.   Once he had sated himself on her breasts, for the time being, her underwear suffered the same fate as the cape.  The coarse black wool stockings that came to mid thigh, unsurprisingly, he forgave.

So here they were again.  Very slowly and without breaking eye contact she folded her knees upwards purposely running the rough wool teasingly against the smooth skin of his flanks.  He feinted a few times, quickly thrusting his hips towards her just to see her blink.  And then in one very smooth, very fast movement he buried himself in
her.  They both cried out at the same time.

On the other side of the door, Lawler could not avoid hearing them and tried to turn his mind away from what very plainly was taking place in the chamber behind him.

                                                                      ~***~


“That was…” he said,once he had rolled over to the opposite side of the bed and they had recovered their breath: “Incredibly self-indulgent of me… and tearing clothing off damsels is definitely overrated. I mean if it wasn’t for a sleepy seamstress, I would still be tugging.  How come in books they always do it so easily?” He began to pile up some of the cushions at the head of the bed.

“What would these books be?”

Having arranged the cushions and pillows to his satisfaction he sat against the head of the bed “Oh…  Ah, no titles spring immediately to mind… But, anyway, I think it must be your turn now… Over here, trot, trot…” he said patting the space right beside him.

“First let me take these things off, they’re really beginning to itch.” She sat on the side of the bed and began to untie the garters and pull off the woollen stockings.

“I could get you some silk stockings, scarlet or midnight blue…”

“And what good would scarlet silk stockings do me?” She said scornfully: “Would they keep me warm in
winter?”

“No.  That’s my job, but silk stockings might help me do it better…”

“Really?” She asked now kneeling in front of him just prior to kissing him.

“Oh, yes…” He said his hands reaching out to her as she leant over and kissed him on the forehead.

                                                      ~***~

Afterwards, when they were under the covers and about to fall asleep, she said “I never told you, did I? That Leliana told me that…”

“You never told me that Leliana…?”

“After we made love for the first time” She said rousing herself a little:  “A few weeks after that, you went to her and
asked her…  That you went to her and said something along the lines of…” she made her  voice a little gruffer: “Well, I’m enjoying it a lot but I’m not sure she’s enjoying it as much as she should be, am I doing something wrong?””

He sighed: “Sounds like me” He added, turning away from her: “I think I know where this is going…”

“So she said that she tactfully tried to explain a few things to you and you didn’t seem to be getting it, so, as a sort of shortcut she asked you why you thought “The Pearl” was called “The Pearl”… and you said…”

“”Because it’s close to the sea?””

“That’s it.”

“It was a trick question. Have I ever told you I hate trick questions? Because you know the obvious answer, is not the right answer, but you don’t know what the right answer is, and the other person does and, oh sod it… I’m tired” but he felt compelled to add:  “Having said that Leli was helpful…”

“Leli was actually impressed that you had taken the trouble to ask in the first place, that you cared, she thought it was a good sign… What I really meant to say is that you’ve come a long way since then… A very long…”  She yawned.

“Probably because there was nowhere else to go… Now, go to sleep, I’m sure there will be plenty more exhausting things for you to do tomorrow.”

 
                                                   ~***~
 
        
He woke up early at first was surprised to realise that he wasn’t alone in the room or the bed.  He turned round and saw Neriya who was obviously still sleeping soundly with her back to him.  He then ran through in his
mind everything that had happened the previous evening, and ran through several of them a second time, just to make sure he wouldn’t miss a detail.  He realised he hadn’t felt so good about life in a long time.

He got up shrugged his shirt on and started to tend to the fireplace so she wouldn’t feel so cold when she rose.  After he had placed the kindling and struck the tinderbox and saw the first incipient flames licking at the logs, he started to move towards the window when his eye was caught by her purse and belt which lay exactly where he had tossed them the evening before.  Without hesitation, he picked the belt up, prised the purse off it and tipped the contents into his hand.

Lawler was sitting across the doorway, barely awake when Alistair opened it. He got to his
feet.  “Look” said Alistair and held out his hand in front of Lawler’s face. 

Lawler looked down and saw what appeared to be a few coins and a rough-hewn rune stone. 

“The hero of Ferelden” said Alistair: “And she has nought but sixteen coppers and a lopsided rune to her name…”

Lawler shrugged and Alistair tipped the coins and rune into his other hand:  “She needs some clothes, the ones she had yesterday are no longer… wearable. By my reckoning she is about one dress size smaller than IQ… And stockings, lots of stockings, silk, different colours…  You know where to find my vast fund of worldly assets…”

Lawler smiled: “I always said you were a wuss…”

“I’ll take that comment out on your hide later today.”

“Huh, if you can catch me first… You should get back to bed now, it’s very early, even for you and you’ll need your wits about you if you are even to stand a chance.  Also… she may worry if she wakes up and you are not there…”


                                                                        ~***~

She woke around two hours later.  Alistair was standing at the bottom of the bed, fully if carelessly dressed this time, in yesterday’s clothes. Light was pouring through the window and it turned the very tips of his hair tousled a pale gold.  Over his arm he held a fresh set of clothes for himself.

“Get up, sleepyhead, there is a long day before us.”

She didn’t obey immediately, one she did not want to give him the full pleasure of bossing her around, and two, more importantly, the bed felt so comfortable that she was very reluctant to leave it for the time being.

“No clothes for you yet, hopefully, coming later…” He gestured towards a pathetic pile of… rags, really, just by his feet, which she realised were the clothes she was wearing the night before.  “Sheet will have to do.  I’ve arranged a bath for us.”

She wrapped a sheet around her and followed him down the corridor. 


“I could carry you, if you want.” He said noticing her bare feet.

“Not necessary, I can walk, you know.”

They went down a narrow staircase and ended up in the basement, somewhere near the kitchens she could smell bacon cooking and hear the clatter of pots and pans and the hiss of eggs frying on the range and animated voices.  Her stomach rumbled, Alistair laughed. “Be sure to give in to that impulse later”, he said. They turned to the left and a little girl was attempting to get a cat out from under an armoire.  She looked up at them as they passed her and smiled not seeming at all surprised.

Alistair opened a door to the right and they were hit by a wall of steam.  A very large round white marble tub was sunk into the floor.  She dropped the sheet and Alistair helped her down a few steps she sunk down into the warm water with a sigh.  He took his clothes off got in and sat opposite her.

“This is a good way to start the day.” He said, and for a few minutes they just sat there.

“I’ve been thinking” She said: “about last night…”

He looked at her expectantly.

 “You were very good…”

He looked away for a moment but the silence grew.  As always the impulse to fill it overtook him.

“What do you want me to say?”

She shrugged and continued looking at him.

“I could say, I suppose, that it’s through reading.  Been doing a lot of that lately.  Things like: “A treatise on the practical aspects of optimal agricultural production in temperate climates” or “Seasonal fluctuations in currency exchange levels in times of crisis”.  Riveting.  I do take the occasional break.  There are some more diverting and equally informative texts out there.  But it isn’t, not entirely, anyway…” He added: “Over a year, that’s how long you’ve been gone.  That seems a long time to fill up, you know.  Apart from work, only so much time can be taken by doing kingly things or shield bashing Lawler, practicing crossbow, organising my rune collection, indexing my library, I’m growing a good one, by the way, going out in the evenings, drinking… Staying at home in the evenings... Drinking…”

“So…”

“So, short of taking up gardening, which you can’t do at night, anyway, I have not been entirely chaste.  At first I had a few casual… liaisons, but that got complicated very quickly.  I am not good at dissembling, people got hurt.  I simply did not want the emotional baggage, there was enough emotion barging around in my own head as it was.” 

He paused and she looked at him expectantly: “As I saw it, I was waiting for you to come back, filling time, but I appreciate that the other person might not see it like that.  Oh, I tried to please, actually I’m quite good at the pleasing, but flatter… not so good at the flattering. So then I may have made a few more… Formal arrangements.  One night only, no strings attached… Don’t look at me like that, it’s not as if I could walk into The Pearl spread my arms and say “Surprise me” like any normal punter…”

As if echoing the gesture he had just described, Neriya looked down at her hands and opened them before her.

“And Anora?”

“What of her? As you see, she has her quarters. I have mine.  We meet every few days to discuss… Policy.  It’s very civilized, we agree a lot: On policy. She reminds me of her father, I remind her of her father’s killer, which, actually, I am.”

He shrugged lowered his voice and moved slightly closer to her:  “We did try it once, you know, a few months back…” He sat back:  “What a bundle of laughs that was!”  I couldn’t get it up for her any more than I could get it up for a broodmother.  As for her, I could swear I heard her retching in the privy afterwards… Wonderful
to have that kind of effect on a person of the opposite sex, especially my wife.”  This last word came out with not a little venom.

He closed his eyes: “Not that I care overmuch, makes things simpler…. But not what you would call a pleasant evening, on the whole.”

 “I heard this song…”

He snorted: “Everybody’s heard that…  Anora even accused me of writing it.  As if I would write a song about my *uh-hum* or my wretched love life.  As if I had the talent.”

“You could have told me earlier.”

“Why? Shame myself up front only to have you run away again without giving myself the chance to explain?”

 “I am sorry.”  She closed her hands making two small fists. “I did not intend to make you sad or bitter.”
 
He was silent for a while, as if mulling this over. Eventually he said “I think it’s your turn now.  Explain at least the tattoos.  A truth for a truth.”

She put her right hand out, extending her fingers. He reached out and held it gingerly.

“This one is Cullen.”

And then her left: “This one is Jowan.”

He whistled, not humorously, between his teeth; “Why am I not surprised? And what about the third one, that one, on your right wrist”

“You didn’t know him.”

“Well” he said mildly “He probably had it coming.” And then he added: “But what I don’t understand is why you had to take this upon yourself…”

“They were loose ends.”

“Loose ends…  Maker forbid, that anyone should ever become such.  But let me finish what I was saying, sooner of later these people would have paid, things would have caught up with them…”

“Oh?  I’m sure Alistair Theirin would have been happy to sit back and let Loghain Mac Tir get what was coming to him though the simple passage of time…”

“That was different.  We had an opportunity. We -I- took it and I did what I did.  There were no opportunities presenting here.  You sought these people out and hunted them down.  Why did you feel you had to do this?”

“Because I was responsible…”

“No, you were not responsible” He raised his voice: “You did not cause or encourage Cullen to fall in love with you.  You did not summon those abominations that so tormented him. As for Jowan, he chose of his own free will to trick you into assisting him to escape from the tower.  He took advantage of your friendship for him and
abused it.  He then chose to poison Arl Emon.  How were you responsible for either of them?”

There was a pause, she said in a quiet voice: “But I contributed to their actions, to some extent I facilitated them. But more to the point, if the opportunity to remove Loghain had not presented itself, would you not, sooner or later, have hunted him down yourself?”
 
“You mean, one dark night, catch him alone, accost him in a side street and challenge him to a duel?” He interlaced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles.

“Something like that…”

“Short answer: Yes.  Slightly longer answer: Yes, but that would not have made it right…”

He heaved a sigh leaned back and looked at the ceiling and sighed again. He said:  “You know, I had great plans for that ceiling…”

Neriya leaned back and looked up, she saw the ceiling, which had obviously recently been plastered over, was a pristine and uniform white.  Just over the round tub was  a vault. She realised it was an inverse reflection of the tub in which they were sitting.

“A scene with nymphs being chased by satyrs through a forest glade, or two lovers, enraptured, smiling at each other just before doing the deed, watched over by cherubs… Something a bit naughty, a bit racy.  No more gloomy hunting scenes barbaric gore-encrusted heroes or murky portraits.  Something with a bit of “joie de vivre” as
the Orlesians would say… Something… Happy…” 


There was a long pause:  “We have to continue this conversation. Unfortunately…” He ducked his head under the water, re-emerged picked up a bar of soap from dish that she hadn’t noticed previously and began to scrub his hair. Then he stood up and began to soap the rest of himself:  “Probably better with more clothes on…”

He ducked under again: “But for now, I have to run.  Work to do and all that.”

He got dressed very quickly and she noticed that his clothes today were very plain.  No filigree. It was quite strange to see him so consistently in ordinary clothes rather than armour.  He saw her looking at him and grinned his hand going to his open collar:  “What? Do I look OK?”

“You look fine” she said.  “The darker colours with the white shirt favour you,  make you look more serious, but what about my clothes?”

“Arg, sorry forgot, wait here a moment and I’ll see what rags Lawler has been able to dig up for you…”

He returned after about ten minutes with an armful of fabrics in a riot of colours . “Includes underwear, a bit drab, if you ask me, but we may be able to fix that.  At least he included stockings.” He laid them out carefully on one of the four wooden benches surrounding the bath tub.  “I’ll leave them here so milady can go  through them when she has finished with her bath.”  He added:  “I have a meeting with my dear wife this afternoon.  You are invited. But for now, you take your time.  Choose a pretty dress, and don’t forget: Scarlet stockings.”

 

 

Modifié par Maria13, 17 avril 2010 - 07:31 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 4

In as short space of
time possible since the departure of the strange knight the King sent Lawler to the settlement requesting the presence of Keeper Lanaya.  The Keeper came surprisingly quickly and, accompanied just by Lawler, walked past the two guards who had been posted some five metres from the tent and went into it.

The King who was seated in a camp chair behind a folding table holding a bundle wrapped in a blanket, he stood and Lawler out of instinct went to stand behind him.  The King gestured to the chair opposite and the Keeper sat.  The King handed her the bundle which immediately began to cry and sat down again himself. 

“So no more maternal instinct that I have, then.” He said dryly.  He looked tired even though it was barely midday.  “She was quiet during the handover, a sleep spell maybe… At least her lungs seem to be in fair working order now, which is a relief.  I keep worrying I am going to drop her.”

“I've never been good with children.” Lanaya admitted.

“So you don't have any of your own?”

“Oh no.”

“Lawler tells me he helped raise a few of his siblings, so I guess he trumps us both. It's a girl, by the way, a really pretty girl.  First things first, though, we don't have any way in camp to feed her, I was hoping you could assist.”

''I think I can, do you have some parchment, ink and a quill?”

“Of course.”  The King pulled out a plain wooden box with a sliding lid, put it on the table opened it and extracted the necessary items.  With an expression of relief Lanaya handed the child back to the King who put it over his shoulder and began to pat it and proceeded to write a few sentences in Dalish on the parchment and tossed
some sand over it to dry it.

“You should give this to my second, Merenor, he'll find a wetnurse and hopefully she'll be able to come over within a few hours.” 

“Lawler, arrange for a runner to the settlement.” The King looked at Lanaya, who nodded. “I think we need to set up another tent, a warm one, could you speak to the steward to make the preparations?  In the interim, I need
some face time with the Keeper here.”  Lawler took the parchment and headed towards the entrance flap.  The King stopped him.  “By the way, thanks for everything.”  Lawler smiled briefly shrugged and left.

“An asset” said the King.

“Lawler filled me in on the way here.”

“I hate to ask you this, but I hope you understand, I don't have much choice...  Do you know any thing about this, anything at all?”

Lanaya flushed.  The King shrugged.  “I had to ask.”

“No I do not, nothing whatsoever.” The King looked relieved.

“ But I shall in any event make enquiries once I get back to my settlement, although I very much think I would be aware if one of my people had planned something like this.

“Thank you”

”What... Who is this child?”

“I think she's mine.“

 “Yours and Neriya's?”

“Yes. The timing is about right, actually, Lawler says he reckons she's about three months.  It would be nteresting to have an independent view from the wet nurse, however.  But that's all that's about right.  Everything else is totally OFF.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed: “It's complicated but let's just say, that Neriya and I were not supposed to be able to have children and leave it at that, shall we?”

“Some times the unexpected happens, but is it possible that this is an imposture?”

“You mean someone trying to pass off a child that isn't mine as mine? I really don't think so.  She was wearing this pendant, Neriya's Grey Warden pendant, I think.”  He held up a small glass vial of some transparent liquid within which floated three distinct drops of blood. 

“It is virtually identical to my own which I still have, but they must be hard to come by, especially in Ferelden.  Plus I exchanged a few words with one of the people who handed her to me, I think it was Zev. Can't be one hundred per cent sure, though.”

“Zevran Airani, the assassin?”

“One and the same.”

“I thought he had left Feralden for Orlais.”

“Who knows?”

“And then there was this...  It was pinned to her shawls.” He handed her a slip of parchment and abruptly stood up and looked away, pulling the child towards him even closer.

Lanaya carefully scanned the few lines through twice, moving her lips silently as she read:

 

Most beloved

I am the human child of a female of the elven race and a human male, the human child of a female of the elven race and a human male,

I am the child of a mage and a warrior, the child of a mage and a warrior,

I am a second bastard child of a second, bastard, child

I am a child who killed its mother of a child who killed its mother.
 

She looked at the King: “But this seems to be saying...”

“That she's dead, I know.” When he turned back to her he looked even more drained and older: “How can she be dead and I not aware of it? I always thought that there was this unspoken bond between us.  When she
disappeared the first time around I feared the worst but a part of me knew that she was out there somewhere and that she would return, as she did.  That part of me also tells me that this child is mine, but nothing else, certainly not that she has... passed. I don’t think I believe that.”

“Humans usually only have a very limited Fade sense.”

“Aye, and if mine were not fallible how come I did not sense that she was giving birth three months ago? For all I know I was dining heartily back at my grand palace in Denerim while she was screaming in the throes of childbirth.”  He grimaced. “Maker, that is a very hard thought.”

“But she left of her own accord.”

“Yes she did.”

“And neither of you knew.”

“How could we at the time? She came, she went, we’d spent about eight weeks together.  But when she realised, why did she not return?”

Lanaya shrugged: “So many questions”

“She was always deep, miles beyond me...”

“Sometimes deep people get lost in their own depths...” Lanaya bit her tongue, realising that this chain of thought was not helpful.  “That message you sent, about a year ago, I did...  make enquiries.  There was nothing. Nothing until she had reached the outskirts of Denerim and by the time I would have gotten a message to you she had already presented herself at the palace.”

“She has an uncanny knack for disappearing.”  He added:  “Then there are other things in thenote.  This is me, obviously”, he pointed to the third and the fourth lines.

“But this?”  The first line “And this?  What am I to make of this? My mother was a servant girl, a poor besotted pleb, a human, not an elf, not a mage.”

“Ah! Interesting…” said Lanaya looking at him.

“Interesting!” All of a sudden he seemed to lose his temper, raising his voice: “Interesting! What do you mean? Do you know something about me that I don't?  Why is this always the case, why is it that everybody knows who I am, what I am, where I come from what is in my own best interests, but me, why...?”  The baby that had fallen asleep suddenly woke up and began to grizzle.  The King's manner changed immediately, “I am so sorry, little one, daddy didn't mean to upset you...”  but when he looked over at Lanaya, there was still a spark of anger in his eyes.

“Alistair…” Lanaya said kindly: “I understand your rage. Your path has not been an easy one. But believe me when I say I am not your enemy and I mean you no harm, save your wrath for those that are and do.” She paused:  “I also believe that many of those who have kept things from you may have done so with the best, if perhaps misguided, intentions.  To protect you, to spare you pain. There is one advantage to all this.  I think it
points towards the note being genuine.”

The King sat down and bowed his head. The baby began to cry and the King had to talk over it. “Forgive me, Keeper. I am aware that in the space of such a short conversation I have already offended you twice and you are my guest here.  But my questions...  She must be hungry” he added.

“You need to do your own homework, Alistair, this I cannot do for you, and neither can I tell you if Neriya did not.  It would be… disloyal.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are King now, you have access to information, archives, books, use them.  How old are you?”

“25, why?”

Lanaya sighed: “I forgot you were so young.  Then it is likely there will be living witnesses, too. Make enquiries but be discreet and careful...  As for Neriya's whereabouts now, I shall make further enquiries on the rembre and for Zev's too, if you wish.”

“Rembre?” Over the crying child the King was not sure that he had heard correctly.

“Alistair, I am about to tell you something that, so far as I am aware, and bear in mind I am 73 years old and I have extensive knowledge as part of my training of my peoples' records, no Keeper has ever told a human, King of Ferelden or otherwise. Rembre means, net, our network of information, great and patient fisherman that you are” And here she quirked an eyebrow at him: “I am sure you will appreciate the significance of the term.  And I also need you to appreciate that you are privileged simply by dint of the fact that I have informed you that this
network exists.”

“I give you my word...”

“That is not necessary.”

“And what does the 'rembre' tell you...”

“For example, that there are 15 elves in your household in Denerim, not counting that Antivan painter”

“Casildea, you know about Casildea?”

“Well, that is what she goes by now. Yes we know all about her.”

“Let me get this right, then. I’m assuming you know what time I get up, about my personal habits, my appetites, my statuette collection?”

“Pretty much.  We may not have known about the statuette collection but I'll be sure to add that to your personal verses once I get back to camp.”

“Now you mock me.  There is always a lot of bluffing in such things is there not?” He paused, but the Keeper was silent: “Wait, personal verses?”

“A bard versifier assembles a prosodic composition for each person of interest, a poem if you will.” 

The baby seemed to settle once again and started making a cooing sound, its thurm in its mouth. “Why
poetry?”

“Why do dwarves use stone? Poetry is a powerful mnemonic, extremely useful for a people who are displaced frequently and who may not always have ready access to the more permanent forms of recording information. 
That is one of the reasons I am interested in this message here.  It is linguistically highly structured.  It is our kind of stuff, as you would say.”

“We need to TALK, as in not here, not with baby, but across a table, sometime.  Is there any chance you could come to Denerim soon?”

“That is very unlikely, you must understand, I cannot be seen to be at your beck and call. Ask what you will now and I will try my best to reply.”

“How much does all this cost?”

“Now, I really don't follow you, shemlen” she said.

“Jerk me around, if you wish, but do tell.  I am attempting to do set up something similar, I'm sure Anora already has something of the kind but I'm finding it difficult to arrange my own, basically, I'm finding it difficult to, um, set aside the funds I would need to do it without anyone asking awkward questions.”

“Our network is based on loyalty and the need to survive rather than the simple need for information. Nevertheless, there are three pieces of advice I can give you: One, if you are not by your nature duplicitous, and really I don't think you are, find someone who is to head it. Two, duplication is bad, as it will almost always lead to expense, complication and unnecessary competition, so attempt to tap into the Queen’s network rather than replicate it.  Three, if you don't understand money, find someone who does.  Perhaps a fourth is also in order:  Loyalty is important.”

“If I need to get a message to you?”

“Then you should pass something on to a servant called Petreus.” She added wryly “I believe his main occupation in your household is emptying chamber pots.”

“Hmm, how long will it take to arrive here from Denerim?”

“It depends on where the rest of the links are, anything between a day and a half to three days.”

“And if you were to send something to me?”

“You would get it.”

“I see… How would I know it was from you?”

“It would contain this sigil somewhere.”  She used the quill which was still out to trace a quick sign on the table between them and then she ran her finger over the wet ink to blur the shape: “No-one else knows this, not even Merenor”

“Last question: Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you are attempting to do the right thing for my people and for Ferelden and because…I like you.  This, for example...” The Keeper waved her hand, towards the camp.

“But this was fluff, a smokescreen, really” The King shook his head: “I received a message telling me to be here between certain dates...  there was already too much hassle, too much gossip abroad about the King's solitary
exploits.  I invited the gentlemen along for cover, young male nobles are usually the most foolish, self-centred and unobservant of people.  I'd hoped it would be something to do with Neriya, well, of course, it was, but not exactly what I had expected.”

“Then let me tell you this: My elders liked your speech, although your early departure from the banquet got their tongues wagging again about low shemlen attention spans.  My ladies enjoyed the improvised party with
your gentlemen and for once there were no complaints about poor hygiene.  Of course, you didn't know that there are hot springs about two miles away to the south east, but that somehow adds to naïve shemlen charm.  Last but not perhaps least…” She added: “The keeper very much liked your gift and sympathises with your current
plight, not that she lets that influence her decision making. Overmuch.  Do not underestimate the power of... fluff.” 

“One thing more.  I do not want to make this child’s existence and its relationship to me public.  Do you have any suggestions?”

The tent flap opened and Lawler put his head in: “The wet nurse has just arrived.”

“We are just finishing up here.” Alistair said.

“No probs” said Lawler: “We’ll be just outside.”

“Have you yourself had any initial thoughts?” Asked the Keeper.

The King exhaled:  “As you are probably aware, I have a bad reputation for my, um, dalliances with the opposite sex.  It had occurred to me I could start a rumour to the effect that the wet nurse is actually my mistress…  but if she has a child in arms then that obviously will lead people to the exact same conclusion that I wish them to
avoid… My second idea was that I could leave the child at the settlement and arrange for her transportation later…” 

Lanaya shook her head, the King continued: “… but she would be noticeable there and I do not wish to leave her.   Finally, I could say that the wet nurse and the child have been entrusted to my care by you and that I am escorting them to Denerim as a courtesy, say to visit relatives in the alienage.  No-one but you, Lawler and
myself have seen the child, there is no reason for people to suspect she is human, especially since I understand word is already going round the camp that the people who brought her here were elves…”

“I think your last idea is the better one.”

“Would you be happy to support it?”

“I would.”

Again the King bowed his head: “Ma serennas”

Lanaya laughed:  “You need to work on your accent, young man, now let’s see the wet nurse, actually probably better to have her come in here.”

 

 

The woman that came in was very tall, at least as tall as the King but like many of her kind she was also thin.  She pulled back her hood revealing a gaunt face with high cheekbones and a rather long nose.  Her tattoos were quite singular being for the most part bright red with black shading. As he looked at them the King realised
that they probably represented a blood splash, as if a bladder full of blood had ruptured in front of her face leaving the centre clear but with splashes around the edges. The woman’s eyes flicked nervously to her Keeper.  A look of surprise crossed Lanaya’s face.

She said something in Dalish to the woman who fixed her eyes on the ground before her, holding her hands over her stomach clasped tightly together, the King thought there was some sharpness in the Keeper’s tone.  The
woman answered, also in Dalish, in a sort of uninflected monotone still keeping her eyes on the ground. 

Although the King had some months of Dalish, his knowledge was little more than rudimentary and he was nowhere near to understanding the fluent flow of the conversation between the two women, at most he could pick out the odd word from the exchange but that gave him very little idea of what was being said. 

The Keeper added to what she had said seeming to get angry but the woman kept her eyes fixed and then replied with the same monotone although this time the King thought there was slightly more defiance in her voice and posture. The Keeper then asked a question, the woman, nodded, clearly agreeing to something.  The Keeper added a final phrase for good measure and then turned to the King.

“This is Bregeth, my sister but not of the flesh.  She assures me she will look after the child and serve you to the best of her ability” The Keeper nodded to the King and then, casting what appeared to be a warning stare
in Bregeth’s direction, left.

Once she had gone, Bregeth took a deep breath and raised her eyes. The King noted that they were a pale watery blue, almost silver.

“Do you speak Fereldan?”  The King asked.

“Of course I do” Bregeth replied.

“I am Alistair…  ”

“I thought you were the King” said Bregeth.

“I am…”

“Then why don’t you introduce yourself as such?”

“Fair enough. I am the King of Ferelden… your King.”

“Better.”

Suddenly Lawler, who had just come into the tent, intervened: “Why so impertinent, woman, we wish
you no harm…”

The King shushed him: “Now this child…”

“Look, sire, your majesty, whatever, and you…” she said glancing at Lawler: “I did not come here to banter… I loath nobles, despise shemlen and can barely tolerate males. It is unfortunate that you happen to be all three…” She said turning her gaze back to the King: “… but I swore to my Keeper just then, by Andruil my patroness, that
I would obey and serve the King and look after his child”

The King blinked a few times and looked at Lawler who raised his eyebrows.  He then took a deep breath and said: “Very well, if that is the way you wish to do it.  I Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden command you, Bregeth of the Dalish, to feed, care and protect this child, if necessary with your life. Now swear to me that you will do this, by the honour of your Keeper and that of Andruil, Lady of the Hunt.”

Bregeth with an expression that was almost one of relief lowered her face touched her forehead and said: “I swear”.

“Now, since you’re the only grown up girl here…” said the King and handed her the baby.





 

 

Modifié par Maria13, 22 avril 2010 - 07:01 .

[SRWill64]

Very nice. I LOVED it! It sucks that Neriya is dead, though. And all those bad expeiences...poor Alistair. And he may be finding out that his mother is an elf and he knows his father is human already...but if he finds the truth it would be much better. But everybody loves to pick on poor Alistair. Sad.

[SRWill64]

P.S. The racy scenes aren't nearly explicit as I was expecting...I thought it was very tastefully done.

[Maria13]

*WARNING*  Features bad language, mild threat and lactation


Chapter 5

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach
Brecilian Forest

“Why is it…” said Alistair from the ground where he was lying: “… that we have more spectators today than any day previously?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.” Said Lawler who was standing above him and who, annoyingly, appeared to be on his best behaviour. “But perhaps it has something to do with your challenge to them the day before yesterday and how that went”

“I hear laughter… Are they laughing at me?”

“I really don’t know, Your Majesty.”

“Oh shove “Your Majesty”! Help me up, damn you.”

Lawler extended a hand, Alistair grasped it and slowly got to his feet. 

 

 

Insofar as Lawler was concerned Alistair had three moods: Business as usual, sulky and gloomy, for want of a better term.  He considered it a key part of his job description, whatever that was, to move him from the last two back to the first as soon as possible.  But when earlier in the day and unsolicited, he went to find him at his
tent because he hadn’t put in his usual appearance at around lunch time, he seemed to be in a funk that went beyond the usual gloomy.  He was sitting back on his cot with his feet on the camp table and his hands crossed over his stomach staring blankly at nothing.  A pile of books on the table by his feet, apparently unread. Lawler sat down opposite him and after a while said:

“Busy morning.”

“Yeah.”  Said Alistair running one hand through his short hair and then was silent again.

“That Bregeth, she’s a piece of work… but she seems to get on well with the child.”

“Elven women…” said Alistair: “Are far too complex… and one day they’ll be the bloody death of me.”

“Look” said Lawler: “I don’t quite know…”

“Believe you me, you really don’t…”

“But whatever it is, if you want to protect that child you have to, seem at least to as be carrying on as normal.  Otherwise the game is up, you know how it is… Show a sign of weakness and they’re on you.”

It hadn’t taken Lawler very long to realise that Alistair responded quicker to fighting talk than to anything else in his conversational repertoire, which actually suited him just fine, because sometimes he wondered if there was anything else in his repertoire.

“You’ve missed lunch but I think we still need to train.  I’m happy to go easy on you…”

“No.” said Alistair.

“No, you don’t want to train?”

“No, I don’t want you to go easy on me.  In fact, I’ll only come out to train if you promise to hit me very hard.”

So Lawler, always happy to oblige, had.

 

 

Feeling really quite sore, before he went to his tent to change and clean up and after feeding  his dogs, Alistair decided that he should visit Bregeth and his child to see how they were settling in.  No sooner had he lifted the flap than Bregeth, who was sitting on a stool, looked up and glared at him.  The baby seemed to be sleeping comfortably in her lap.  When she saw he was still carrying his wooden training sword and shield her lips curled slightly.

Alistair tried to ignore her and instead looked around the tent and checked everything was in order, he was pleased to see that there were furs everywhere, in fact the tent resembled nothing more than a very warm cocoon.

He was about to withdraw discreetly when the baby suddenly woke up and let out a howl.  Resignedly Bregeth went to draw up her shirt and their eyes met.  Alistair turned to leave.

“Umm” said Bregeth.

Alistair turned around averting his eyes as Bregeth herself had done that morning when the Keeper was speaking to her. “I thought we weren’t talking.” He said.

“I said no banter” said Bregeth.  “It’s not the same.  I presume…” she continued, “that you were present at this child’s conception.”

Alistair leaned back on his heels: “Well… Obviously.”

“Then why would you be embarrassed to see it feed? Sit.”

Alistair tried not too look to closely at Bregeth’s breast as she offered it to the child who began to make urgent cooing sounds and then once it had latched on some rather obscene sucking noises.  He felt his cheeks grow a little hot.  After a while the child seemed to become calmer and the sucking less urgent but Bregeth suddenly tensed and he saw her fist clench. 


“Is she hurting you?” asked Alistair.

“Sometimes it hurts”, said Bregeth: “… but not then”

“So where is your baby?” asked Alistair attempting to make conversation to avoid thinking too much about what Bregeth had just said.

Bregeth looked up from the child to him:  “He died. Three days ago.”

 

 

That evening at supper Alistair had talked too much, laughed too much and drank too much, and was sick while Lawler was supporting him on the way back to his tent.  But Lawler was happy because he felt pretty certain no-one else was really picking up on the over-exuberance cues as he was and he read them as a sign that  by and large Alistair’s mood was beginning to move towards better things.

It was about two in the morning by the steward when Lawler went quietly into Alistair’s tent.   Alistair was sleeping on his side Lawler shook his shoulder gently and squatted by his bed. “Alistair, Alistair, wake up”. Alistair looked stunned for a moment and then slowly ran his hand over his forehead. 

“What is it Lawler?” said Alistair, annoyed: “I hope it was worth you waking me up…”

“The Keeper has sent us a messenger.  According to the Dalish, there are troops coming from the west, from the direction of Southreach…”

“Southreach?”

“Apparently it used to be the see of Arl Bryland but he died a few years back.  Now it’s held by his daughter,  Arlessa Habren… The Keeper sent you this.”  Lawler passed him a small piece of parchment. “From what I can make out…”

“Habren, I’m not sure I’ve ever met her…” Alistair still looking very tired swung his legs over the side of the cot and took the parchment read and checked it carefully.  “She says there are about eighty of them.  F***…” He said putting his face in his hands and then scrunching the parchment up in one fist:  “I knew it was going to be one of those days…  Lawler go waking everyone up, but go about it quietly.  Don’t let people panic.  Put all the civilians, children, camp attendants etc in one group and anyone who can fight in another…  Get a few people to help the steward and start gathering all the spare weaponry we have in camp together in one pile. Where’s the messenger?”

“Just outside.”

“OK, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Alistair grabbed an undershirt and a pair of linen trousers and his sword, Starfang that Neriya had had forged for him.  As he did he felt a frisson of power and excitement run through him. It was the same everytime he grasped Starfang, especially in anticipation of a fight.  He barely had time to marvel, as he usually did, at how precisely the sword adjusted to his hand, as if he had been born holding it. The he draped his chainmail over his head.  He was still tying up his trousers when he went outside.  Lawler was standing next to a Dawlish youth barely in his teens. 

“He says he’s called Sparrow, says he’s their fastest runner.”

The young man nodded eagerly, excitement dancing in his eyes. 


“OK Sparrow, wait here.” said Alistair.  He ran to Bregeth’s tent.

For a moment he stood still.  Bregeth was sleeping soundly with one arm slung over her head.  His child was sleeping next to her on its side facing Bregeth, naked except for a makeshift nappy, its tiny hands bunched in front of it. 

“Bregeth…”

Alistair touched her cheek gently. 

Bregeth woke up immediately with a snarl, swatting his hand away from her face and sitting up bringing out what appeared to be a an ironbark dagger from under her pillow.  When she saw it was Alistair she relaxed: “What shemlen?”

“Bregeth, the Keeper says there are troops coming.  From Southreach, she says that they may be planning to attack the camp…”

Bregeth stood very quickly she was wearing a shift that barely covered her thighs. Her dreadlocks were tousled.

“Give” She said gesturing towards a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.  Alistair passed her some trousers.

“I want you to go to the settlement.”

“Yes.” She said slipping the trousers on. Then she gathered her touseled locks in one hand, twisted them behind her head and secured them with the dagger.

“Take the baby, there’s a young man called Sparrow outside.  Go with him.”

“Yes, I know him” muttered Bregeth. “And what are you doing?”

 “I’m staying here to fight.  I’ll send an escort with you all.”

“No escort.”

“An escort…”

“No, you will need all your people here.”

“You…”

“Some shemlen clumsy foot, tripping over tree roots getting lost and making noise?" She snorted: "Not needed. Your child, Sparrow and I and will be fine, we will make better time by ourselves.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am very, very sure.”

Bregeth grabbed a sling that she had brought with her that morning and Alistair helped her put it over her shoulder.

“One thing…” Bregeth turned round to pick up the baby.

“Yes.”

“If something should happen to me ask the Keeper to look after the child.”

Bregeth look surprisedbut said: “I will.”

“Alistair…” Bregethturned around at looked at him holding the baby, who was just beginning to wake, out to him.

“Yes, Bregeth?”

“Your child has no name.  Name her now.  It is not right that if something should happen to you she should not even have a name to go by in the world.”

Alistair took the baby, held it against his chainmail and stroked her feathery hair. “I think she smiled at me…”
 
“She does that.” Said Bregeth.

He held her up in front of him and said: “Niahm” 

Bregeth nodded approvingly.

“I want to give her en elven name too” said Alistair: “How do you say “star” in elven?”

“Which one?” Asked Bregeth looking taken aback, “… the heavens are full of stars.”

“Maker’s breath!” said Alistair: “Why do you Dalish always have to be so complicated? A star, just a bloody star, one of those shiny things!”

Bregeth sighed: “Eleniel”

“”Eleniel”, well there you go…” He kissed Niahm Eleniel on the forehead and handed her back to Bregeth who tucked her into the sling. “Now we have to hurry…”

Tension was palpable in the air as soon as they left the tent.  Lawler and the steward were standing by the fire with a pile of armour and weapons at their feet. At either end of the camp stood two, equally nervous, groups of people in utter silence. 


Suddenly aware that his every movement was being closely watched, Alistair strode towards the fire.  Bending down to the pile, he extracted a light chainmail and wordlessly handed it to Bregeth. She put it on draping it over her torso and the baby.  Then she squatted and clutching some ash from the fire, quickly rubbed it over the chainmail both front and back, her face and the back of her hands.  She gestured to Sparrow and he ran forward and proceeded to do the same.

“Now go” said Alistair: “and good luck”

“Likewise” murmured Bregeth and she and Sparrow sprinted towards the dark forest.

“Lawler…”

“More than likely they’ll be coming from the north… down the same path we followed leading off from the west road.” He pointed behind Alistair: “If they’re clever they’ll split up but then they’ve already been spotted by the elves so there must be some question about that…”

“OK, so it’s a no-brainer.”
 
“Yeah” said Lawler: “Only question really is who goes in the river?”

“So we send the civilians south, do you think?”

“Yes, but there’s no crossing there…”

“It’ll have to do.” Alistair muttered back:  “We need to get them out of the way but I don’t want to send them towards the settlement.  I very much suspect that this is something between us humans and I don’t want to drag the Dalish into it.  They’ve already done more than their bit by tipping us off.”

Alistair turned to the steward: “Eoin… Come.  Lawler, go over and tell the guys to start gearing up.”

Alistair and Eoin walked towards the… Alistair slung his sword over his shoulder and clung to it with his hands on either side: “I’m really sorry” He started: “But you are all going to have to leave the camp.  We’ve been told that there are soldiers coming this way and you don’t want to be around when they get here… I know this must be very frightening, very scary but believe me it would be worse, far worse if you stay.  Make sure that every child has an adult assigned to look after them.  Walk steadily be careful not to loose your footing.  If you hear anything, hit the ground and keep still and silent, until you’re sure you know who they are. Darkness is your friend, take as little
light as you can get away with without putting yourselves in danger. Do as you just saw the elves do, they’ve lived here for a few centuries, they know what it’s about.  If you’re attacked, and I really, really hope you’re not, don’t clump together, scatter.  If all goes well and I’m pretty sure it will, we’ll be coming later to find you.  We won’t leave anyone behind…” 

He turned to the steward: “OK, Eoin, now go…”

“But…”

“No.  You go too, if you’re not a fighter you’ll only be in the way… I don’t mean that unkindly.  And if something happens to me… Tell the Queen…” He paused: “S***… Don’t tell her anything and forget I said that.  That’s an order…  Here’s another: Go.”

Alistair sauntered over to the last group: “Right… Anyone here know what this is all about?” He started scanning the faces in front of him as did Lawler standing beside him.  “Anyone? No? Come forward now and I’ll still be nice…” He swished Starfang about in front of him.

There was a deep silence. One of the logs in the fire crackled. “OK moment passed.”  He said. “That was the first thing.  Second thing:  They’re probably coming for me…  No, I really don’t know what I did this time…  But if anyone doesn’t want to get involved, to commit, and fight, then go with the civilians. I don’t want you here.”

“Did you really have to say that?” Mumbled Lawler out of the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, I did…”

“OK so you’re all staying. Good. Might even be fun. I don’t think there’s much else to say except that since you’re staying, I hope for your own sakes you perform better than you did against me the day before yesterday.  If you don’t, they’ll have our guts for garters and from the look of you lot I doubt any of you, any of us, actually, would make… attractive garters, especially at this time in the morning.” 

 He turned to Lawler: “I did the speechy thing, your turn. Plan. Expound” Lawler look puzzled.

“Sorry, explain.”

Lawler took a deep breath and pulled out his sword and with his left hand and began to draw a rough map in the ground. “The river, the west road, north down the path here, camp. The bulk of us withdraw to the forest round the camp.  One or two stay, wandering around to give the impression that we haven’t been alerted.  Lure the bulk to the centre of camp, attack from both sides drive them towards the river, finish them off there.  Try and close the path off behind them if we have the people.”
 
Alistair interjected: “That means some of you will be standing in ice cold water… Sorry about that.  Last thing, this Habren, anyone know her? Details about her household etc?”

There were some murmurings among the group and finally someone said: “I think I can help…”

“Then you’re with me, Oswyn”    “The rest of you buddy up to get you armour on quicker” As Oswyn passed Lawler he touched him on the shoulder:  “I’m happy to take the water”.  Lawler nodded.

Alistair was making fast strides towards his tent when he realised that Oswyn was unable to keep up with him so he slowed down.

Once inside he started rooting around in the oaken coffer with the creaky lid: “OK so tell me, this Habren…”

“Is a B***…”

Alistair glanced at him.  “Descriptive but not helpful.” and bent over and began pulling the pieces of his armour out of the coffer.  Finding his arming doublet he put it on and then sat on the cot to pull on the sabatons.

Oswyn began to put on his own breastplate. “She’s nineteen.  Arl Bryland’s only daughter.  Her mother died giving birth to her.  Bryland never remarried.  Bryland was old school, you know hunting, fishing, a bit crusty, but ran his estate like clockwork and had some good people around him.  She really was his only weakness. He spoilt her. 
Nothing was too good for her…”

“Here, let me help with that” Oswyn turned round while Alistair buckled his breast plate to him.

“She had stuff, you know, silks, stoles and dresses, fancy shoes. The kind of thing that would make an Orlesian courtesan jealous.  Daddy’s girl…”

“My turn.” Oswyn fastened Alistair’s breast plate

Alistair said: “Third best suit, dragonbone, but definitely the lucky one.  We might need it…”

Oswyn held out his arms and Alistair fit the backplate to his back and they both began tightening the buckles at the front.  “When she hit fifteen, things began to go sour between them.  I think Bryland suddenly became aware that she would never amount to anything and was disappointed in her.  And he got too much in his cups … Anyway, he passed two years ago last winter.  She sacked most of his people because they were “boring”, or something. It seems that they were just attempting to talk some sense to her…  And so to today, still spending money like it’s water but nothing’s coming in any more… Ha, that could be the problem right there…” He assisted Alistair to secure his backplate in place.

“How do you know so much about them?”

“Well, we are neighbours, me being from Dragons Peak, but mostly because I was betrothed to her…” He gestured towards his legs: “Then this happened and… no more betrothal…”

“Oh, the wonders of political marriages…” 

Oswyn looked away: “You have no idea…”

“Think not, eh?”

Oswyn didn’t think it diplomatic to answer that.

“But what of her household? Her troops…”

“It occurs to me” said Oswyn “that if I am to fight in the water, it’s probably better not to put on full armour.”

“Probably not, but I suggest you’ll still need the cuisses. Here, allow me…”

He continued: “Well her captain of the guard Baudouin is an Orleisian A***hole who has been trying to get into her knickers for years… Yes, I know, descriptive but not helpful.”

“And not at all bitter…” said Alistair.  Oswyn bent down to help him secure his greaves. “Hey, you don’t need to be my squire…”

“As for the troops I think they’ve been subject to the same neglect…  You know how badly paid soldiers tend to react, they get lazy, disaffected… Baudouin doesn’t appear to be particularly popular even with his own men.  He’s just too, well… obvious.”

“OK all good stuff…  Anything else?”

“Yes, arms now…” Alistair held them out and Oswyn began lacing.

“This Baudouin, is he any good in a fight? Dexter sinister? S and s or one hander?”

 “Dex all the way, s and s, like you, I guess.  Yeah, he’s good.  Not as good as he thinks he is, though, probably not quite as good as you at your best.  I could never take him… But then he’s larger than me.”

“Now you…” Oswyn held out his own arms. “You’re better off without her and you know that.” Alistair said as he laced his armour. “You should never set up with someone you don’t really care for or who doesn’t care for you…  I only wish I were as good at taking my own advice as I am at giving it.”

When they left the tent, Lawler wandered up to them. “Do I look like Eoin?” he asked grinning.

“Not even a little…”

“Great!”

“Where are all the rest?” Asked Alistair looking around.

“Oh, I sent them to their places.  You’re over there” He said to Alistair pointing. “And I’ll join you once this thing, gets started, pretend like I’m running for the trees.”

“And my dogs?”

“They’re there too.”

“Oswyn…” said Lawler.

“Yeah, I know… Water.”

“Don’t go in too deep too soon, alright?” said Lawler. “Good luck.”

Alistair walked towards the tree line as he had been told, nodded to the other guys that were already there, and hunkered down between Mince and Meat to wait.





 

Modifié par Maria13, 02 mai 2010 - 11:07 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 6

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach

Brecilian Forest

It took the troops barely an hour to make their presence felt in the camp.

Once he had taken up his assigned position Lawler wandered over, apparently in character and told him that he had very strongly advised the others that they were not too move so much as a muscle until Alistair gave the signal, which would basically be him charging.  As if Alistair didn’t already feel under enough pressure.

Alistair watched nervously from the tree line as the scene unfolded in front of him. He found that he was talking to himself or rather to Lawler under his breathe as the first lights made themselves visible from the north, as they had anticipated, and as Lawler, pretending to not notice, went nonchalantly about his imaginary business with aim of drawing the most soldiers possible into the clearing without putting his life at risk. “Here they come… careful now… Don’t get too close…. OK… Easy does it… Easy does it… Watch out for that one… Reel them in…
That’s it… That’s it… Come to daddy now… Come to daddy now… Come…”

It was only with a supreme effort of will, exercised at the last moment, that he managed to avoid shouting at the top of his lungs “Come to daddy!” rather than “For Ferelden!” as he and the dogs charged the soldier haring after Lawler, who, laughing manically, was at last dashing towards the tree line, and knocked him off his feet.  But, in any event, from the chaos that then ensued in the camp, it would not have made much difference.

For the next fifteen or so minutes Alistair acted as if he were a bowling ball on a field of skittles, charging forward and knocking or a least temporarily stunning every foe he encountered, left and right, hoping that Lawler and some of the others would be able to mop up in his wake. When he reached one side of the field he would turn round and start off towards the other.  He did this about three times until he began to get more than moderately out of breathe.  

When he turned to mark a change of pace he was pleased to see Lawler close behind him. Without needing speak they then began to work in tune, picking their marks more selectively, seeking to drive them towards the river in a more systematic fashion.  Alistair would make a strong, overt, attack on the target whereas Lawler would to wear it down and harry it by circling it and delivering opportunistic blows.

 
                                                                                 ~~ ....~~
 

Bregeth and Sparrowmeanwhile were making good time towards the eleven camp and heard the din of the battle raging behind them, cries, clashes of metal and screams.  But Bregeth was concerned that something did not seem to be quite right, so she asked Sparrow to stop and they ducked into the undergrowth crouched still and listened silent save for their heartbeats.  “There” said Bregeth, “…that sound is nearer than it should be if it were coming from the shemlen camp.”

Sparrow was quiet for a few seconds concentrating more carefully and trying to pick up the sound to which she was referring with his younger ears.  Finally he turned to her and whispered: “Yes I think there is a group behind us…” Bregeth emitted an extremely ripe oath in ancient Dalish. “They have split up some have attacked the camp but there is a group that is coming to attack the settlement…  Sparrow, you need to make more haste now.  But haste in silence.  Run ahead and warn the settlement to expect an attack”

“And what will you do, Bregeth?”

“I will wait here, allow them to pass me by and then make my way back to the camp.  Hopefully the fact that they have split up their forces will mean that the King’s side has more of a chance against them. I will take the child back and do my best to try to convince them to send some assistance to the settlement if they have prevailed”

                                                         ~~...~~
                    
Despite the fact that he could now barely feel his legs below his kneecaps, Oswyn was beginning to enjoy fighting in the water because, as he had hoped, thigh high water made all men lame and at least he was more accustomed to being lame than most.  And the upper body strength he had endeavoured so hard to develop, an effort which he’d lately come to consider was all but pointless, given that he could be outmatched by anyone with a reasonable turn of speed, was now proving to be a true asset in terms of dealing blows, grappling and holding unwilling foes under water. 

A sort of routine developed between the five or six in the water party whereby anyone being pushed in to the river would be subject to a multitude of blows from different directions until they were surprised, stunned and subdued enough to be dunked.  Should any turn out to be especially resistant to such treatment them would be batted towards Oswyn who would very promptly deal with them.

                                         ~~...~~

It was not until about an hour into the fighting that a glint of silver to his right caught Alistair’s eye.  Lawler who had just been punching between the ribs at his feet said: “Look over there…  It seems we have a visitor…”

“Let’s go for it…” So Alistair and Lawler pushed their way through a few stragglers over to where Baudouin audaciously dressed in a bright chevalier suit of silverite armour was just delivering a coup de grace to a man lying at his feet, who groaned when Baudouin drove his sword through his throat.

Suddenly everyone around them became still.  Baudouin aware that there was an audience walked leisurely to over where Alistair was standing in his dark armour with Lawler at his left shoulder. “You’ll pay for that.” said Alistair.

“So you are the King?”  Without waiting for a reply Baudoin turned to one of the soldiers next to him: “Bring the dog.”  Another soldier struggled forward and dumped the limp, still twitching body of a mabari at Alistair’s feet and quickly withdrew.

Alistair, barely glancing down stepped over it carefully.

“Yes.”  He replied.

“The bastard… The one who defers to little female mage elves but who can’t get it up for his fully human queen.” continued Baudoin.

“Yeah” said Alistair grimly: “That’s me.”

“And who is this?” He said gesturing dismissively in Lawler’s direction.

“Lawler, my knight escort”

“Knight?” Said Baudouin: “He looks like a weasel” Beside him Alistair felt Lawler bristle.

“Sorry, I should have said my knight escort weasel... Elves, weasels and a bastard… How clever of you to notice Baudouin.”

“Wave him down.” Said the chevalier.

“Why would I do that?”

“So we can fight, just you and I.  I have never taken a king before…”

 “No, Alistair” whispered Lawler: “He’s fresh and you are not, that would be incredibly stupid…” “Then I’ll just have to do it quickly, won’t I?” Alistair whispered furiously back.

“Stand down, Lawler”

“Idiot!” said Lawler under his breath.

“Frankly, Baudouin I think you’re going to go frustrated to your grave on that one…”

They began to circle each other slowly. Baudouin feinted with his sword Alistair dodged.

“But at least I’m not pointlessly chasing juveniles, Baudouin.” Alistair tried for a kick, nearly overbalanced and cursed under his breath. “I mean, let’s face it, right? I get some. You don’t.”

Baudouin tried to strike him with his shield to the side but Alistair met it with his.   There was a resounding clang and for a few moments they stood face to face, snarling and shoving at each other like two particularly bad tempered boys in a school yard.  Lawler and the others looked on fascinated.

“Your mother was a p****!” Spat Baudouin the first of them to revert to verbal communication.

“Means “w****” in Orleisian” Said Alistair in an aside to Lawler without breaking eye contact with Baudouin, and then once again directing his words at the chevalier: “… And, yeah, I’m a fils de p****, yadda, yadda, F****ING YADDA.” And Alistair made to charge throwing out his chest, forcing Baudouin to take a step back.

Alistair relaxed: “So far, so original, Baudouin. Story of my life!”

Baudouin attempted a side strike with his sword at his helmet but Alistair deflected him raising his shield.

“But let me tell you something…”  Alistair hissed putting his face close to Baudouin’s: “Better any day a Fereldan bastard with a good hard-on than a limp-dicked Orleisian chevalier”

Baudouin growled and then thrust forward.  Alistair pivoted to his left and, swinging his shield down, struck Baudouin on the faceplate, using the remainder of Baudouin’s momentum against him to throw him to the side and off his feet.  For good measure, once Baudouin had hit the ground, he stepped over him and struck his helmet sharply twice in short succession with Starfang’s pommel.

“Lawler… Ow! My arm hurts…” said Alistair, panting hard. “We may need him or at least his armour.  Make sure he can’t get up again.”  Alistair flinched when Baudouin screamed as Lawler slashed the tendons in both his legs.

                                              ~~....~~

 Following Baudouin’s defeat things wound down in camp pretty quickly.  Alistair, exhausted, sat down by the fire,
removed his helmet and put his head on his knees, Oswyn smiling from ear to ear, limped from the water and sat down next to him and began to strip off his armour in order to dry and warm up.

First and foremost was the clean-up.  Lawler was strongly of the view having questioned Baudouin that they should send a detachment to Southreach castle and apprehend Habren while she was still vulnerable and
Alistair could not disagree with that.   It was still a few hours before dawn so they decided to use the last of
darkness to their advantage.  Alistair went to his tent to change into Baudouin’s armour while Oswyn briefed Lawler on the layout of the castle and the names, physical descriptions and roles of prominent members of the Arlessa’s household. 


Alistair was almost done when Lawler came in and told him Bregeth was outside.  Alistair was relieved to see that the baby was weeping mightily. Bregeth, who seemed uncharacteristically subdued and tired, was rocking her in her arms: “Your majesty” Said Bregeth, they are attacking the settlement. By my estimation there are about thirty of them.”

“Where’s the young man?”

“Sparrow?  I sent him to the settlement to alert them, he is a runner and we had at least twenty minutes on them when realised they were coming in our wake.  I took the decision to return here to request your assistance.  In doing so I crossed paths with the detachment…”

“This makes no sense…”

“From a certain point of view, from another…”

“I don’t follow… You also took a risk” He said meeting her eyes.

Bregeth glanced quickly at Lawler as if for support and began speaking quite fast: “Shemlen often believe they are being astute when they are simply being inept and obvious.  There is no way a detachment of thirty could take down the settlement so the intention was just to cause some damage and then withdraw.  Damage that may be enough to explain to your Queen, the day after tomorrow how it came to be that your camp was wiped out and you with it…” Bregeth paused for breath.

“Lawler?”

“Works for me.”

“Go speak to Baudouin again, see what he has to say… Bregeth the other thing… We will discuss that later.”

“Would you consider helping the settlement?”

“Sorry, I’m tired and I’m taking a lot on here.  Yes, of course.  Do we have the casualty figures yet Lawler?”

“I’ll go see.”

“Do that first. Bregeth, grateful if you could come here…”

Bregeth followed him into the tent: “This armour…” she said.

“Is Baudouin’s.”

“Take me with you.”

“No.”

“Why not?  I could be very useful, shemlen…”

“Because you have to stay here and look after the ba...Niamh.  Anyway, help me finish putting this on, I think my right arm’s nerfed…” Bregeth helped him but persisted.

“You should take me.”

“No.”

“You need me, shemlen”

“So does Niamh”

“I can feed her now and someone else can look after her for a few hours…” And Bregeth pulled up her top and the child in the sling latched onto her breast with indecent alacrity. “See, even your daughter knows…”

“I said no, woman, what’s wrong with you? NO means NO!”

“Look Alistair, I am not just a breast for your baby…  The settlement has been attacked I can report back to the Keeper on the follow-up she would be grateful if you took me as an observer.  I have other skills too, do you know how old I am?”

“I don’t care, why… How many elves are there in Habren’s household?”

“Four and one is her dresser.”

“You could be bluffing…  And the Keeper did not seem to trust you over much.”

“Ah, yes but, if I am, I bluff well and is that not a skill in itself? As for me and the Keeper, she might not fully trust me…” And here Bregeth wiggled her eyebrows a little: “But she does respect me…”

“This is…”

Lawler came in: “Nine”

“Nine what?” Asked Alistair testily.

“Casualties.  And I kicked Baudouin a bit…” Alistair winced: “No, not really. We just kind of… Chatted. And he confirmed madam here’s guess.”

Bregeth smirked.

“Madam” Said Alistair: “… wishes to come with us…”

“Well she could…” Said Lawler carefully.

“And what about my child?  Wait, let me get this right… You’re agreeing with her?”

“Uh…”

“I don’t believe this…”

“Oswyn could look after the child for a few hours… Him being almost local and all, and you could write a message to the Keeper….”

“If I were fully functional, I…” He took a deep breath: “Fine.  Bregeth do you write Dalish?”

“Of course, sh…”

“Shut it. Here… Get my writing box. Take this down” He shoved the quill into her hand: “ “Dear Keeper, I am taking a small party to Southreach in an attempt to capture Arlessa Habren and put an end to this affair once and for all.  I have been unduly pressurised by your most obdurate subject, Bregeth, to include her in my party against my better judgment.   I hope I do not live to regret this decision.  I have left orders with my remaining troops that they should endeavour to assist the settlement to the best of their ability.  Should something befall me please ensure that my child is well looked after.  I am leaving her with ser Oswyn of Dragon Peak. I pray that this letter finds you as well as circumstances permit and I thank you for your assistance this night. Yours… ””

“You go too fast…” Muttered Bregeth

“Yes, I am a quick child…”

“While you two bicker…” Said Lawler: “I’ll be outside doing something useful…”

                                  ~~...~~
           

The walk to Southreach was tortuous.  Alistair did not want to complain too much because he was aware that Lawler, Bregeth and the five soldiers who had volunteered to accompany them had been through as much as
he had, and he also recognised that he was the author of some of his own discomfort.  But Baudouin’s armour hurt him in parts he never realised he had.  Yes, they were approximately the same width and the same size but a good suit of armour is always a tailored to its wearer’s own physical idiosyncrasies and, generalities apart, Baudouin was obviously quite differently shaped to Alistair.  He tried to keep talking to Bregeth distract himself from the snagging of the loose cuisses on this thighs and the pinching of the rerebraces on his upper arms.

“Where in the castle will she be? Don’t you think she’ll be abed?” He asked Bregeth hopefully.

Bregeth, who somehow before leaving camp had managed to acquire a sword and was pacing very comfortably with it slung casually over her shoulder.  “She is a child, Alistair, and this will be very exciting for her, she will be up and about and so will her household.”

“That may be bad”

“Not necessarily.  She will be the excited one, her people are more likely to be tired and jittery, possibly careless, and that might give us some advantages…”

Dawn was about to break as they came to Southreach Castle.

Lawler who had dressed in a guard’s uniform approached the gate dragging Bregeth in his wake.  “Look what I caught me!” he said “Now we can all have some fun!  Baudoin sent me ahead and I thought I’d bring you this little pressie, but better hurry up before he gets here…”

From his hiding place Alistair thought Bregeth was quite convincing as on her knees she shrieked and begged.  The two guards approached Lawler warily at first but then with more enthusiasm as Bregeth’s voice rose in alarm. 

“Just look at her…” Said Lawler waving to Bregeth on the ground as they drew near them and they did.  That was a mistake because within a few seconds Lawler had his knife at one of the guard’s throat, whereas Bregeth,
having grabbed the other from below one hand behind his ankle the other at his calf, pulling the one and pushing the other, had, very efficiently, landed him on his back.

“Right now for the next part…” said Alistair.

                                       ~~...~~

  They had swarmed round the front gate shouting “Victory!” and “We’ve won!” waving torches, and it had opened for them far more easily than if they had attempted to storm their way through.  Alistair, gravely silent, in audouin’s
armour and attempting to imitate his slightly bow legged, straight-backed walk added a final touch of conviction.   It struck him that it had been a piteous waste of time for them all to have memorised the layout of the castle when all they had to do was follow the small if enthusiastic groups of jubilant retainers running slightly in front of them
who were gamely showing them the way. 

He didn’t often wear a helmet indoors and he was certain that neither did a show off like Baudouin, and was beginning to find the very limited visual field it afford him in an excitable and unfamiliar environment quite frustrating.  Not that anyone in the happy crowd around him seemed to think that was in any way awry. He was certain that at one point he had seen Lawler, who was just ahead of him, grab a stray servant girl by the waist and plant a kiss full on her lips, he would have liked to have got a better look at that, but his current role did not allow him to.  He was therefore quite grateful to Bregeth who behind him where she was pretending to cower and grabbing at his arm muttered: “Nearly there now, Your Majesty, not much longer…”

They eventually rounded a corner and came almost immediately to a large double door.  Alistair extended his arms to push them open in what he hoped was a forceful fashion only to have them open before him from
the other side.  Recovering quickly he began to do his best Baudouin stride down the hall followed by the others,
towards the figure he could see at the end of it.  There was a sudden hush at the door and then one of the gate guards who had obviously gotten fully into his role yelled: “Arlessa, we are victorious!”  A brief cheer followed.

Alistair came within a few feet of Habren and then stopped dead.  She was tiny, barely coming up to the middle of his chest.  And she had shiny reddish hair, pale beautifully smooth skin and a very pretty, pouty doll’s face.  He had seen her somewhere before, he was sure but he was unable to place her… She looked up at him and shamelessly batted her eyelids. She was wearing a very clingy silk shift in pink and blue.  Even through the limitations of his visor he suddenly became aware that his height gave him an excellent view of her
décolletage. His mouth unexpectedly went dry. He remembered his dead dog and reached for his sword.

Bregeth dropped discreetly to her haunches behind Alistair.

Then Habren clapped her hands and in a lilting mellifluous voice said:  “Why Baudouin, at last you have guessed my heart’s desire!  You have brought me a gift… Come out little elf” She said beckoning to a spot somewhere behind Alistair: “Don’t be afraid, I’m only going to play with you…”

Struck by confusion, Alistair nearly turned around to ask what was happening, what it was he had missed.

Behind his legs, Bregeth lifted her face:  “My” said Habren: “You are a bit ugly though, Baudouin, I’m somewhat disa…”

And then there was rush to his left as a shape that Alistair belatedly recognised as Bregeth streaked passed him and with a cry of: “Take that shemlen W****B***!” punched Habren in the face, knocking her off her feet.  Her head hit the stone floor with an audible crack.

Then they were all silent again. Except for Habren who was on the ground in front of him moaning, her
nose probably broken, Bregeth standing menacingly over her, incandescent with rage.

Eventually it was Lawler who broke the silence: “Wow!” He said somewhere from behind Alistair: “Girl fight…”

 

 
End note:  Was not aware that the English Language forums also censored swearwords in French...

Modifié par Maria13, 02 mai 2010 - 11:11 .

[Maria13]

Double post.

Modifié par Maria13, 02 mai 2010 - 10:53 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 7

Dragon 9:34 Eluvista/Cloudreach   Ferventis/Justinian

Southreach/BrecilianForest/Fort Drakon

He was woken by Bregethsitting on the bed carrying his baby. “Lawler says you should consider getting up now.” Then she held her out to him: “See, she is safe.”

Alistair groaned and put his hand up to his eyes because the brightness was hurting them.  Then he tried to sit up: “Ow!” and lay back down again.  “I can’t get up…” he said unnecessarily.

Bregeth looked down at him: “Well I am hardly surprised…  I see bruising, lots of bruising and… Scars. My, my…  we have been a busy boy.  A warrior’s torso, who would have thought…”

“Bregeth, I have been fighting since I was 16… Hey, did you just show me some appreciation?... Anyway, about yesterday, you were in a bad situation…”

“I think I shall help you up.” She interrupted him and tucking Niamh into the sling, she placed a surprisingly
strong arm behind his shoulders and levered him upwards into a sitting position.  “There” she said and handed
him the child.

Alistair went to kiss the baby and stopped: “Gosh… She stinks.” But he kissed her anyway and started laughing: “I must stink too…” He handed her back to Bregeth who took her and wrinkled her nose.

“She needs changing.” Bregeth got up: “I must show you how to do that sometime.  Perhaps you should get some pretty young serving wench to apply some salve to your bruises…  After your bath.  Or Lawler, he would do it…”

                                                                              ~~...~~

 The Keeper had been crying.  It was making Alistair feel really embarrassed, first because he couldn’t help thinking how she looked even prettier with her eyelashes matted by tears, second and, very disturbingly,
because she had began to remind him of Neriya… a lot. 

And third because they were both standing in front of the whole of the population of the Elven settlement and not a few from his party when she had turned to him put her face to his chest, grasped his upper arms and began to sob very loudly. Not knowing what else to do he had limited himself to patting her on the back.  Well, it worked with the baby sometimes.

“What a sentimental fool you must think I am, to cry like this, at my age…” She said swiping fiercely at her eyes.

“Not at all.  I’ve been doing quite a lot of that myself these two days past…”

At least that was true.

Shortly after getting up he had visited the injured, well that hadn’t been so bad, they had seemed pleased to see him or perhaps it was the bottles of wine he was carrying with him salvaged from the well-stocked cellars of Southreach.  Whatever Habren or Baudouin had been, they hadn’t apparently been heavy drinkers.   All to the good, that.  The fact that the resident healer had followed him around tutting loudly as he had poured cups of the stuff had made it all the more fun.

Then the more serious stuff had started.  Despite his right arm being in a sling (“Just a sprain, Your Majesty”, the healer (male) had sniffed) with Oswyn’s help he had attempted to make a sort of record of the life of each of those who had passed away.   This he  then used to write a letter to their loved ones. 

That had been bad enough of itself.  But the one who had gotten to them most was the one of whom his apparent best mate had said:

“Well ya see, ya Majesty, he didn’t really talk much…  I called him Dibs…  Na, I don’t know where he was from, not sure what his surname was either…” 

When he and Oswyn had gone to pay the late Dibs a visit in the cellar where he had been respectfully laid out by the healer’s assistant, they had discovered quite a good looking young man of approximately Habren’s age. 
Surprisingly, Oswyn had choked up first putting out a tentative hand to touch the dead lad’s hair. 

“Can’t help thinking…” said Oswyn “that he would have made someone very happy… and someone somewhere
will be missing him.” 

“Could have been either of us…” said Alistair rubbing his eyes with his palms: “… not so long ago.”

And then there had been a few unpleasant decisions to take. 

“Keep her in her own cell.  Absolutely no mistreatment. Simple clothes, plain food, as much water as she wants and one cup of wine a day, should she want it. Nothing else. We’ll take her to Denerim.  I don’t want to set eyes on her…  As for Baudouin, Lawler, if you’re satisfied you’ve gotten everything we need about this affair from him and I do mean everything, since he’s not a subject… hand him to the Keeper. Let her decide.”

Contrary to what had been his usual habit of late, Alistair had retired early that evening, played a little with Niamh, allowed Bregeth to teach him how to change a nappy (just to please her, of course) and gone to bed before midnight.

                                                                                                   ~~...~~

The next morning just after dawn, they had held the cremations, by the riverbank.   Alistair had arrived a little earlier with the intention of burying Meat under his favourite tree but what with the sprained arm and the hard ground had found it quite difficult.  Lawler had helped him and then tactfully wandered off while Alistair laid a bone and a handful of marbari crunch next to the hound and quietly told his dog that they would see each other again one day in the Fade.

When the pyre was lit he found tears coming for the third time in two days, but, of course, he told himself, it was just the smoke.  It was also helpful that he could pull the hood over his face and bow his head.  When he glanced from under it he saw that everyone around his was doing the same with the exception of Bregeth who, head
uncovered, was standing very straight her face rigid as if it were carved in ironbark while his child whimpered against her chest.

Once the pyre had been extinguished as the senior person present he had scooped up some of the ashes with
his bare hands and placed them in the nine little leather pouches to be sent, together with the letters to each person’s loved ones.  The remaining ashes were then cast into the river.  He kept the ninth pouch himself, in the hope that one day someone would come to Denerim asking after a certain Dibs.

                                                                                 ~~...~~ 

They had then moved on to the settlement.  Where he and his party, all clad in black discovered that the Elven colour of mourning was white.  He had walked as respectfully as he could followed by Lawler, Bregeth and his child, between the orderly files of the Elven dead who had been covered with flowers, plants and other offerings
prior to burial. Black or white, cremation or interment, at least the grief and the tears were all the same.  And then,
just before they were lowered into the ground, the Keeper had cried.

Not long after they had been covered, someone had began to hand out tiny cups to everybody.  Alistair had held his out to the Keeper questioningly.  The Keeper who seemed to have made a quick recovery had winked at him and said:

“I’ll think you’ll like this part, Alistair, especially since I’ve heard that some of you complained that our beer was weak.”

“That wasn’t me…” said Alistair who had just noticed that several young elves dressed in pure white bearing jugs had began pouring a clear liquid into every adult’s cup.  His was filled next to last and the Keeper’s
the last.

Then the Keeper stood and faced her people, held up her cup and shouted at the top of her lungs: “ANETH ARA!” and downed the drink in one go.

Everybody then did the same as did Alistair.  Half choking he looked at the Keeper who clapped him heartily on the back. “What… is… this stuff?”

“We call it water of life, so naturally, we tend to drink it at funerals… Don’t feel embarrassed about choking on it, it is your first time. I underwent special Keeper training to learn how to do just that. We are welcoming the recently dead back to life.  Life followed by death, followed by life again.”

“Ah” It seemed a bit much to take on board at that point, so he did what he always did and stuck to what gave him immediate pleasure: “Can I have some more, please?”

Apparently it was also customary, once the drinking had begun, to tell jokes and funny stories about both the living and the dead.  After a few cups more, the Keeper said to Alistair: “I may have found you another wet nurse…”

“And why would you want to do that…”

The Keeper shrugged but she couldn’t avoid looking over the crowd to where Bregeth appeared to be eyeing them intently:  “Well, you know, Bregeth is Bregeth…”

“Yeah, I know…” said Alistair following the Keeper’s gaze, and then very loudly: “I like her so much that I think I’ll make her my latest mistress when I get back to Denerim…  Buy her loads of pretty frocks in bright colours and such. She’ll love it… Cheers!”

The Keeper giggled: “Yes, I’m sure she will.  Cheers!” and they knocked cups.

“Does he ever stop talking?” Said Bregeth who was already on her third cup and showed no signs of intoxication, to Lawler who was standing next to her.

“No never.  Not even in his sleep… Please don’t ask me how I know that…”

About two hours later when the festivities were really under way and firm memories likely to be few, Bregeth approached one of her Elders and drew back the sling so he could see the baby.  He looked and nodded.  She told him some of the things that had happened in the last few days. 

“And then he said: “A star, a bloody star, one of those shiny things!…” 

She saw a tug at the corner of the Elder’s mouth, he was not well known for his sense of humour.  “That is a good line, I am sure I can find a place for it somewhere…”

“I swore to the Keeper and by Andruil that I will serve him and the child and I intend to do that…”

“Of course you will, but do not doubt for a moment that you will be missed…”

                                                                                      ~~...~~

  “Habren… Habren…”

For a moment she thought someone had called her name and found herself sitting up.  She almost lay back down and closed her eyes again, determined not to surrender her dignity to a mere hallucination or to give into her fear.  But then she noticed that a patch of darkness in front of her cell, or cage, really, just seemed a little darker, so she remained where she was. Clearly someone was sitting there.  She was disturbed, because she was not sure how long this person had been there watching her and wondered how he, for certain it was a he because his outline had something chunky about it, a width females did not usually have, had come in so quietly. 

The figure muttered a few words which sounded like a sting of angry curses and then said more audibly:  “… You stupid girl…” and then: “You are so young…” She wondered for a moment whether this was not the spirit of her late father come to collect her from the fade because father always swore at her and called her stupid, sometimes even when she had done nothing to deserve it.  But this voice was lighter than father’s and father would surely know her age, wouldn’t he?

As if realising this, the figure bent down, struck a tinder and lit a small oil lamp at his feet, lowered his hood and said to her: “Do you know who I am?”

Habren squinted and then sighed: “You are the King…”                     

He nodded silently and looked around him at the gloom of Fort Drakon. “This is a frightening place, isn’t it?” She wondered whether it looked to him, on the other side of the bars, as dark and oppressive as it did to her.  “Did you know I was once held here myself?  Perhaps even in that same cage… I was very scared, though I daresay I tried not to show it.” There was a long pause, as if he were remembering that time.  And then he said:  “A lot of men died, Habren, in your little raid, a few women too, thankfully no children, although some lost their parents, of course.  I am still trying to clear up the mess you made… All because of you… And they tell me you are barely 19.”

Habren remained silent.

The King continued: “The Queen says you should die, so do my advisers, even the ones I respect.  The arbiter agreed, I sent your case to an arbiter because I felt I was too closely involved in the facts of it myself to make a
fair decision. But he still sentenced you to death, Habren, for treason.  You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

She nodded and said quietly: “Yes”

“Hanging” said the King: “Is a painful death, or so I am told, but then I’ve only very rarely encountered one that isn’t.  I’ve tried to make it a little less distressing for you…” He laughed bitterly: “As if that were within the gift of any human, King or otherwise…”  Then he continued, serious once again: “That’s why they weighed you this morning, Habren, so they could calculate the length of the drop required to break your neck at the jolting point, so you don’t die slowly of suffocation, jerking at the end of the rope…”

There was a long silence, the King seemed expectant. Finally after a few minutes he leaned forward and said very gently, almost kindly:  “Habren, I think this is the part where you get down on your knees and beg me for your life…”

Habren felt a sudden lurch in her stomach and fell forward on all fours, dry heaving and remembering that she had been refusing food for several days and there was nothing to throw up.  She realised there were tears on her face and that she had been crying quietly for quite a few minutes now, she wondered whether he could see them from where he was sitting. In a faint, tiny voice she scarcely recognised as her own she said: “I don’t want to
die…”

The King looked at her in silence for a moment, sat back, crossed his arms and then said: “Well that is hardly the same thing, is it? … But I guess it will have to do.”

Habren hung her head.

“Have you heard of the Grey Wardens?” Habren nodded.  “Relations between the order and myself are…  Well,
not good, really, but I might be able to persuade the Head of the Denerim chapter to recruit you.  Would you want
me to do this?  It would mean that you will not be put to the scaffold in a few hours time… Of course, it might simply mean that your death is only postponed for a handful of months because you do not pass the joining.  The joining is very rigorous… Nonetheless, it is hope, of a kind, I think.”

Habren nodded again.

“But…” continued the King: “What skills do you have?... No, don’t answer that. It’s what they call a rhetorical question because I have already conducted enquiries into your background.” He started counting on his fingers: “Weapons: None.  Combat skills: None.  Magic: None. Intelligence, cunning…” He paused: “Not much.  There was something about you looking very good in velvet and being generally unkind to your subordinates, though.  And something about some missing puppies… Intriguing, but hardly entrance qualifications for a military order.  Can you cook, perhaps?  Sow?  Place a poultice on an open wound?  Comfort a dying comrade?”

Habren shook her head and then tried to say something through a very tight throat: “…traach.”

The King leaned forward: “What was that?”

“Try” said Habren swallowing hard: “I would try.”

The King got up: “Then I in turn shall try to persuade the Warden Commander of Denerim to take you.”

He was gone for about fifteen minutes, in the meantime, Habren tried to sit up but she was shaking so hard that she eventually decided that she could not do so and she remained as she was, on all fours on the cage floor. 


The King came back accompanied by large man in dark chainmail. He came over to Habren’s cage, leant on the
bars and looked down at her gravely and critically with arms crossed and soulful brown eyes.  She returned his
gaze for barely a moment and then looked away, ashamed and confused.  From his heavy features she realised he was not a human man but must belong to the race they called qunari.  She had never seen a qunari in the flesh before.

After a while, the qunari turned to the King and said formally with a lilting Orleisian accent: “Your Majesty, Alistair Theirin, I wish to exercise the Grey Warden’s historical right of conscription, and induct this convicted felon into our order.”

The King shot a glance in Habren’s direction, and shrugged: “Subject always to what we have discussed, I acquiesce.”

The qunari nodded gravely to the King and left.

The King approached her cage and squatted down on his heels to be at her level: “Habren:  in a minute they will come and let you out and then you will go with Dummond, he is a good man, as I understand it.  But before that happens I feel I should make something very clear to you, very plain.  At my request, if you pass the joining, the Wardens will take you to Orlais or perhaps even further.  The order has its see at Weisshaupt, in the Anderfels…  Habren, you died here this night.  You will never return to Ferelden again, you will sever all contact with anybody here in my kingdom. You do understand that, don’t you? Never.  Should you ever return, do not doubt for a moment that I will have you hunted down and killed.  Even if I have to do it myself, I would not hesitate an instant… I can assure you that in my time I have sent more than my fair share of mortal beings to the Fade…  You were the direct cause of my having to send a few more…  I do not take that lightly.”

With that he stood up abruptly, made to brush off his cloak, turned his eyes from her and left the chamber.

                                                                                                  ~~...~~

As was his wont whenever he visited Fort Drakon he asked to be taken up to the roof before leaving.  Something inside him was deeply satisfied to see that it was a foul and wholly unseasonable night with dark storm clouds roiling above him and a harsh, bitter wind blowing from Dragons Peak as if the faltering spring had been overtaken by winter once again.  It fit his mood.

He took the torch from the guard, relieved him of his duty and walked alone towards the black marble roundel he had had set in the roof shortly after his coronation at the spot where they had slain the Archdemon. “Here ended the fifth blight” struck him as nothing less than pretentious now, barely two years after the event.  It already seemed a very long time ago.  He sat down on the cold stone, on the spot where he should have died, and put the torch down not caring overmuch when the wind extinguished it and carried it away leaving him in darkness once again.

He remembered the Keeper’s words on the day of the funerals about two months past and wondered whether there was any consolation to be had in those beliefs.  But he was an Andrastrian which, he thought, basically meant that you had just one go, one shot and if you blew it, you blew it, your light extinguished forever.  He
wondered what Neriya believed, he had never troubled to ask her, come to think of it, he wasn’t at all sure she believed in anything transcendental whatsoever.

He thought that one day he should bring his child here.  Not with the weather like this of course, but on a nice sunny day.  He should explain to her what he, her mother and the companions had done and how they had ended the Blight.  

And then later, perhaps over her first drink, he would tell her a far more sombre tale of the other things that had happened.  A story of mistakes, shortcomings, weaknesses and disappointments.  An explanation, of sorts, of how he came to be King and how, thanks to a shameful act, he had come to live these days that, by rights, should never have been his.  He thought about that for a moment, moving his lips, trying to find the precise words. And then he asked himself why he would ever want do such a cruel thing to his own child.

 

Modifié par Maria13, 07 mai 2010 - 07:39 .

[James Guindon]

good stuff

[EnchantedEyes1]

Nicely done

[Lintanis]

James Guindon wrote...

good stuff

 Now we know what the Bioware staff do in thier breaktimes :innocent:

[SRWill64]

Alistair doesn't like to take human lives...not a surprise.

Alistair feeling all alone in this world...again...maybe that was why he was thinking of sharing with Niahm all the bad stuff, too. After all who does he have left? No wonder he feels he should have died there...

This is good stuff...it really makes me feel for Alistair....

[Gilgamesh1138]

I love this!

[Maria13]

Thanks for all your comments just above, they are much appreciated.

Modifié par Maria13, 09 mai 2010 - 05:19 .

[Maria13]

Double post.

Modifié par Maria13, 09 mai 2010 - 05:19 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 8

Dragon 9:33
Molioris/Bloomingtide[/b]

Denerim

Once she had chosen
a dress she had gone to the kitchen and asked for breakfast the cooks had been more than happy to provide her with a dish of oatcake, egg and some bacon which for want of a better place to eat she had taken up to the large bedroom.   In daylight the large bedroom looked very empty but freshly decorated as if it hadn’t been used much. 

On one side there was a burnished copper above a basin surrounded by mostly shaving materials and, thankfully, a simple bone comb, which she used.  Someone had come in to make the bed and Neriya asked her if she knew where she could get some hair ties.  The girl had looked at her a little strangely but quickly left and returned with a handful of brightly coloured ribbons.  Neriya had then began to plait her hair in tight small braids.  It was a tedious process but she was quite happy with the end result.

She then set out to look for Alistair, obviously she couldn’t ask anybody where is Alistair but she found that asking people, “Where can I find the King?”, Also got her some odd looks.  Eventually she was directed to the top floor and it was a relief when she saw Lawler stalking up and down in front of a door at the end of a passageway. She wished him good morning and he, looking relieved said: “I’m glad it fits”.

Alistair was sitting at a desk in front of a large window quietly scribbling, between several rows of bookcases.  The desk was covered with volumes, manuscripts, parchments and scrolls. He looked up as she entered.

“Oh” He said “I forgot that about you.  You chose the grey dress.” 

She stood in front of the desk and he made a motion with his hand and she lifted the hem slightly.

“And the white stockings… Of course.  Next time I’ll say to you: “Neriya you absolutely must wear the grey dress and those lovely white stockings” and you’ll turn up in blue with the red ones, won’t you? Ummm?”

“Probably…”

“Hmm.  Alternatively I could hide all your other clothes and just leave out the ones I want you to wear.”

“You really wouldn’t want to try that. Everybody was looking at me in a funny way as it was… So what are you doing here, anyway?”

“Work, that thing everybody’s always talking about but no-one actually does… Except for me… I have a meeting with IQ this afternoon and I really don’t want to be caught with my pants down…”

“But isn’t that the kind of stuff advisors should do?”

“Or councillors…” He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “Oh, I’ve just remembered, I named you my councillor two years ago…  How convenient… So do tell me, councillor, the Bight decimated agricultural production in the south and it has yet to recover fully.  We’ve had a relatively dry winter so crop yields in autumn are likely to be at their lowest in twenty
years, however our population, even accounting for the losses of the Blight, is almost a quarter higher than it was twenty years ago… How do we stop people going hungry in a few months time?”

“Uh, we buy grain from abroad…”

“But from where?”

“Orlais?”

“We’re already too dependent on them. They doubled their prices two months ago…”

“The Free Marches?”

“A fragmented nation,  we’re likely to have to conduct separate negotiations with several of the city states in order to get the amounts we need, that will be time consuming and expensive.  If we wanted cover for autumn we should have
started haggling already. We haven’t. You should also factor in necessary costs and risks of maritime transport… Oh, and did I forget to mention that the treasury is almost drained?”

“So what’s the answer?”

He opened his arms: “Well if I knew that… Why, I’d be the Great Archon and not just the humble bastard King of Ferelden…” he added: “Don’t get me wrong, advisors, councillors, egg heads and whatnots all have their place but you have to have a grasp of the basic elements of the problem in the first instance in order to be able to understand what they’re yakking on about once they get going… And even getting to grips with just that is … a heck of a lot of work” He gestured to a jug on his desk: “Cordial?”

When she shook her head he poured himself a cup some stood and turned to the window.

“There she goes… Late again…”

She went over and stood next to him: “Who?”

He gestured to a small figure in deep purple wielding a fan crossing the courtyard on the opposite side with quick nimble steps.

“Wonder what she was up to last night…  Good job I pay her by the piece and not by the hour… Crabbe’s advice.”

“So who’s that then?”

“Casildea, an Antivan painter…  You should go pay her a visit sometime, past mid morning of course. 
Tell her I want her to paint your picture…  And my bloody bathroom ceiling…”

Before she left she asked him where the real library was, the one he had boasted about.  “In the basement” He replied: “But the opposite side of the building from the bathroom and the kitchen, next to the wine cellar… And don’t skip lunch.  You need to get back here around four.  You can help me carry some of these books and stuff to the meeting room, Councillor.”

Neriya curtsied:  “It shall be as you command, Your Majesty”

“Yeah right…” He said dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Neriya found the library eventually and was stunned to see its sheer expanse, there were at least eleven interlinked chambers and only the first two appeared to be in any semblance of order.  They also contained from what she could see the most modern texts. She began her search there.

                                                                  ~~...~~

She turned up on time as ordered.  Alistair was leaning back in his chair listening quite comfortably to Crabbe who seemed to be explaining something.

“Well that’s your pile.”  He said when he saw her. It was about three books. “Crabbe’s already got his and this is mine.”

“Are you really going to use all these books?”

“Probably not but, um, these meetings always make me feel a bit uncertain and you never know what might come in useful…”

So they set off down the corridor. 

Just before they entered the room he turned to her and said:  “You know, I really do whinge a lot but sometimes these meetings can be… quite fun.”

Balancing his books in one hand, he fumbled with the doorknob with the other and pushed the door open with his thigh.

It was a long narrowish room probably intended as a meeting room for more public meetings or audiences but today there were just two plain identical highly polished black timber tables facing each other. 

Queen Anora was sitting in the centre of the table opposite and looked up when they entered.  There were two middle-aged non-descript men seated either side of her. In little over a year she had changed very little, her face was still smooth and impassive.  Its lines perhaps a little more set.  Her eyes still cold blue, her lips just so.  Apart from a few sheets of parchment there was nothing on her table whatsoever. Neriya wasn’t quite sure but it seemed that she smiled ever so slightly when she came in, she wondered whether Alistair had caught it, but by the time she had registered it Anora was looking down at the table in front of her. 

Alistair sat in the chair immediately opposite Anora, Crabbe sat to his right so Neriya took the chair on the left.

“Welcome councillor, it is good to see you looking so well.”

“Thank you” said Neriya softly.  She always felt somewhat intimidated by Anora.

“Alistair, could you do the honours, please.”

“Certainly.”  He fixed his gaze on the middle distance:  “The rules of these meetings are: One: they are not minuted. Two: all participants are encouraged to speak freely and frankly and express their views whatever their status or the
organisation they may be representing. Three: no-one but Anora and myself can act on, use or otherwise divulge the information shared at these meetings, but even if we should do so, we will not identify in any way, the speaker or for
that matter the identities of any of the attendees. Four: no one, including myself and Anora, will ever take steps either direct or indirect against anyone for expressing an opinion, providing information or sharing their views at this
meeting. Should anyone breach these rules, they will be subject to any such penalty as agreed by Anora and myself.”

Alistair turned to Neriya.  “It’s your first time, councillor, are you alright with this?  If you are not, you may excuse yourself and leave now.”

Neriya nodded: “I agree.”

“Good” Said the Queen, then picking up a parchment that lay on the table in from of her she said: “Before we start today’s discussion proper I have to announce that Grand Cleric Elemena, has expressed her concern that her representative is no longer being invited to attend these meetings on a regular basis…”

Alistair opened his hands before him: “Anora, those present, I think you know my views on this. I am an Andrastrian, if not a very good one, but in the Kingdom of Ferelden there are three officially recognised belief systems and, in all likelihood, a multitude of other religions practiced by law-abiding Fereldans that are do not have official recognition.  That being the case, I do not think it fair that we give one religion priority over the others when it comes to access to these meetings and the sovereigns…”

“Except, for the fact, Alistair” interjected Anora: “That the Chantry is the more powerful of those faiths, is followed by the majority of our citizens and has historical ties to the monarchy.”

“I take your first two points” said Alistair, “but as regards the third, I would remind you that the Chantry actively supported the thirty-year Orleisian occupation of Ferelden before my father, and your father, re-instated the Theirin line to the throne”.  He paused: “I would therefore describe any commitment they may profess to have to us as, umm, opportunistic at best...”.  Another pause: “But since I am aware of the pressing need to be diplomatic, I suggest is that we invite the Grand Cleric’s representative to a meeting with both of us sometime in the near future to allow her the opportunity to make known all her concerns to us directly and so we, in turn, can make reassuring noises in response.  Work for you Anora?”

Anora nodded and then began making a note.  

“So, Alistair, what shall we discuss today?”

“Today, Anora, I suggest we discuss… lyrium” He said leaning his elbows on the table and steepling his hands in front of him. There was a pause.

“And why lyrium?” 

“Well I don’t know, perhaps because it’s the most valuable commodity we produce in Ferelden and we’re in the middle of an economic crisis?…”

“Lyrium…” Said Anora resting her chin on her hand and looking at him. “Do tell…”

“OK, lyrium in its purest state is an abrasive substance and highly addictive. In its raw form, it will cause anything from serious injury to insanity in humans or elves, and it can kill mages outright. Even diluted in a potion as used by templars or mages it retains its addictive properties… Which might be something to discuss in future meetings…” He paused: “But  what I would like to focus on today is its value… I started by saying that it was produced in our Kingdom but of course, it is more accurate to say that all lyrium has its source in the Dwarven realms and, above ground, is monopolised by the Chantry.  However, that is not the whole story, considerable amounts of lyrium are being traded outside of this closed shop, possibly as much as 20%, perhaps even more, on the black market…”

“What’s your source for this information, Alistair?” Anora interrupted.

“Well, there are my, our, own personal observations, which stem from our four-month sojourn in Orzammar, about two years ago and which I am sure the Councillor here can vouch for, right Neriya?” Neriya nodded feeling vaguely embarrassed. 

“But apart from that the most reliable source as a starting point has to be the relevant chapters of Brother Genitivi’s “In Pursuit of Knowledge the Travels of a Chantry Scholar”… Here you are”, He  held up a book bound in blue cloth:  “A signed edition.  Now, as you are aware, Neriya and I know Genitivi.  He lives just around the corner.  You could say he owes us one, Neriya and I, I mean, or a few… Anyways, about six months ago I went round to his place and we went out for some beers…  He’s a good type, even though he’s a Chantry brother, I won’t bore those present with the rest of what we did that evening…” 

“Please don’t, Alistair.  Your extra-curricular activities must be well-known to all those around the table.” She glanced at Neriya. Neriya kept her expression blank: “Indeed I wouldn’t be surprised if even the illiterate Chasind were familiar with not a few of them or even shared them…”

“No such thing as bad publicity, Anora… Anyway, as I was saying, I asked him if he could recommend someone who had more than a passing familiarity with Dwarven culture and customs who either was already in Orzammar or who would be happy to travel to Orzammar and keep his or her eyes and ears open…  So he gave me a name, which I checked with the able assistance of Crabbe here, and, well, you’ll recall a few months ago I suggested that we appoint someone to do just that in Orz, to be some sort of commercial attaché, and it was approved at one of these meetings… After he’d settled in I sent him some questions… and got a reply last week.  Now, where… Oh yeah, here it is…”  He pulled out a letter, from between the pages of one of Crabbe’s books and handed it to Anora.

She took it holding it almost disdainfully between her thumb and forefinger and quickly skimmed it.  “Can I…?”

“No, I’d like it back, but I can get you a copy in a few days…  Thank you.”

“So what exactly are you proposing here?”

Alistair leaned back and took a deep breath: “Basically, stricter enforcement.  We attempt to clamp down on
all illicit lyrium trading in Ferelden. We step up security around Orz, catch as many of these miscreants as we can. 
Use the most able of them for our own ends… Perhaps… The upshot being that we make positive use of all the lyrium we manage to confiscate as a result…”

“Speak more plainly.” Said the man to Anora’s left.

Alistair leaned forward: “We trade it directly for grain.” 


The adviser sitting to the Queen’s right suddenly stopped staring blankly at the table looked up at Alistair with an expression of faint amusement.  Alistair pretended not to notice.

“With whom?” Asked Anora.

“With whomever wants lyrium and has grain to offer in exchange… which should be more than half of the sovereign states in Thedas.  I’m sure your advisors could rustle up a few candidates if they had to…”

“How would you defend this course of action?” Asked the man to the left.

“We are enforcing the law, we will actually be doing what we should be doing, but more thoroughly.  We are removing lyrium from the black market and preventing the funds generated by smuggling from being used to finance further criminal activity or foisting further addiction among our populace.  We are penalising those involved… Well some of them, anyway.”

The left man nodded.

There was silence for a few moments:  “Well this is probably one of the most imaginative proposals you have ever brought to this meeting, Alistair, that may be saying something… It’s attractive, I’ll grant you that, even if it’s slightly… grubby.”   Neriya got the distinct impression that Anora’s remark was supposed to have further implications.

Alistair seemed unfazed: “My dear… Desperate times require desperate remedies… We will be using the lyrium confiscated for the good of Ferelden. We need to do something.  Our granaries are running short and not likely to be filled by this year’s harvest.  Orlais has us by the short and curlies.  Our currency is in the toilet because we have exhausted most of our credit lines.  I say it’s a win-win…”

“And what will you need to do this? Am I right in assuming that this is something you would like to oversee personally?”

“You are.  I would need to recruit a few platoons, say two, of well-motivated troops and train them and some, ummm, back-room staff, pen pushers, bureaucrats…  You know.  I would hope that within a few months the whole operation would begin to pay for itself but start up funds are needed.”

“A moment to confer?”

Alistair shrugged: “Of course.”

As Anora huddled up with her advisers, Alistair leaned towards Neriya and whispered, “Guy on the right treasurer, on the left, her mouthpiece.”

Anora sat up. “We’ve reached a decision, you can have enough funding for a platoon and a half from the general treasury, for this project of yours.  If you need more, you will have to find it yourself.”

“Thank you.  Well I shall start to put some arrangements in hand from this end…” Suddenly Neriya felt Alistair’s foot nudge against hers under the table and then press gently down on it.  She looked at him hoping she was not being
too obvious, he continued impervious: “In a few weeks time, the counsellor and I will travel to Orzammar to
finalise things there… If you are agreeable…” 


“I have no objection.”

“Thank you.”

“Meeting …”

“Hang on” said Alistair “There is one final matter… There was an incident yesterday at the gates…”

“Oh?” replied Anora: “My understanding was that the councillor threatened to send one of our guards to the Fade…”

“Not quite, apparently that was only after he told her to: “get back to the bloody alienage” and “****** off to the tower”…”

“Alistair, this is clearly a disciplinary matter for Captain Kaylon to deal with, I don’t know why...”

“Anora, my dearest…Captain Kaylon continues to complain to me about the quality of the recruits he is forced to work with… And he is right, he is given dross and expected to spin it into gold. Now, if we could open up the recruitment of palace guardsmen to all social classes and not just those from privileged backgrounds we might begin to see some improvement…”

“Alistair, you are on your old hobby horse again…”

“Anora, I make these points repeatedly because I believe they are still relevant and nothing is being done to address them…”

“Are you quite finished?”

He sighed: “I guess so…”

“Meeting adjourned, then” Said Anora, rising.  Before she turned to leave she looked at Neriya and said: “Councillor, would you be happy to dine with me some evening in the next few weeks?”

“Yes of course…” said Neriya.

“I shall send word then, Alistair…” Anora bowed her head slightly, Alistair did likewise and she left the chamber with her advisors. 

Alistair began to collect the books and papers without making eye contact with Neriya, even when he handed her her three books to carry back.  They made their way back to the study in silence. Once they arrived there Crabbe, who had obviously picked up on the tension between them, made his excuses quickly and left.

 “What was that?”

“A meeting… about lyrium, if I recall correctly…”

“Oh, don’t you play the funny with me, Alistair…  You know what I mean…”

“I merely said you would come with me to Orzammar in a few weeks time, what is the problem with that?”

“You didn’t ask ME!”

“Here, have some cordial…” He said, pouring her a cup and handing it to her, as if he hadn’t heard her. 

Taken aback she reached out for it without thinking… and almost immediately realised she was holding it: “Here, have your cordial back!” she said splashing it all over him: “… And your bloody cup too!…” She aimed for his face but he ducked.  The cup hit the windowsill, bounced off and then hit the floor shattering into several pieces.

“Lethal…” Said Alistair and began to laugh, wiping cordial off his face.  “You look great when you’re pissed off…”

“Why…”

“Always good to let off a bit of steam…”

“ARRRG, I am not playing this game with you anymore… I am…”

With a turn of speed she didn’t recall him having he moved to put himself between her and the door.

“No, no, no, no…  You don’t get to leave.  Not right now, anyway.  Hear me out. I told you this morning we had to finish our discussion.  I admit I wanted to postpone it, for a few days, a few weeks, perhaps a few decades…  I can see that is not going to happen, now, it is? There are things between us we need to address and we’ll be tussling and at each other’s throats until we have it out… Here’s what I propose then, this evening. Eight.  Over supper. No alcohol.  No lovemaking.  In turns, bit like the meeting just now… But a tad more amicable. What do you think?”

She nodded.

“Now easy does it.  Yikes… Relax your jaw…” He said touching it gently with the tip of his index finger: “I know you could turn me into a pathetic piece of toast any day you wanted to… So I am very carefully getting out of your way now.   I am going to go fight with Lawler.  Helps me think. You do whatever helps you think and we have an appointment at eight.  OK?”

“Yes.” She said drawing breath at last: “I think we both need to work out where this went wrong…”

 

Modifié par Maria13, 12 mai 2010 - 06:05 .