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[Esbatty]

Babies! *claps*

...

Rous: Now look here, I said 'no'. I don't want to be carried to the bedroom and have my back rubbed. I said I wanted Nug Jerky, and I want it now.
Alistair: I'll have someone head to Orzammar in the morning.
Rous: *stares*
Alistair: *sighs* I'll take two horses in case one of them tires on my way to the Frostbacks.
Rous: And bring me flowers, too... but not because I told you to but because you WANT to bring me some flowers.
Alistair: But I do want to bring you some.
Rous: Less talking, Theirin.
Alistair: Love you too.

[Maria13]

@ Esbat, like the dialogue, can I use it? Have you been in that situation? It sounds pretty convincing to me!

[Esbatty]

Maria13 wrote...

@ Esbat, like the dialogue, can I use it? Have you been in that situation? It sounds pretty convincing to me!

Yes, its yours to do with as you wish, M!

And no I've never been in that situation, I'm quite single and childless, but I remember when my parents had my baby sister later when I was kid. Mom was... unreasonable, to put it lightly. Luckily that year one of the convenience stores in our town had become Open 24 hours a day so Dad was able to get her her jerky rather quickly. As you can see Alistair is not that lucky, lol.

[Maria13]

Childless here also. But reminds me of something my dad used to say about those movies when the guy comes home and says "Oh darling!" because she's knitting babyclothes and he realises she's pregnant: well dad would say, "that's a pile of rubbish! I always knew when your mother was pregnant before even she did because she used to go into a stinking mood..." Such are the travails of men...

[Esbatty]

LOL, what Men endure for the light of their lives.

[Maria13]

But it does work both ways you know... My dad, much as I adored him, was no easy character.

[Esbatty]

Maria13 wrote...

But it does work both ways you know... My dad, much as I adored him, was no easy character.

I can imagine. But, no one is perfect, but there is always someone outthere willing to tolerate us.

[Maria13]

Chapter 66

Dragon 9:35 Molioris/Bloomingtide Denerim [Present]

Alistair had to admit to himself that he had put off this meeting. For more than three days. In the end it had been Rous, who insisted he get it over and done with.

"You'll feel much better afterwards," she had said, "you'll see."

"I'll see, if I'm not dead." He'd replied. "She's not her father's daughter for nothing you know."

"But you killed an arch Demon Alistair, surely this is insignificant compared to that?"

"And I would rather do that all bloody over again than have this meeting."

Anora kept him waiting some twenty minutes. He wondered whether she had learned that trick from the Grand Cleric or had it been the other way round?

When he eventually got into her meeting chamber, he slid into a chair, almost hoping that she hadn't seen him, tugging at his surcoat because it suddenly felt really short.

Anora was standing where he usually stood, with her back to him looking out of the window, arms folded over her breasts. She was dressed in a dowdy shade of grey and her golden hair was pulled back almost painfully tight from her forehead.

"Alistair."

"Good morning Anora."

Even though he couldn't see her face, he definitely felt her scowl; it was as if the room suddenly got colder.

"Make it quick, damn you."

He took a deep breath.

"Theirins, you're all the same." She said, turning around, her face was even stonier than usual.

"Anora…"

"I will not go quietly, you may win, eventually. But I'll fight you to the last." She snapped.

"I would hardly expect anything less." Said Alistair, "but you might not need to; it would be a sorry waste of effort."

He let that sink in. "Well?" She said, eventually.

"I am not… I do not intend to succumb to the Grand Cleric's suggestion that I should divorce you or seek to have our marriage declared null and void… Whatever."

"Oh?" He could see her previous determination wavering somewhat, there seemed to be a slight tic at the left corner of her tightly pressed lips.

"As you may be aware, I would prefer not to be in anybody's thrall, but I would much rather be in your debt then in the Chantry's, and I would much rather make an alliance with you than with them."

Anora smiled sourly, "so I am the lesser of two evils. I'm almost disappointed."

Alistair cleared his throat, "I have never considered you to be evil, Anora. Inconvenient, domineering, damn stubborn, yes. But not evil."

"Do you trust me?" she challenged him.

Alistair pulled at his surcoat again, "You know, after four years, I still can't say." He said uncertainly, "You're a bit of a mystery to me, Anora, but I don't think you're evil."

"So we are to continue as before, then?"

"Insofar as we can, my suggestion is that we do."

"Perhaps we should take our relationship a step further?" There was a mocking tone to these words.

"Do you really want to?"

Anora shrugged.

"Last time we tried that it was such a mess… I couldn't get it up, you were sick… Do you really want to try that again? Because I certainly don't." He paused, "I just wish the relationship between us could be, 'normal'. That I could treat you as you are, as my widowed sister-in-law."

"Except that I am Queen to your King."

"In public, yes, but it's a different thing in private…"

"And you wish to keep things as they are?"

"Yes, basically... Except…"

"Oh, so there is a rub… A price I will have to pay."

"It's nothing that you haven't tolerated before," as he said this, Alistair realised just how much he sounded like the Grand Cleric, "I…"

"By the Maker, get to it Alistair!"

"I wish to take a mistress." Said Alistair going quickly red.

"I see." Anora spun on her heels to face the window again, "go ahead, who is this bint, anyone I know?"

"Unfortunately… Yes. Rosaura Cousland." He said in a rush.

Anora audibly sucked in air between her teeth, it was an unnerving sound. "That ****."

"I guess I should say that if she met with your approval, I would be worried. Since she doesn't…"

"Fool, the Couslands make everyone their puppets."

"Is that why your father had them all killed, even Fergus's child?"

"It wasn't father, it was Howe!"

A sore point, obviously, she had never shouted at him before. Two mottled spots had appeared at the centre of her cheeks.

"Look, I didn't mean to upset you," he said, "well, I did just then but…"

"Go away, Alistair. Go crawl back into the hole where you came from." She said in a very quiet voice.

He stood up, straightened his surcoat. "No. Not quite yet. There is one more thing to say…"

"Well, say it and be damned."

"This agreement between us… If you… Should you ever… Need company. I won't object, how could I?"

"As always, you're assuming I'm both as weak and as low as you are. Well I'm not. Not that I need your permission to do anything, anyway."

"It's not weakness, Anora it's… I'm not going to bother to explain it to you. I don't think you'd understand somehow. Take care; I'll probably see you tomorrow."

She held herself a little more stiffly.

"I didn't want this conversation to end like this…" He said mournfully, he put a hand on her arm, she went to shrug it off but didn't quite. "Now that didn't hurt did it?" He said.

"You should go." Her voice was slightly feebler than before.

"Very well."

                                                                                                  ~...~


A brisk salty breeze was coming from the East, it made the ships' riggings creak and the waves of the Waking Sea a little choppy. Grain was being unloaded from one of the vessels and the buffeting of loose cereal husks from that cargo added a slightly sharper edge to the wind's usual sting.

"Beautiful view, isn't it, Oswyn?" Said Fergus, "on a clear day standing right here you can just about catch a glimpse of the black cliffs of Kirkwall. I used to come here very often with Oriana; she swore she could catch a whiff of Antiva on that breeze… Little Oren found it fascinating. One of his favourite gifts was a miniature model of a Fereldan ship that I gave him on his sixth nameday…"

Oswyn nodded, he shifted his posture in an attempt to adapt to the stiffness he felt in his upper legs and lower back. They had both ridden here from Denerim on horses loaned to them by Alistair. Fergus had given Oswyn (and Lawler) a few lessons before they'd left, the rest Oswyn had had to learn on the hoof, as it were. Despite his numerous protestations to the effect that Rous was a better teacher because she was more patient; Fergus had a no-nonsense practical manner about him that both of the other men quickly grew to appreciate.

Fergus let loose a bark of laughter noting Oswyn's discomfort, "Oh horses, how I missed those bloody things! Once upon a time there were horses everywhere in this country. I still remember it… And then they just… Disappeared and then we had the Blight and, well, you know the rest, it all went to buggery. Anyway, we'll be getting our own horses soon, straight from Antiva."

"Well, Fergus, thank you for your patience."

"The riding lessons? My pleasure. Nothing I enjoy more than inflicting further suffering on my fellow man. Tightens up the buttocks, too, the ladies like that. Bet that's one of the reasons why my sister taught Alistair. Practical woman, Rosy." Fergus laughed again, "speaking of which, your idea of getting me in with our young King, is burying me up to my neck in his foolhardy, harebrained schemes, for which, I'm sure, you think I should thank you…"

Oswyn glanced at him briefly and attempted to stretch his back using his stick. "We aim to please." He replied mildly. There was a middle-sized bundle at his feet.

"Spoken like a true drudge." Remarked Fergus. "Well, if you thought horse riding was tough you're about to discover sailing. Piece of advice: when you throw up, try to make sure your head is over the side of the ship, it's bad form to vomit on the deck, you know, it sloshes all over the place and people don't like it."

Oswyn was due to escort the lyrium to Kirkwall and to stay there for a few months following up potential contacts and hoping to set up the beginnings of a stable trading network before his return.

"I'll try to remember that Fergus."

"And when you get to the Free Marches make sure those Free Marchers don't diddle you, because otherwise all your suffering would have been in vain… And we don't want that now, do we? Our young King Alistair would be most disappointed."

Oswyn smiled grimly. "As you say."

Fergus took a few wide strides towards the hull of the 'Fair Chance'.

"You," he yelled towards the deck putting both hands around his mouth, "get that bloody pounce you call the captain and tell him the Teyrn of Highever wants some words. Quick now, lad."

Some five minutes later a dark-complexioned and unnervingly young man wearing more jewellery on his face, head and around his neck than many of the ladies of the night Oswyn had seen in Denerim, leaned over the handrail of the xebec.

"Fergus, corazón, how can this humble captain assist the noblísimo Teyrn of Highever? "

"Ramiro, you dog, there is still a gallows in Highever town centre with your name on it… Take care of young Oswyn here," said Fergus, thumping Oswyn on the back making him grimace. "Otherwise the next time I see you in my port, mark my words, I'll use you to decorate the bloody thing. Very pretty you'd look on it, too."

Ramiro raised two finally plucked dark eyebrows and looked Oswyn over, "He is such a charmer, your friend Teyrn Fergus, no doubt you will miss him… It is also hard to believe that a grand lady from Antiva deigned to marry such a barbarian. But, in any event, I assure you, I and my crew and will do our utmost to make your passage most agreeable." He said in a beguilingly confusing Antivan Rivaini accent.

"Make sure you do, Ramiro and no hanky-panky… I know your tricks." Said Fergus darkly.

"Humph," said Captain Ramiro crossing his arms over his chest and looking mortally offended.

"He's alright, really, Ramiro. Fancies women too, despite appearances." Fergus whispered to Oswyn.

Oswyn smiled in response and bent down to pick up the bundle.

Suddenly, Fergus looked confused and taken aback. "Oswyn..." He muttered and then trailed off. Then he launched himself at him, there was no other word to describe it, and enfolded him a fierce embrace.

Oswyn almost lost his balance... Eventually since the bear hug seemed to be lasting a fair while he said delicately, "I'll miss you too, Fergus."

That seemed to wake Fergus up and abruptly turning his back on Oswyn and wrapping his cape a little tighter around himself he said gruffly, "Make sure you come back, Oswyn," He added, "I just got used to drinking with you, and it'll be hard to drink alone again."

                                                                                                                      ~...~

It was about mid morning and Rous was enjoying a quiet, soothing bath following a hectic few nights in a large wooden tub she has asked to be placed in Alistair's chambers. It had been made for her by a local cooper whom she had asked for a large barrel without a top, similar to one she had made for her in Highever. At first that had caused the good Denerim craftsmen some perplexity but they soon got into the swing of it once they got going and the cooper had even decided to make another for his wife who had expressed some envy.

Sometimes she shared the tub with Alistair and things would get a little splashy.

She was just happily drifting off with a warm flannel draped over her forehead when the bedroom door burst abruptly open.

Rous jumped and woke up at the same time, peeping indignantly over the tub's edge she found herself glaring at Alistair. The first thing that occurred to her was that he must have suddenly taken ill, because he looked pale and shaky; he would usually be hard at work at this time of the day, going through correspondence, indeed, now that this thought had come to mind, she saw he was carrying, or rather clenching, a letter in his right fist.

"I'm, I'm sorry... Rous..." he stuttered, sounding utterly unfocussed. "Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering… Could you read me this letter?"

Her surprise must have shown on her face. "It might be an important letter, but… If you don't read it to me, I'm not sure I could myself..." He trailed off.

"Of course," said Rous, clambering on to the seat on which she had been sitting inside the tub. "Could you get me a towel?" Alistair went to the rack by the fire and pulled the item in question off it. After stepping over the tub's edge, Rous began descending the little ladder outside it and then slipped into the wooden clogs waiting for her at its foot.

"You are so beautiful…" Said Alistair, draping her carefully in the warmed towel. At moments like this when he said things so spontaneously and with so much feeling, Rous could almost forget the ugly scar she felt disfigured her right breast and with it her whole body. Almost.

After drying herself quickly she wrapped the towel around her tucking it in under her left armpit. Then she removed the smaller towel from the rack and wrapped that around her long, wet hair.

He watched to do this in silence then he handed her the letter. It had a grey seal with a Gryphon on it and was addressed to him in a very elegant cursive script.

She went towards the curtains and tugged them open. "Are you sure you want me to read this?" She asked, turning it over in her hands.

"Yes, I am."

"Why…?"

"I think I recognise the handwriting." Rous looked at him interrogatively.

He was standing next to her now, but he looked away. "I think it's from Neriya."

For a few seconds Rous gazed at him stunned.

"I may be wrong, but…" He said hesitantly.

Rous's jaw clenched somewhat, "I thought she was dead..."

"That's what I was told, but I also said..."

"That you didn't quite believe it..." Rous finished, "well, let's see shall we?"

She cracked the wax seal in front of him.

Once she had unfolded the vellum, she scanned through the beautiful handwriting at great speed getting to the end and to the signature there. Her mouth went really dry. She turned towards Alistair holding out the frail piece of vellum in trembling hands. He looked at the signature which unmistakably said, 'Neriya Surana ', licked his lips, bowed his head and closed his eyes in silence for a long, long moment.

Then, opening them again, he embraced her tightly, pulling her against his chest, "This will change nothing between us, Cosy, nothing."

"Do you still want me to…?"

"Yes." He said with quiet determination.

She cleared her throat, "'Dear Alistair," She began, "I really hope this letter finds you in a better frame of mind than when we last saw each other." Standing next to her, Alistair snorted, Rous glanced at him, he smiled falteringly, though misty eyed. "I must begin by apologising both to you and our daughter…'

There followed several other sentences both apologetic and mollifying in nature. Then Neriya began describing the birth of her and Alistair's child.

"'… Finally, they were obliged to summon the kind of practitioner who is described as a chirurgien here. After inducing me to drink some alcohol, this good gentleman then proceeded to slice open my stomach and extract the baby…' Andraste have mercy!" Exclaimed Rous paling and lowering the sheet.

She looked at Alistair, he was running his hand through his hair, his eyes were red and swollen. "I have heard of such things…" He said faintly, "but…"

"I have only heard of such a thing when the mother is—" Said Rous.

"Carry on, please," rasped Alistair.

"'… Apparently, after Monsieur Younis had sewed me back up, my heart stopped beating. One of those in attendance upon me used a technique long known to the Dalish and managed to revive me. Alistair, I owe M Younis and him my life.'"

Neriya then went on to explain her physical pain, confusion and mental torment following the traumatic birth and described the emotional numbness she felt in her little girl's presence and how her many attempts at breastfeeding all failed.

"I am not sure I should be reading such things," said Rous. She felt overwhelmed and also little unclean for having trespassed so far into someone else's deepest and most intimate feelings.

"I know, love…" Said Alistair, "but… Please continue."

Neriya then went on to explain how she met up with Zevran Airani and arranged for him to deliver the baby girl to Alistair. Again, all this was hemmed round with expressions of profuse regret.

By this time, Alistair was muttering to himself and shaking his head. "I just about understand why she did what she did, now."

There followed a few paragraphs in which Neriya described her subsequent activities within the Grey Wardens in Orlais. Both Rous and Alistair relaxed somewhat.

Then Neriya began to relate her meeting with Morrigan. At that point, Alistair gestured to Rous to hand him the letter and identify the paragraphs in question. She did so, and he read them for himself several times over.

Alistair shook his head in disbelief, "I have a son... A son..." He whispered.

He read on. "****." He said quietly, his grip tightening on the letter pulling the vellum taut, and then, "****... ****... ****, ****, ****, so my son is with Flemeth, Flemeth!" He shouted. He dropped the letter.

"Alistair..." said Rous.

"Oh Maker assist the poor child! He's probably dead, then… Or worse, than dead." He looked utterly shattered.

"Alistair... Who is Flemeth? Explain..." said Rous bending down to pick up the letter.

In a voice that was both cold and distant he told her everything he knew about the Witch of the Wilds.

[Esbatty]

Oh snap! Flemeth... I can only imagine a Maria penned Flemeth. *giddy*

[Addai]

So, I wonder... is Alistair really in love with Rous or is it one of his things where he thinks he is (since he loves the one he's with)? I'm going to be very mad at him if he can dismiss the mother of his current child so easily in order to have an heir. Not that Neriya didn't run off on him and stuff.

[Maria13]

Chapter 67

Dragon 9:35           Molioris/Bloomingtide          Denerim         [Present]

The taverner of the Fox and Mabaris wasn't quite sure about his latest guests. They had asked to be seated in a discreet area and the serving wench had complied. Since she was rather new and he didn't trust her very much, to her annoyance, he had stolen a look at them. This was the source of his confusion because although the man looked damned familiar, he was still somewhat uncertain.

His guests who already seemed to be in high spirits when they'd arrived, had asked for two tankards of the house ale, which was brewed following a secret recipe invented by his grandfather a rather stolid man whose portrait in oils was on the tavern's wall behind the bar.

The man seemed to be a soldier, which of course, the man whom the taverner suspected he actually might be was, and he also appeared to be telling the typical tall soldier's tale to the rather attractive redhead who was sitting with him. He had removed his cape and his surcoat almost as soon as he'd entered and they were draped over the back of his chair and so he was sitting just in his shirt, a very fine shirt with ruffles, further evidence in the taverner opinion that he was already well on his way to peak inebriation.

She, surprisingly enough, was dressed in a similar manner, but had just cast off her cape and only loosened her surcoat.

Every now and then, since the discreet tables were situated near the bar, the taverner could catch some fragments of their conversation, especially since the man was talking particularly loudly.

"… And there I was, having just piddled against the cavern wall shaking off my thingamajig when I felt this pain, sting like, on my right thigh… Lo and behold, I look down…"

The taverner was momentarily distracted while he served another customer.

He looked over once he'd finished and discovered the man had gestured for a refill. The servant girl was already jostling two fresh tankards under the tap. Once she had filled them the taverner gently removed them from her and took them over to the table himself. The blond soldier had resumed his story.

"Next thing I know, that sweet old bronto, Mabye, is leading the grey warden charge with the dwarves running behind her trying to keep up. Amazing creature seems to have taken a personal interest in me and my welfare. You have no idea how much the dwarves teased me about that... "

The redhead laughed as the taverner approached, "I can well imagine."

Unlike the soldier's her accent was pretty cut glass, thought the taverner.

"First time to my knowledge that a bronto has ever led a Grey Warden charge, darkspawn didn't know what'd hit them..."

He smiled beguilingly at the taverner as he placed his drink in front of him and removed the used tankards. Dour though he was by nature, the taverner couldn't avoid smiling back. From the radiant unconsciously seductive smile he was now certain that indeed it was HIM. The taverner was unsurprised to find that the lady's tankard was only half empty, this was often the case, but he removed it, as was his usual habit, without comment.

"... and there I was clinging to the wall with an arrow stuck in me missing all the bloody fun... As Dolgan said later, it could've been worse, could've taken my balls: plunged all the ladies of Ferelden into deep mourning overnight..." He laughed as much at himself as anything.

The redhead raised the tankard, "Cheers... to your dick and balls, forever together and intact."

"Cheers to that."

"Maker give them strength."

"Yep."

It was a sign of how far gone he was that he managed to slosh a considerable amount of ale on the table and didn't even notice. From the bar the serving girl who did, scowled.

                                                                                       ~...~

After they both drank, Alistair leaned forward, and said in what was supposed to be a whisper into her ear, "Rous, let's take a room."

Rous demurred.

"Ah-uh," said Alistair, wagging a large finger in her face, "you said earlier, when you prised me off of Lawler while we were sparring, that you would be willing to come along with me and do with me what I usually did on occasions like this."

"Ali—."

"I was straight with you, Cosy, I told you it involved drinking, a lot of drinking, and then having some fun and I spelt out exactly what that meant, in case you didn't know. And now you're backing out, that's not right, not right at all… I'm even making things easy for you, from what I remember the rooms in this place and not too bad."

"But we're barely half a mile from the Palace…"

"I know what you're worrying about," he said, winking at her, "change of undies, isn't it? Well, if that's what's troubling you, I can always leave you here tomorrow morning and send Lawler along with some fresh smallclothes, how about it?"

"That's even worse." She sniped.

"Women," he said, leaning back, "never happy, never keep their word…"

Rous suddenly leaned forward, grabbed the amulet around his neck and tugged him towards her aying between her teeth. "That's unfair and you know it."

Alistair just grinned at her. "'A Cousland always does her duty'" He recited, "As I said, I'm making it easy for you, Cosy; we passed a few decent alleys on our way here."

"Very well, Theirin," she said, releasing him, "do your worst, I'll get my own back soon enough, you'll see."

"Spoken like a true lady," Smiling at her, he got up from his chair, chucked her over the cheek, and ambled towards the bar with a proud swagger.

                                                                               ~...~

As they were going up to the room, he said, "I'll show you that scar."

"I've already seen it, Alistair. Multiple times."

"But you'll see it in a fresh light now, Cosy. With a greater appreciation for my suffering."

Rous harrumphed. "What's with the 'Cosy', anyway?"

"Rosy, Cosy, 'nothing better than being a Cousland.'" He replied disjointedly but somehow making perfect sense.

"It makes me feel old, like I'm your mother..." She complained.

"You are two years older than me." He remarked, before she could reply, he turned around to face her and held up a hand in a gesture of peace. "Not that I care... and I never met my mother." He added suddenly solemn with the instantaneous mood transition from merriment to mawkishness those who are drunk often show.

There was that.

Their lovemaking was intense, after sitting on his lap and lots of kissing, somehow she had ended up with one of her legs over his shoulder while he'd held her wrists above her head...When he came he'd released her, rolled over next to her and began to sob very quietly.

She'd been called worse than Cosy, she thought, and as she cradled him. Nevertheless she still felt obliged to make him promise on his honour before they fell asleep, that he would never, ever, call her that in front of anyone else... Especially Fergus.

                                                                                                   ~...~             

When Rous awoke the next morning she was sprawled across the bed, Alistair was moving about the room, picking up his clothes which were scattered hither and thither. He'd already put his shirt and his small clothes on. He was just stepping into his breeches. He smiled at her, he looked pale, but better this morning than since when he had first come to her with that letter the previous day.

"I think I'm going see Niamh… I should've visited her before now. And tell her, and Bregeth of course, that momma still lives. Even though she won't understand a word I say, and she hardly knows momma anyway."

He sat on the edge of the bed to begin pulling on his boots. Rous in her turn sat up against the headboard with the sheet over her breasts. He was right. This room wasn't so bad after all.

"That's a hell of a way to deal with a problem Alistair." She commented.

"It's a hell of a problem, what would you suggest?" He replied without turning round.

She didn't answer directly, "I've decided I'm going to repair that Chantry in Lothering."

He caught her inference straightaway, "Well, good for you, Cosy. Don't forget, I built that monument to Duncan in Highever, and also persuaded Anora to come visit Ostagar with me. Those are all constructive things, but you know what? They're not enough in as of themselves to help get over things, not for me, anyways, there's even now plenty of room left for, sparring, drinking, fornicating, and... Crying."

He was brusque this morning, she noted, residual shame perhaps?

Rous exhaled she decided to risk it anyway. "Do you still love Neriya?"

For a moment, he froze in what he was doing. "That's some question to ask me first thing in the morning…"

"And?"

"Of course I do. And I love you, too." He resumed putting on his boots, "but people make choices, she left me, Cosy. Not once but twice. No one forced her to do that. When she discovered she was pregnant, did she tell me? Did she come back? Even if she wanted no more relationship, I would have respected that and still would have looked after her, taken care of the child. She knew that. Never even gave me the chance. She made those choices. They can't be undone, now. No going back." He paused, "So would I leave you for her if she begged me to? It's very unlikely that she ever will, but Grey Warden Fiona's child isn't completely stupid, you know. So no. And you're going to have to be happy with that."

He sighed, got to his feet, "Shall I ask the innkeeper to send you something up for breakfast? I'm sure Bregeth will fix me some porridge, though she'll moan about it, like she usually does."

"Thank you," said Rous, "I am hungry, this morning."

"Not surprised." Alistair bent over and kissed her on the forehead, re-arranged the sheets so they covered more of her breasts, then he picked up his surcoat and cloak. "Fine. I'll see you later. And thanks for keeping me company last night, I really enjoyed it, made the whole pointless exercise more fulfilling than it usually is. I am well aware how obnoxious I can be when I'm in that kind of mood..."

                                                                                              ~...~

Dragon 9:35           Ferventis/Justinian          Denerim         [Present]
Slightly less than a month later, Alistair was standing at the back of the joining chamber in the grey warden headquarters at Denerim between two other Orlesian grey wardens. Before his departure for Kirkwall, Oswyn, was as good as his word and had secured a longer leash from the Grand Cleric. It would expire in a few days' time.

A young Orlesian warden had just finished reciting the joining chant and the joining proper was about to begin. Alistair glanced over at Dummond who clad almost in full armour, with a grave demeanour, was about to summon the first candidate to the altar.

Alistair had soon determined that if he were to stand half a chance in tackling Flemeth he would need the wardens' assistance. It was a good thing, then, that there had been a recent thaw in his relationship with the order. He had always been friendly with Dummond, and again, this was helpful.

Prior to the joining they had talked and Alistair had asked him if it were possible for him to meet with Du Plessis, the Orlesian Warden Commander. Dummond had been unexpectedly receptive and had informed him that Du Plessis had more than once expressed an interest in meeting the grey warden King of Ferelden in person. So in the next few days Alistair planned to pen a personal invitation informing him that he would be more than welcome to visit Denerim.

Dummond had offered Alistair, the role of reciting the joining chant, but he had politely refused. He had told his friend that although he was not ashamed of being a grey warden he did not currently think it was politic to emphasise the fact that he was. Moreover, he had pointed out that since he would be the only native Fereldan present he might be better used to welcome the new members who survived the joining to the order.

In the event, he ended up with two of them leaning on his shoulders while he patted them on the back, almost reduced to tears by the fate of their mutual friend, the unlucky one, who lay dead at their feet.

Overall, he guessed this first joining in Ferelden for some time did not go so badly. Of the seven candidates, only two died, but he was far more affected by their fate than he would ever care to admit. Proof positive, he thought, of the fact that time does not always necessarily harden you.

Later he took the five new wardens for a drink to the Fox and Mabaris, they would soon be departing for Orzammar and, according to the latest reports, the situation there was no less grave that it had been a few months ago.

He drank only moderately but was happy to pay for a generous amount of rounds. He took some time to openly and thoughtfully reply to their questions about being a warden and the dwarven kingdom. He silently asked the Maker and even the paragons to look over them and, before departing, wished each of them luck.

The lads would definitely need it.

                                                                                  ~...~

Dragon 9:35          Ferventis/Justinian          Kirkwall, Free Marches         [Present]
Oswyn was enjoying his stay in Kirkwall, though it had turned out to be quite different from what he'd expected. Yes, the culture was somewhat alien, everything was more luxurious and somehow more flamboyant, the buildings, clothes, attitudes at least in High Town, and the weather was definitely better.

However, there were far more Fereldans here than he had expected, it was not unusual to hear his mother tongue spoken in almost every street of the Gallows, Low Town and Dark Town. But his compatriots were downtrodden and so were not much use as contacts, despite being very hospitable. Most of them seemed almost religiously devout to King Alistair, since, in their view, he was the Blight Queller and they, for the most part, had been forced to flee Ferelden because of the Blight. Despite that, though, he noted some reluctance in them to return. Some cited the bad weather, but most the fact that in all likelihood they had lost everything, so there was, in effect, nothing for them to return to.

As for the elves, their status was pretty much the same as what it was in Ferelden, the Kirkwall alienage being no better or worse than Denerim's or Highever's, with the exception, of course, of those who were mages, in which case they partook of the general scorn and distrust suffered by all mages in Kirkwall.

The Templars and the Chantry, on the other hand, were unnervingly omnipresent and powerful, which made Oswyn quite uncomfortable. He wondered what his fate would be in Kirkwall if he openly proclaimed himself to be a nonbeliever.

His most bracing discovery, however, was that he had been well served by his time in Orzammar, as dwarven exiles were fairly powerful and well-organised in the vibrant Kirkwallian underworld. In particular, he had met two brothers, Bertrand and Varric Tethras, whom he thought had the potential to be become fairly useful and reliable partners in the lyrium trade. As dwarves, of course, they knew lyrium inside out and as canny movers and shakers they knew the setup of Kirkwallian society inside and out, too, especially the inside part.

He had invited them out to a local tavern in the dwarven quarter where they had dined on nug and he had regaled them with tales of his stay in Orzammar and the latest news (Zinthal kept him up to date with in her regular correspondence with him). Although, like many surface dwarves they had feigned indifference towards their ancestral homeland, nonetheless, they could not help but show and inordinate interest in what he had to tell them about his stay there and the foundations of a relationship were laid.

The Fereldan ambassador, a childhood friend, introduced him to the Viscount. He struck Oswyn as a thoughtful and sensitive man, more attuned to being a philosopher than a ruler, and from the impression he formed from that one audience Oswyn imagined he had found the reason behind the Chantry's overweening presence in the city. Power abhors a vacuum he realised, and where one sphere of influence did not fully occupy it, another would.

And finally there were the Qunari, who seemed to arouse a fear and distrust far out of proportion to their actual numbers. Because they were an unknown quantity? Oswyn couldn't say for sure but he noted that the continuous threat their presence seemed to convey was very convenient for the Chantry and the Templars.

Some weeks into his stay he was at the desk in the embassy his friend had leant him, attempting to summarise all these impressions in various informative reports he was writing for Alistair, there was no reason, he had not been asked to produce anything like this but he did not see why he should not multitask on his trip, when one of the embassy servants tapped on the door to inform him that he had a visitor.

He didn't bother to rise when she was ushered in or even look up immediately which he knew was somewhat rude, but he happened to be wrestling with a complicated phrase when he was interrupted and he had just began to tease it out.

His visitor stood looking down at him for a few moments.

When eventually he did glance up at her, he immediately levered himself up to his feet.

Neriya seemed amused. "I had heard on the grapevine that there was a Fereldan named Oswyn in town and I wondered... It is not such a common name after all..."

"Neri... I thought you were dead..." He gabbled.

Under a plain grey cape she was wearing quite an elaborate robe, he noticed. There was no staff on her back, which he thought strange.

"Yes, this is my spirit come to visit you..." She said raising her arms from her sides. "Joking apart... I presume then Alistair has not received my letter?"

Oswyn slowly took this in, "I've been here about five weeks," he muttered straightening the papers on the desk in front of him, he was embarrassed because the last time he had seen her had been in Howe's dungeon and suddenly he was having flashbacks, "and the crossing took six days..."

"I see." She replied, she didn't seem to be particularly surprised by his self-consciousness. "You look well, very well," She added.

"Thanks." He said glancing up at her.

For a few moments there was an awkward silence, she broke it,"It was misguided... I put around that I was... Because Alistair... I thought it would be the right thing for both of us... Can I sit down?" she finished abruptly.

"Yes of course." He hobbled around the desk and pulled out the chair for her.

She sat.

"Neriya..." He said still slightly stunned.

"I won't keep you long."

"No, it wasn't that... Not at all... How can I help you?"

"How is Alistair? Are you in direct contact with him? Is he well?"

"Yes to all those." Said Oswyn.

"And..." She looked down at the floor. "The child?"

"Niamh Eleniel, you mean?"

"Niamh, he called her Niamh... Eleniel?"

"Ah, yes..."

"Where did he get those names from?" She seemed genuinely curious.

Oswyn shrugged, like a schoolboy, "I..."

"Forgive me, how would you know? They're nice names, anyway, if you could tell him that... You are going back soon, aren't you?"

"Yes, in a few days..." Oswyn got the impression that he was at least one reply behind in the conversation. "Your daughter is well, very well, Neriya..."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes I have. She's blonde like him but she has your eyes, she's very vivacious. Alistair got a Dalish wet-nurse for her and she is still looking after her..."

"I haven't heard anything official."

"He's being cautious, protecting her. He arranged for a house in Denerim for them, he told me he wants her to have choices..."

"Does he go to see... Niamh often?"

"He does." Neriya sighed and clasped his hand. "Thank you so much, Oswyn... Now there is another matter..."

Modifié par Maria13, 25 avril 2011 - 08:52 .

[Esbatty]

"Cosy" had me rolling. Best drunken nicknaming ever.

[Maria13]

Chapter 68

Dragon 9:35 Ferventis/Justinian Denerim [Present]

Oswyn's conversation with Neriya had gone on for at least a further hour, so there were, in fact, several other things to report to Alistair the day after he'd arrived in Denerim.

Now back in the palace he attempted to ignore the fact that his scalp under his closely shaven blond hair was somewhat itchy and sunburnt and that several areas of his face, including his nose, were still peeling. As soon as his friend the Fereldan ambassador in Kirkwall had clapped eyes on him he had advised him he should consider wearing something like the little hood that appeared to be all the vogue among the paler human Kirkwallians when going about their daily business, but, foolishly, he had refused to follow this advice. Next time, he promised himself, he would not dismiss it so lightly.

Although he chose not to comment he was pretty certain Alistair must have noticed.

Ah but it was worth it, just that gentle mare with the sweet almond shaped eyes he had brought back with him and had then ridden from Highever to Denerim was worth the hassle of the trip and any amount of sunburnt skin.

The talk was calmer than he had expected because Alistair had informed him that he'd received Neriya's letter and had, in fact, already replied to it.

Oswyn produced a list, "Neriya likes the names you've given your daughter." He began.

Seated opposite him Alistair who looked very relaxed and well-rested and was wearing just a shirt and breeches due to the summer weather, limited himself to shaking his head, smiling slightly and saying, "So?"

"Ah, well: moving on, she also had something to say about the Chantry and Templar influence in Kirkwall, the gist of it being that it's oppressive. She'd left her staff at the circle before coming to visit me."

Alistair looked at Oswyn interrogatively, he could not recall ever seeing Neriya without her staff except when they were being intimate or she was asleep.

"Actually, I concur." Oswyn added, "It's in one of my reports there... He waved at the pile of manuscripts he had just placed in front of Alistair like a devout chantrian making an offering in front of the altar to the Maker. "As for Neriya, she didn't think it would be a good idea for her to be identified as a mage either walking through the streets in full daylight, Alistair, or being seen visiting me. Although she commented she did think it made things a little clearer, 'I know who my enemy is now, and they know who I am' she told me."

"That's not good." Alistair remarked.

"It isn't no, it sounds... Extreme. But from the little I could glean during my stay that is not a unique point of view among mages in Kirkwall. Anyway, I secured an audience with the Viscount who seems a thoroughly pleasant man, but... Weak. The Chantry or to be more precise the Templars, it may be a question of the tail wagging the mabari rather than the other way around, seem to have stepped in to fill the void his mildness has left..."

"The Templars..." murmured Alistair his forehead creasing.

"Difficult to conceive, I know, but their Commander a certain Meredith..."

"A woman?" Asked Alistair.

"Indeed."

Alistair whistled.

"Yes. Apparently she is somewhat... Forceful... In the way that a tempest is forceful, or a blizzard..."

"I'll read your report, the situation sounds... Interesting." He said, placing a large hand upon the pile of documents.

"Well my conclusion is that what bodes well for our lyrium business may not bode so well for our regular trading relationship with Kirkwall... Possibly even by extension, the rest of the Free Marches."

Alistair steepled his hands.

"An unstable political situation is good for the black market but not so good for the regular economy, especially from the point of view of foreign trading partners..." Said Oswyn.

"Suppose you were to apply that analysis to our current situation here in Ferelden..."

"Suppose I were..."

"Don't be coy, Oswyn..." Alistair waved a hand in the air.

"We're not as far gone as Kirkwall, there are no power vacuums here, but there is instability albeit produced by a Blight and a quasi civil war..."

"'Quasi'?"

"It never became an out and out civil war because it was overtaken by the Blight and it was resolved insofar as these things can be, by your beheading Loghain and marrying Anora..."

"So my sacrifice was not in vain?"

"Alistair..."

"I was being facetious."

Oswyn smiled. "How is Rous by the way...?"

Alistair sighed, "Demanding, loving... Demanding... I really don't know what's gotten into her these last few weeks." He paused, "But back to business... The Chantry, here in Ferelden, I mean..."

"The last deadline expired what, eight days ago now?"

Alistair nodded, "No exalted march declared against me yet, so... So far so good..."

"Heh... But we hardly expected overt action, did we?"

"Well no. And what you just said... There is no reason why I as a monarch should condone lyrium smuggling by clandestine organisations, if it can possibly be avoided in my territory I don't want to look weak, and there is no reason why the Chantry should endorse it, either. So both sides are just playing at being good little children..." Alistair's fingers started drumming the table.

"And?"

"I'm getting fed up of it... Frankly."

"Alistair... Governance is not war; it's not fighting darkspawn..."

"I know..."

"Sometimes an endless stalemate is a good thing... It brings stability in its wake."

"And sometimes it looks like weakness, indecisiveness..." Alistair was silent for a while then he asked out of the blue, "Have you heard of a Knight Commander Harrith?"

"Harrith?"

"From Redcliffe..." He added, "Someone wants to talk to me... Put in a request..."

"Who? For what?"

Alistair pulled a parchment out of his sleeve and handed it to Oswyn. "Here."

"A mage?" Asked Oswyn.

"A mage... Not just any mage, so Harrith, who's corrupt of course, says... He penned a covering letter."

"I would..." Oswyn scanned the note quickly.

"Seek further information, yes. I'll do that."

"It could be a ruse, Alistair, some sort of trap." Oswyn returned the parchment to Alistair and cleared his throat, "Going back to Neriya..."

"Yes?"

Oswyn consulted his notes again. "She made it clear that should you need assistance to tackle Flemeth, that she would do her best to persuade the Grey Wardens to lend some of their number to the fight... She had also heard that we were selling lyrium and expressed an interest on behalf of the Kirkwall circle. I think this was the primary reason for her turning up to see me. The Chief Enchanter, one Orsino, also an elf, apparently, very astutely sent her to liaise with me upon hearing that I was a Fereldan..."

"Oh, interesting, bloody interesting..."

"Yes, indeed." Agreed Oswyn. "Do you think some sort of friend price...?"

"Definitely." Said Alistair

Oswyn smiled, "Oh Alistair, mixing business with pleasure..."

"You suggested it Oswyn, and now you're saying you don't approve?"

Oswyn shrugged, "I was just testing you. It is as it is."

"How much would you advise, 25%, less?"

"Hey and let's throw in a couple of mabaris while we're about it..."

Alistair snorted almost laughing.

"No more than 10% I would say, perhaps later if things stabilize and dependent on their buying patterns we can go as high as 15%..." Reasoned Oswyn.

"And anything else from Neriya..."

Oswyn frowned. "There is actually. She asked me to remind you that you promised to do your utmost to free the circle and to end the practice of making mages tranquil. Finally, and I imagine this is confidential, she said you two made a vow to each other, a pact... As Grey Wardens..."

Alistair flinched slightly, "Go ahead."

"She wanted to know whether you would still honour it, should the time come and even though you've now... Broken up... Sorry, Alistair, this part was all a bit vague..." He added.

"I understand what she's referring to. I do remember what I pledged as regards the mages and, as you know, the situation is somewhat..."

"Difficult." Completed Oswyn.

"As for the last point I will reply to her when she next writes. Thank you for passing her messages on..." Alistair smiled at him and gesturing to the bags of coin sitting on the table in front of him added, "Seems to me you've done a great job, Oswyn. What do you think I should pay you for it?"

                                                                                              ~...~

Dragon 9:35 Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Du Plessis arrived in Denerim late one night in early Solace. He was staying at the Grey Warden headquarters and when he came to the palace the next day for an audience with Alistair this last didn't know what to expect.

Of course he'd received some briefing on the man from Dummond and Oswyn but he was somewhat taken aback to discover when he got up to greet him that the Warden Commander was rather short, perhaps even an inch lower than Rous.

It especially made it a little awkward to faire la bise, but he was put somewhat at his ease when du Plessis himself began to chuckle as he made a mess of it and ended up patting him on the cheek and saying, "Oh you are a big lad... Your Majesty." in Orlesian.

Also, although he was burning with curiosity to ask him about his mother, he had finally decided that in the best regal manner he should put business first.

However, once again the Warden Commander circumvented this by saying as soon as his behind hit the chair opposite, "Your mother would have been proud, I've no doubt, but your build definitely comes from your father. Fiona was a slight, jeune filledélicate even for an elf... tough as old boots, though, in character, and quite outspoken. Much like Neriya Surana in actual fact."

"Please call me Alistair, otherwise I shall have to address you as Warden Commander, Quentin, and that is a bit of a mouthful... What was she...?"

"It was a good thing she became a Warden and was a pretty accomplished mage because she was both fearless and tactless. In the most endearing way. I think you have her eyes." Said du Plessis, his gaze wandering over Alistair's face.

Alistair was silent for a moment, taking all this in. In the meantime du Plessis looked around the room and studied Alistair again.

"Wine?" Offered Alistair eventually.

"Good grief so early...? Of course, why not."

Alistair chugged them both a red from a jug he had to hand. Du Plessis sipped it somewhat cautiously and then nodded his approval. "What's it like to suddenly discover you're Orlesian by birth at least?" He asked.

"Foutu1...?" Alistair offered.

Du Plessis chuckled again, "Well I suppose you would see it like that... Your spoken Orlesian is impressive, though."

"I had a good Chantry education. I have been told, however, that my pronunciation needs some improvement."

"But the Chantry didn't quite manage to make you one of them..."

Alistair sipped his wine, "They didn't, no. And Duncan saved me."

"And now you are one of us, a Warden..."

"Almost unavoidably. And a Warden's get, to boot. I admit, though, I've been tending to downplay it lately."

"Probably as it should be. Discretion is mainly helpful to us especially in peacetime. Keeps up the mystique a little."

"So long as it doesn't result in negative perceptions, I agree. What do you think of Ferelden?"

"A very pleasant country, a little uncivilized... Lits durs2, wine's not so good; this one is excellent, though, Orlesian is it not?"

"Well yes."

"Hmmm..." Said du Plessis, taking another sip. "All the same I do miss my Michelle..."

"Michelle? Your...?"

"My dog, Alistair, I know, I'm just a sentimental old man..." He shrugged, "a wolfhound, excellent creature, but she was too sick for me to consider bringing her here..."

"Oh, I have a mabari, Meat, dogs are fine company...

"And they don't spook like horses or make as many demands as women." Added du Plessis winking at him and then draining his cup.

"Well, exactly. I'll introduce Meat to you later if you wish."

"I think I'd like that. Yes I would." He folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Now, King Alistair, how can this humble Warden Commander help you..."

Alistair placed his still half full wine cup on the table, got up and strode over to the open window. "It's a fine summer day..." du Plessis waited patiently. Alistair looked down at the courtyard for a while, a world away four storeys below, strong shouldered Jonah was mucking out the stables. For a moment he wished they could change places. "I... had intercourse with an apostate and conceived a child in order to save Neriya and myself from dying if we managed to kill the archdemon..." He smiled to himself, "Vous savez, when I woke up this morning I did not have the intention of making that confession in such a direct manner or so soon."

"Neriya told me it was Riordan" said du Plessis gently.

Alistair nodded slowly still looking away, "That's not true, it was me; Neriya was just trying to protect me."

"It always sounded to me like it was the sort of faux pas that only a young person would make... Not someone like Riordan." du Plessis, let that sink in and then added. "I too made a faux pas..."

Alistair turned and looked at him. "I should never have sent Konrad to arrest and interrogate you both as I did. That was a mistake. A blunder. After the excellent work all of you, Duncan, Riordan, and not least Neriya and you had done, unsupported by the rest of the order, in defiance of those then in power in Ferelden... We should have addressed the problem de manière constructive3, together. Konrad was a bit of a fanatic, a good man, a competent mage and warden but not the right person for that task. Choosing him to carry it out was my poor judgment, I was responsible for that. I apologise unreservedly, Alistair."

"Apology accepted. Eh bien, so where are we now Quentin? Would the Wardens assist me in finding the child, my son? I know Dummond defers to you."

"My view is the Orzammar situation should take priority, but—"

"And I agree. Orzammar falls, so do we all... Where are my manners?" Alistair picked up the wine jug.

"No, no more..." Said du Plessis covering his cup with his hand, "It can disagree with me sometimes... I do not quite share your pessimism regarding the dwarven kingdom but it has to be a priority concern, nonetheless. I was glad to hear that you have allowed Dummond to start recruiting..."

"It had to be done."

"And, yes, I would suggest this be treated as a local problem, no need to trouble the First Warden who probably has many more things on his plate than he can comfortably deal with anyway. I also cannot see why we should not be able to raise a dozen or so Wardens between Ferelden and Orlais to find the boy. At the very least it should be good practice..."

Alistair felt as if a tremendous weight had just been lifted from his shoulders "Flemeth's domain as far as I have been able to ascertain has always been the Kocari wilds... I will see if the better heads than mine of the Fereldan circle can come up with anything more on her before finalizing any plans I will consult yourself and Dummond every step of the way of course..."

"Bien sûr."

"I am sorry you have come so far..."

"It is no minor matter, and not one to be properly dealt with in correspondence. I also had the desire to set eyes on my friend's child..."

Alistair smiled, opening his arms, "Well here he is."

Du Plessis laughed, "I think I may have some more wine after all..."

Du Plessis was due to meet Anora that afternoon. They had decided beforehand that Alistair would deal with the Grey Warden business while Anora would attempt to extract what information she could from him regarding the current state of Orlais. After the upset of the previous month their relationship had once again settled on an even keel. Proof, thought Alistair, that they were more effective as uninvolved partners than if they were fully man and wife.

Since there was time to spare, Alistair suggested that they should go visit Meat and the stables and du Plessis gladly agreed.

Meat, as usual, was slobberingly overjoyed to see Alistair growling contentedly and jumping up to lick his face, leaving dusty pawmarks on his surcoat; he was also delighted to receive the extra attention du Plessis gave him. They were just tossing his rather damp leather ball around the courtyard for him to go fetch when there was a clatter of hooves on cobbles and Rous came in mounted on Hope.

She was riding high in the saddle with her naturally elegant poise, wearing her usual style of surcoat, but the one she was wearing today was open and sleeveless because of the heat, and breeches; her face flushed from the exercise, hair pinned haphazardly on the crown of her head. She stopped a few yards from Alistair and du Plessis and dismounted in one graceful movement.

Meat immediately approached her with his tongue hanging loose from his well toothed jaws. "You need to keep up with your riding, Alistair, rather than standing around playing with the lovable little mutt..." Rous chided bending down to ruffle Meat's head.

Now he was close to her Alistair could see her shirt was sticking to her skin particularly the sleeves and around her neckline. There were beads of perspiration on her brow. If they had been alone he would have been sorely tempted to lure her into one of the stalls and following a few sweet words and kisses do something 'unutterable' to her as she was wont to call it lately.

Alistair blinked quickly a few times dismissing such thoughts and then said in Orlesian, "Cos... Lady Cousland, please allow me to introduce you to M Quentin du Plessis, Grey Warden Commander of Orlais..."

"Madam, enchanté..." Said du Plessis with smooth grace bowing to kiss Rous's still gloved hand. Rous mouthed 'Sorry!' at Alistair over his lowered head.

"Je suisdésoléde vous avoirdérangé4..." She said in perfect Orlesian to them both.

Du Plessis looked from one to the other literally beaming. Alistair was ransacking his brain for a form of words to address the situation, he was about to say something along the lines of 'Lady Cousland is teaching me to ride' when he just managed to bite his tongue having realised what an obvious double entendre that would be.

"Milady speaks with a perfect accent." Said du Plessis all eyes on Rous failing to notice Alistair's awkwardness.

"Oh I visited your beautiful country quite frequently in my youth." Replied Rous.

"Youth?" Echoed du Plessis, "Why Milady does not look a day over nineteen."

"You Orlesians are such shameless flatterers... You'd best take him away, Alistair, before he starts comparing me to the sun, the moon and the stars..."

"Milady is cruel."

"Of course I am but you should really ask Alistair here."

"Parfoiscruel, mais toujourscharmant5..." Muttered Alistair the words came to his tongue almost unbidden.

"Spoken like a true Orlesian, Alistair." Exclaimed du Plessis. Even Rous looked impressed. "There is hope for you yet."

"Actually," Interjected Rous, "I need to change..."

"Of course." Said du Plessis.

Alistair could swear that as she walked away from them she was swinging her hips a little more than usual. Du Plessis' gaze followed her most appreciatively. Alistair felt a flood of pride tempered by a sharp shard of jealousy.

"You are such a lucky, man, Alistair, such a lucky man... Je vous envie..."

Alistair blushed somewhat, if what was between them was so immediately obvious even to a relative, albeit very observant, stranger, he was glad to have made a clean breast of it with Anora.

"It is not a perfect solution but it is all I could come up with... Call it unimaginative or vulgar if you will." Said Alistair, "My marriage to Anora is obviously an arranged one. I cannot think of her as anything but a partner in a joint enterprise or my brother's widow; she, in turn, would never be able to care for me as I would wish... My father, King Maric, spent most of the time he was on the throne sunk in the throes of despondency... A despondent ruler does not a happy or active kingdom make and Ferelden deserves to be both those things. Needless to say, the Chantry disapproves."

"You owe me no explanation, Alistair... I am very much a man of the world, very much a Warden... As for the Chantry..." du Plessis held up his left hand so Alistair could appreciate his amputated little finger, "when it cannot extract a price in conscience or in gold it will take it in flesh. I have no great love for it myself. But what of Neriya?"

"I still love her, always will, but it seems to me she has moved on. Thank you for persuading her to write to me... It was painful... But..."

Du Plessis nodded. "Yes she wished to pursue her career with the Wardens and I suggested she go to the Kirkwall circle for further training... These things happen, you know. Lines need to be drawn."

There was a moment of silence between them. Eventually Alistair said, "Tell me something, Quentin, was there any explanation for how my mother came to conceive me after being a Warden for so many years?"

"None, I was ever aware of, none that she knew of either... In the later years every now and then she used to shrug and say, 'If a child has to be born, it will be born...' When later it became apparent that a fifth Blight was starting in Ferelden she became fixated on the thought that you, her gift from the gods, as she sometimes referred to you, might assist somehow in fighting it. She may have persuaded Duncan of that, they were firm friends after all, or he simply may have come up with the idea of recruiting you independently... but..." for once du Plessis seemed to hesitate.

"But..."

"She was well into her calling by then... It ravaged her mind, Alistair... It was horrible, painful to see, pitoyable6... She had been such a lucid person... On more than one occasion they found her standing naked or just in her night shift in the snow, around Montsimmard in winter it can get pretty cold, you know, speaking to things that weren't there, in a language no-one could understand.

Du Plessis had suddenly turned very pale and looked quite shaken, "One of the most unpleasant things I have ever had to do, and believe me, I have had to do some extremely unpleasant things in my time; you are an experienced Warden, Alistair, you know what I mean... Was to deny her request to come to Ferelden when the Blight was beginning... It was the right thing to do, for everybody concerned, but somehow that really didn't make it any easier..."

"In her letter..."

"She mentions that...? Of course she does."

"She had no hard feelings... Don't know if that helps..."

Du Plessis shook his head. "Pitoyable... Do you have any more of that wine?"



Translation:
1 ****ed...?

2 Hard beds

3 Constructively

4 "I am sorry to have disturbed you..."

5 "Sometimes cruel, but always charming..."

6 Pitiful

[Esbatty]

Oh Rous and her sashaying of her hips. And that was the perfect internal reaction for Alistair to be equally proud and jealous of seeing another man admire his lover.

[Addai]

Very interesting how you're bringing DA2 into it. Neriya in Kirkwall Circle? Yikes!

[Maria13]

Back from Spain so about time I answered the above.

@DU eh thanks! all I think now when I peruse my first chapters is that they need re-writing. But I'm going to finish this epic first and then tackle any re-writes.

@Esbatty, feliz 5 de mayo! Good I'm getting men right... I enjoy writing from a male POV, I don't know why.

@Addai thanks! Well I was going to send Neriya away and then DA2 and then I realised the date overlapped and the stuff going on on Kirkwall re Chantry/Templars v mages fitted pretty well with one of my themes so I was away! (Basically).

[Maria13]

Chapter 69

Dragon 9:35 Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Despite the women scolding them, the children had all but managed to commandeer the fountain in the middle of the arcaded square. One of the little rascals was applying his hand to the spout making the water jump and lurch high up in an arc, so the sun passing through it made a rainbow effect and the precious water splashed well beyond the confines of its basin.

Alistair stopped for a moment to look at the children, playing and laughing half- naked, some of them dodging the spurt, others attempting to get under the spray so it plastered their hair to their heads.

“Paapa.” said Niamh from against his chest and laughed, waving her arms, making it clear that she wanted to be one of them, running about. ‘Pa-pa’ was a new sound, but it had come some months after ‘Ber-ber’, which is what she called Bregeth.

“No,” Alistair told her, “not today Niamh, we have a meeting, you and I. We're going to meet someone who has come a long, long way to see us both…”

He cast his eyes around the square, once again, and eventually espied a slight figure sitting alone on one of the primitive stone elevations a few feet from the arcade that were intended to be used as benches. Unable to help himself, Alistair smiled and carried his little girl in that direction. As he approached the bench, the elf looked up and smiled in turn.

He had cut his hair, Alistair noticed, no longer did it fall in a white wave, just below his neck. Rather now it was shorter than Alistair's own or least so it appeared, because when Alistair drew nearer, he realised Zevran’s hair was now tied into tight little plaits that lay across his skull in lines.

“I must say, friend Alistair, I like Ferelden a good deal better when the weather is like this.”

Zevran moved along the bench a little, Alistair, sat next to him, placing Niamh on his lap. “I think everyone does.” He replied.

“And who is this?” Said Zevran addressing Niamh.

In response, the child extended an arm and opened a hand like a little star and said, “Paapa…”

“She calls every man that, now.” Said Alistair.

“She has grown since I last saw her.” Said Zevran, “she was sturdy and chunky even then, but now I can clearly see she has your build.” The elf extended a long graceful finger and Niamh grasped it eagerly.

“Poor girl, I hoped to see more of her mother in her… At least she has Neriya’s eyes.”

“Oh, I don't know, my friend, you do yourself no credit, if she takes after you she will become quite comely, if not as graceful as her mother.” Zev tentatively tried to pull his finger away but Niamh would not release it so easily. “Strong too.” He added.

“Have you seen Neriya lately, Zev?”

“Not since the little one's birth, no.” The elf managed to release his finger and waved it in front of the toddler who squirmed in her father’s grasp attempting to recapture it.

“She to wrote me, you know, a few months back now. Full of apologies…”

“Have you forgiven her?” Zevran looked away as he asked this.

Alistair’s eyes looked troubled. “I replied to the letter… But… No, not quite, no. I don't think I will ever fully forgive her…. Or stop loving her. I'm not sure that makes any sense…”

“Perfect sense.” Replied Zevran crisply.

“Anyway, I brought Niamh here today to thank you. Say thank you to uncle Zev, Niamh…”

He held Niamh up under her arms towards the elf. “Taa da roo…” Said Niamh.

“I think you're going to have to be happy with that, Zev.” said Alistair.

“Argh, it was nothing, I was just passing through... An opportunity presented itself...” Zev addressed Alistair over the child and shook his head.

“Nevertheless… Now, give uncle Zev a kiss to thank him for his first birthday gift to you...” Alistair made kissing motions with his lips, which Niamh began to imitate; Alistair held her up towards the wavy lines tattooed on Zev’s right cheek and the little girl made to kiss him.

Incredibly, Zev blushed.

“Well,” said Alistair, “Now you’ve done it, Niamh, uncle Zev is going to have to look out for you from now onwards, thanks to your magic kiss.”

The elf sighed, “And we once thought you were stupid, Alistair...”

“Who’s we?” Asked Alistair lightly, seating Niamh back on his lap.

“I, Leli, Shale, but then Shale thought all ‘squishies’, as she called them were stupid just because they were squishy... Even Wynne did, I am sure, though she would never admit it. In the nicest possible way, of course. Except for Morrigan who started it.”

“What of Sten and Oghren?”

“Oh Sten, he would never say anything... And Oghren didn’t have thoughts, just drink...”

Alistair grunted, “Can’t say I’m surprised...”

There was a pause, Zev and Alistair watched the children happily at play, “I saw the plaque, you know the one on the roof of Fort Drakon...” The elf said eventually.

“And did you approve of it?”

“My name is the first on the list...” There was a touch of surprise in his voice, his eyebrows went up.

“Your surname starts with an ‘A’” Alistair pointed out.

“The Blight my only taste of heroism, commemorated for eternity…” He mused, “Well, for a little while at any rate…”

“Everyone needs to try something at least once…”

“You even put Morrigan’s name on it...”

Alistair shrugged, “Well she was there and contributed... to a certain extent...”

“Friend Alistair, this sense of fair play of yours, do you not think that sometimes you take it a little too far?”

“I am as I am.”

Zev’s lips quirked, “I am so glad you have never formally contracted me... You must be a most aggravating man to work for...”

“I guess I should take that as a compliment...”

“In my trade clients with a conscience are by far the most difficult to please.” The elf sighed. “‘Just maim him a little.’ ‘You should ensure you kill the one with the dark hair, but make sure the one with the dark curly hair is safe.’” He raised his eyes to the cloudless sky. “I much prefer the ones who say, ‘Kill them all and let the Maker choose his own.’ There is nothing like clarity…”

“I’m surprised you are still taking your own contracts… I heard that…”

Zev’s whole body jerked as if he had just landed back on the ground, “What did you hear, Alistair? And from whom?”

Alistair smiled lazily, “If I told you, you might think I was…” He added cryptically. “I have my sources…”

“Ah well,” Zev got to his feet.

Alistair was surprised to find himself a little unhappy that their conversation was not going to last much longer. Zevran had never been his favourite person but he felt that they had reached some sort of crossroads in their acquaintance and he would have been happy to talk to him for a few hours more, to actually catch up rather than chat so briefly.

“I really didn’t mean to scare you away…”

“As if you could, Alistair... I must rush; I have an appointment to keep. In respect of your statement that everyone should try everything at least once, amigo mio, should you ever need my services or those of my organisation, you should…”

The elf recited a stream of detailed instructions. Stroking Niamh’s cheek, Alistair said, “Could you repeat that...? I’m not sure I was able to follow…”

Zev turned and looked at him and then laughed seeing the smirk on his face. “Oh touché, Alistair, keep well and may the Maker be with you… And you, sweet child.” He said tousling Niamh’s hair.

Alistair nodded, “Likewise, Zevran, travel safe…”

                                                                                 ~...~

Mother Boann grasped his arm only lightly.

“I am not totally deprived of vision, you know, she said, “I can see vague shapes if there is some light, but clearly that is no help at all to me. One day I asked a new child what my eyes looked like. He was quiet for sometime, I could almost hear him thinking, weighing things up, finally, he said, 'they're very creepy', in a teeny weenie voice as if he were afraid I would slap him or something. So I cover them up now and then, like today. I don't want to disturb people.”

As she said this, Alistair could prevent himself from glancing at her face she had a strong profile and very pale skin; he imagined she did not go out much.

They had met several months ago when he was attempting to pry up one of the terracotta tiles in the chapel in order to deposit some of the ashes belonging to the previous revered mother under it. In fact, one of the children that she used as an assistant had actually caught him.

At first mother, Boann had been rather timorous of him. Quite understandably so, a man, correction, a large man, in her chapel early in the morning with a knife. How was she not going to be fearful? Especially given her history, which he didn’t then know, of course, and the fact that she was blind… Resisting the temptation to run away, he had then proceeded, admittedly rather clumsily, to explain to the revered mother exactly who he was, what he was doing and why he was doing it.

She had seen somewhat incredulous at first, and again, this was not surprising. Eventually, he had managed to convince her, even though the Elven child she had requested to identify him as the man on the gold sovereigns had done so only reluctantly, and kept staring at him throughout their conversation.

After some talk, she had allowed him to continue with his activity and, in exchange, he had promised her to attend several services of the Chant. As he had first realised with mother Gertrude, extortion seemed to be a natural gift of all revered mothers or at least a prerequisite for their office. He wondered if they received training in it, and if so could he attend…

“So… You wish me to assist you in making a decision, along with some other people?” Mother Boann interrupted his idle thoughts.

“That is correct, Your Reverence.” Replied Alistair. “And I'll introduce you to them when we get there.”

“Mother Boann will do, umm… Alistair.” She coloured fiercely and he smiled recalling how she had scolded him when they first met, “Suppose I have nothing to say?” She then asked somewhat anxiously.

“Then say nothing. That is an option, too.” He attempted to sound reassuring but this meeting was a bit of an experiment and he was not feeling overly confident himself.

“It's the first time in a long time that I have set aside my robe. It is strange to be wearing ordinary clothes. Although it might be a good idea to get used to them.”

“I was happy for you to attend wearing your robes of office.” said Alistair.

“Yes, I appreciate that, but I believe some people may find it intimidating, so… “

“We are just in front of the room; I'm going to open the door now.” Alistair was not sure how much of this narrative was strictly necessary, but mother Boann nodded.

He opened the door and they went in, Lawler closed it behind them. The others were already there and there was a moment of silence when they entered. Alistair hadn't told them that the revered mother was blind; he wondered whether that had been a mistake.

He cleared his throat, “this is revered mother Boann, I think it may be best if I introduce you all by name, and then you can… Well, describe your interest here today to her. Would that be all right mother Boann?”

“Perfectly.” She replied.

“Well, this is Wynne… She’s a Senior Enchanter of the Ferelden circle—”

“Oh, I have heard of her… She was one of the companions, was she not?” Said mother Boann turning towards Alistair. Before he could formulate an answer she turned back towards the mage, “I am so sorry; you’re standing right here, aren’t you?”

“Your Reverence I am most pleased to meet you.” Said Wynne in her soft voice, clasping mother Boann’s hand in hers.
“Likewise, please forgive…” Mother Boann looked somewhat flustered.

“It is nothing; I think you have just done the introduction for me. I am here as a member of the circle.”

“Thank you.”

Alistair proceeded to introduce her to Oswyn, Bregeth, who Keeper Lanaya had agreed could represent their clan at the meeting, Chamberlain Crabbe who took care of everything regarding business for Alistair, Brannion an elder of the Denerim alienage who had been appointed by Counsellor Shianni. From the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Bregeth scowl a little when Brannion and mother Boann exchanged a few friendly words, as apparently, they knew each other, he frowned at her and she smiling rolled her eyes at him.

Lastly, he introduced Fergus Cousland who confessed to her, “I have absolutely no idea why I’m here, really. Let’s hope it’s amusing at least.”

Mother Boann’s clear forehead creased.

Once the introductions had been made, Oswyn suggested the attendees seat themselves. Alistair sat on a bench placed at the centre of the long side of the rectangular table with mother Boann to his left. Oswyn took a seat at one end of the table and Wynne assumed the other. Crabbe, Bregeth and Brannion sat either side of Alistair and mother Boann. Brannion next to Oswyn and Crabbe and Bregeth next to Wynne.

Fergus said he preferred to stand and so propped himself up in a corner.

Oswyn then began a quick talk: “This meeting has not taken place and you have not attended it…” On the bench next to him, Alistair felt mother Boann shift uncomfortably. “You have been invited here today because of who you are and what you represent but what we ask you to contribute is your personal opinion fully and frankly, not the opinion or what you may believe is the opinion of the institution, clan or group to which you belong. You are also free to pose any questions you deem appropriate to the cabal’s petitioners. You are asked equally to respect the opinions of others even though they may differ from your own.

“The King wishes to listen to what you have to say, this is the purpose of your presence here, and he may participate in any debate. His decision will be final and not reached until the meeting is over, though he may contact you with further queries if he deems that is appropriate. His decision will not be communicated to you.

“Needless to say it is expected that you keep all our deliberations confidential, even from those you deem to be your superiors in your daily lives and who may have chosen you to be here in the first place. If they were to approach you with any queries you should refer them either to me or the King.”

After allowing a few moments of silence to let this information sink in, Alistair said, “I’m sorry if that sounds unfriendly, it is not intended that way, I assure you. I would suggest you look at it from the point of view that all responsibility for the decision is mine, which is as it should be, and therefore feel all the freer to contribute your sincere opinion… Are there any questions?”

“Are notes going to be taken of these meetings?” Asked Crabbe.

“No.” said Oswyn. “And I would not expect any of you to ever refer to them in writing, even indirectly.”

“Suppose that just taking part in one of these meetings goes against one’s conscience or ethics, or beliefs…” asked mother Boann.

“Then you may request to be excused.” Oswyn glanced at Alistair. “At any time.”

“And any such requests will be granted. There is no compulsion here.” Alistair added.

There was another pause. “Well,” said Alistair, “Shall we invite our first petitioners in?” There was some nodding. “Lawler, if you will…”

Lawler exited the room and returned a few minutes later with two people dressed in the wool roughspun and sturdy leather of Ferelden peasants. They had the smell of the fields about them too, hay, sun and earth.

The eldest, the man, must have been just past middle age was of slight build had a rather well kept beard and dark unruly hair. He took the seat directly in front of Alistair linked his hands together on the table and smiled rather bashfully looking to one side rather than making eye contact. Just above the line of his beard on his left cheek, Alistair could see the outlines of a port wine stain and the whiskers growing from that part of his face were a shade darker than the rest.

The girl was somewhat stocky, probably in her early twenties and had lank nape length brown hair and large brown eyes. Her skin was lightly toasted. She sat down rather clumsily as if she were not too used to chairs. She had a somewhat defiant cast to her full lips and she had no trouble whatsoever meeting Alistair’s gaze.
“Good afternoon…” said Alistair, “would you be…”

From her end of the table Wynne said, “Why Enchanter Fonst… I never expected…”

The bearded man looked to his left, “Hello, Wynne.” He replied his pale blue eyes blinking.

[Esbatty]

Ooh, that was a codex flashback. Unexpected! And, aww Alistair put Morrigan's name on the plaque.

...

*sigh* I miss writing her.

[Maria13]

Chapter 70

Dragon 9:30       Frumentum/Harvestmere        Kinloch Hold              [Past]

Erno Fonst much preferred plants to people. For one thing, plants never argued, they never complained, never boasted. Just to survive was enough for them. Either they survived or they didn't, they also didn't continuously fret about where they were growing, be it imprisoned in a pot, in the wild, in a lord's elegant solar or in the scruffy little allotment at Kinloch Hold that he was tending this morning. It was simple and as more of a peasant than anything else Fonst, could appreciate that.

For the last two or three weeks he'd had a belly full of his fellow mages bickering and jockeying for position to last him a lifetime. They'd asked him for his written view as an Aequitarian, one of the few Aequitarians in the Tower, on their controversies and, following a brief conversation with Uldred, he'd given it, fully and frankly, like the complete and utter fool he was.

"I have spoken to Uldred directly. His intentions are that we will demand the Templars withdraw. I don't know that I am willing to follow, but I will be present to hear his argument."

But it turned out that despite that being what they asked him for, they really didn't want to hear it. Now, he was out of sorts with everyone: With Uldred because in reality Uldred wanted nothing short of a glowing endorsement, not a 'vapid promise to listen' as he'd described Fonst's statement, within his hearing, to one of his acolytes. With the Libertarians, because he refused to unquestioningly pay homage to their great new hero, Uldred. With the Loyalists, because they considered him a traitor just for saying he would listen to Uldred.

Well Blight take them all and may they be forever exiled to the Black City…

Fortunately, it was a pleasant autumn and his roses and vegetables needed tending. From dawn to dusk.

Once he'd broken his fast he'd snatch a couple of apples or plums from the kitchens and that was all he needed until the late supper that one of the cooks (whom he bribed with fresh carrots) would kindly set aside for him. He didn't care if the food was cold. Just not having to speak to anyone was a reward in itself.

So he weeded, pruned, watered and when he felt a little tired he took a break from his labours by reading a philosophical pamphlet called 'Daring to Know' together with a romance, 'The Silver Sword' he had got from the library. The best thing that had happened to him since he was taken to the Tower at the very mature age of fifteen, apart from the relief of passing his Harrowing, was being taught how to read.

Fonst could never read just one thing, he had to alternate it, his mind tended to skim things, to flutter, it was the romance's turn now. As he read, every now and then, he would shake his head. People in novels always behaved much more rationally and spoke far better and were nobler, than real people. Sometimes he wished he could go and live in a novel. With a garden attached, of course.

He was just browsing a very emotional passage where beleaguered Lady Klarabelle was refusing to allow gallant Ser Clifford to save her from an arranged marriage to the hideous Lord Tarquin, when he heard some rather strange sounds emanating from the Tower, like scraping and squealing. He closed the well-thumbed book carefully using a finger to keep his place and listened intently. Nothing. Perhaps his imagination was getting the better of him, perhaps one of the cooks' knives had slipped when killing a pig or a kid. It happened. He went back to his story.

A few minutes later another noise, like a glass breaking he believed, he looked up with a little apprehension at the Tower in front of him. He could see nothing at first and then he espied something at one of the lower windows thirty yards up in the apprentices' quarter, he thought, a flash of blue but it was gone as soon as he'd glimpsed it. He returned to his book a little disquieted.

More noise this time, screaming, definitely. Now there was clearly something blue hovering at the window, a robe… someone in a robe squatting on the sill… Making a hideous sound somewhere between shrieking and keening, he guessed it was a woman, no male throat could produce a sound so high. As he looked the figure shuddered and shifted, for a moment he could almost believe that she was going to jump down back inside, for a moment, but then something, SOMETHING seemed to lunge at her from inside and she scrabbled backwards, lost her purchase on the narrow sill and plunged down to the stone base of the tower.

By the time Fonst had covered the twenty or so yards to where she lay at the foot of the tower, he already knew there was no hope. She lay face down and her body was shivering in the sunlight as if she were freezing. He already knew there was nothing he could do. Magic couldn't knit hundreds of crushed bones, couldn't repair ruptured organs, couldn't cure death.

He clutched her hand and, strangely, she was still able to pull it away from him, boots scuffling on the stone. She was making gurgling sounds… He caught her hand again and, with a little effort, stroked it, and told her everything would be all right now. The Fade was a beautiful place for those who had suffered and the Maker generous and loving. He did not really believe such things himself but it was his duty to say them, he felt. After a while, the noises she was making stopped and her hand grew cold and still in his.

He thought about turning her over but he really couldn't bear to, he could only imagine what a mess her face would be, so he went to his little shed and got an old blanket he sometimes used in cold weather to snuggle up in and covered her. He didn't know what else to do so he clasped his arms around his knees and sat next to her.

Suicides were not uncommon among the young ones in the Tower, unfortunately; both mages and Templars. Mage suicides were slightly more passive but more horrific and varied, poison, demons, fire-starting, lightening, drowning, jumping… Jumping.

Templars, on the other hand, though less creative, tended to at least attempt to take others with them, drunkenness, lyrium overdosing but, above all, picking quarrels combined or not with the former, were very common.

Once, he recalled, there was even a suicide pact between a Templar, male, and a mage, female… So, so sad. Such a waste. It was one of the few things that he recalled had ever brought people in the Tower together. It didn't last.

Fonst was more logical than intuitive, but as he sat there thinking all this through he realised something had to be terribly wrong. No-one had come for her, no-one, and by his judgment it was barely past midday. The Templars should already be here, stomping about, asking him questions in that clumsy clueless way they had. Surely someone would have noticed the broken window, heard her cries as he did. But no-one had come… Which meant something serious was happening.

For a moment Fonst rested the side his head against the stone wall. He heard muffled sounds, groans and scuffing perhaps but it was difficult to judge.

He sighed and got up, dusted down his robe and followed the base of the Tower towards its main and only entrance. As he drew near, some fifteen minutes later, he pressed himself against the wall and peeped over and above towards the main gate which was elevated about the ground and only accessible via a narrowish cobbled stone bridge leading directly to the small dock, Kinloch Hold proper.

There were four fully armed and helmeted Templars lingering there rather than the usual two and they looked more agitated than normal, one of them was twitchily half drawing the sword from the scabbard on his back and then thrusting it back in again the swishing sound it made was the only thing breaking the silence. Usually the Templars would chat, banter and bellow with their helmets off but not today.

He'd been watching them for a few minutes when suddenly there was a frantic knocking and yelling from inside the large, thick wooden gate, the only way in and out of the Tower, apart from the windows... Fonst was too far away to actually pick up what was being said and he thought it prudent not to go any nearer. One of the Templars went up to the gate, pushed up his helm and shouted what seemed to be a few brusque questions, from inside answers came in a rushed panicked voice. The Templar then instructed the others to lift the large wooden beam blocking the gate then he pushed the gate open somewhat.

Another Templar squeezed urgently through the gap. He was not wearing a helmet, had a fresh cut on his jaw and started talking rapidly in a loud obviously agitated voice. One of his colleagues pulled up his helm and took him to the little wall surrounding the bridge. The Templar who had exited the Tower and who had dark curly hair leaned over the edge and vomited while his companion patted him on the back. Then he turned back and leaned on his companion's shoulder, while the others looked on. Fonst realised he was crying.

In his twenty years in the Tower Erno Fonst had never seen a Templar cry.

                                                                                          ~...~

Dragon 9:35 Solis/Solace Denerim [Present]

Fonst summarised all this for the people around the table, glancing every now and then at Wynne who nodded at him encouragingly. He didn't mention the bit about the Templar crying. He had no idea how HE, the blond man sitting opposite him, would take that, he knew, like everyone else, that he had trained as Templar and the last thing he wanted him to do today was take offence.

He simply said that he realised something had gone terribly wrong in the tower, and that he taken the decision to leave. He acknowledged he was a coward and flinched only slightly when the girl sitting next to him gave him a kick on the shins under the table after he'd said this. He then narrated briefly how he had wrapped his robe in a rock and dropped it in some deep water just off the island so no one would realise that a living mage may be missing and how he had swum to the shore in his smallclothes. He had been river swimming since childhood, Lake Calenhad was easy in comparison.

He then went on to recount how he had survived the hardships of the Blight and eventually found employment as a farmhand in one of the Bannorn villages. As amiably as he could, he told them that he would not be identifying this village as the peasants there had given him succour, respect and employment. They had also pretended that they did not realise that he was a mage, even though he had cured some of their children's minor illnesses and occasionally used magic to defend them from the odd outlaw or darkspawn straggler. The blond man, whom he was now sure must be the King, nodded in agreement and Fonst felt relieved.

He then looked at the girl, whom he introduced to them as Jora and she proceeded to tell her story. How she'd been born into a family with magic in its blood who had never been tracked by the Templars or the Chantry and who had traditionally, in accordance with their talents, acted as healers and defenders of the village. The same village, in fact, where Fonst had found refuge.

The King waved his hand in the air, Jora took it badly but Fonst thought it merely a signal to move on to the true issue.

"The reason I have come here today is because I… We wish to request a mage be… extracted from the tower"

"Why?" Asked another blond man, this one had a full beard and pale blue eyes and was seated at the head of the table his chin propped on his hand.

"She has been summoned back to the circle in Orlais, she suspects that a direct order of the Divine is behind it. She fears she will never reach Orlais alive or, that if she does, she will be isolated from her peers." Fonst looked at Wynne again and drew breath. "Many mages dislike the circle or rather the circles imposed by the Chantry—"

At this point it seemed that Wynne was about to say something but the King held up his hand and she fell silent with a smile.

"… But the Ferelden circle is not as bad as many. We allow the sexes to mix freely, mages can engage their minds, there were, hopefully still are, political discussions… This mage, her name is Crispina Vallet… I know that's a bit of a mouthful…"

"But a pleasing one…" Said the King lightly.

Fonst blinked and smiled.

"But why—?"

"She is a scholar, she writes, Sire," Said Fonst grasping the nettle at last, "She writes treatises on morality, on governance, on the Maker, on the dilemmas both moral and practical facing many mages. She was born in Antiva and was taken as a child to the circle at Antiva City. Since passing her harrowing she has made it her aim to discover first hand how the different circles in different countries work so securing permission to travel between circles she has lived for several months in most of them. On that basis she has speculated on what the best system of governance for mages outside the conventional circles would be… She has used her experience to initiate debate within the different circles on these matters. She arrived in Ferelden in spring last year. She started off as a loyalist, now she is moving closer to being an Aequitarian. She has always, always worked within the constraints imposed by the Chantry. She has said that it is good for the intellect…"

"So why is she now fearful?"

"The new Divine, Alistair," Chipped in Wynne, "Justinia V…"

Fonst nodded. "She has been summoned by the Divine to the Orlesian circle at Montsimmard. At first, she was happy to comply although somewhat curious not to be provided with an adequate or even coherent explanation for the summons. But here have been rumours…"

"But everyone knows what terrible gossips mages are …" objected Alistair keeping his eyes on Fonst.

"Alistair!" Exclaimed Wynne indignantly from behind him.

Jora's eyes flashed again. "How would you like it, Sire, if your entire life and well-being depended on the Chantry…" she spat.

Fonst placed a warning hand on Jora's arm but she shook it off and continued glaring at Alistair, who sat back in smiling smugly. "Well actually…"

"Jora, child," Said Fonst softly, "His Majesty is no Chantrian… He is toying with us."

"Well, there's not much you can say to that, is there Alistair? The mage has the right of it." Sniped Fergus from his corner.

Alistair leaned forward, lacing his hands in front of him. "I beg your pardon Enchanter Fonst, Jora, I am apt to make light of serious issues… Call it a former fighter's bad habit…"

Jora looked at his hands and did not respond.

Fonst gave as much as shrug as a man such as he could, "None of us are perfect. Mage Vallet certainly fears for her life but she fears even more for what scant freedom she has and for her physical integrity…"

"But what foundation do you have for such beliefs?"

"She has been confined to her cell for the last week or so. Irving, Gregor have been unable and unwilling to explain why, she has done nothing wrong to deserve such isolation. She has been told by one of the other mages that the Divine is sending a contingent of Templars to collect her and escort her to Montsimmard…"

"How do you know this?"

"The collective…"

"Do you mean the mages' collective?"

A look of relief crossed Fonst's face. "You know of them?"

"I do, yes." When they were in need of funds they had carried out several tasks for the mages collective and overall Alistair was left with the impression of an organised, well-informed group that seemed quite good at keeping their people in line. But he knew no more than that really, because they had mainly acted as the Collective's errand boys.

"And I keep in contact with her…"

"You?" Said Oswyn, "How do you do that?"

Fonst shook his head.

"You don't wish to say?"

"We will not say." Clarified Jora.

"But why would the Chantry wish to do her harm or contain her?" Asked Alistair.

"Her writings are circulated from hand to hand. Sometimes in order to pass them on people even memorise them… She has influence, Sire. She wants to make people think for themselves, she is not critical but good at asking questions and sometimes that is perceived as being even more dangerous."

Jora said, "Sire you must know how the Chantry deals with people who disagree with it…"

Alistair nodded at her. "It is a pity that none of these writings… for background, you understand…"

"Sire, allow me," Fonst bent down and tugged a few loose parchments out of the small leather bag he had carried in and placed them in front of Alistair.

"Can I keep these, wouldn't you want them back?"

"Both I and Jora are quite familiar with their contents."

"Thank you."

"Do you have any idea when this contingent is due to arrive?"

"Do you have any idea, Sire?"

"Jora…" Remonstrated Fonst.

"Nope. First I've heard of it, I'm just the King so no-one tells me anything… But Jora has a point, why don't I know… We can check right?" Alistair looked at Oswyn "See if there is something to this." and then turned to look at Wynne.

"Yes." Said Oswyn.

Wynne also murmured her assent.

"Is there anything else you wish to say? I will have to check that what you have told me is true before making a decision and there may be a price," Jora looked at him scornfully, Fonst patted her arm reassuringly. "Not a monetary price, I should add, I hope you understand that…"

"We live in troubled times, Sire, there appears to be conflict brewing between the mages and the Chantry. The new divine, she may be pressing too hard… Relieving mage Vallet could be seen as a way of saving the Chantry from itself… From its own worst impulses."

"And would you wish such a thing, Enchanter Fonst, to save the Chantry?" Asked mother Boann.

"I do not personally have a great affection for the Chantry. But it has its role to play, if it did not exist, something else would, perhaps something worse. People need to believe and beliefs will always be woven into a religion."

"Jora?"

"I expected more from a King…"

"Lawler… Enchanter, Jora, if you would be kind enough to wait outside…"

                                                                             ~...~

Once they had left Brannion remarked, "I truly feel for mages, not a few of them are from my people, but even those that are not, like my people, they live confined…"

"But would you say I should help this mage?"

The alienage elder spread his hands in front of him. "It would depend on whether you can establish that they have told you the truth and how much you would need to do to assist. I am not saying they are lying, they may be elaborating or telling the truth as they kinow it but not necessarily as it is. They did not seem bad people to me. The girl was a little headstrong but that is how the young often are."

"So you would give a qualified yes?"

Brannion nodded.

Bregeth cut in, "You should make sure this is not a trap, Alistair. Traps are often baited with good intentions and the pure of heart."

There was a murmur of assent among those present.

"When Justinia was plain revered mother Dorothea she had a good reputation as a pious woman." Said Mother Boann, "But her election was fraught, to say the least… She had many rivals and even more critics. It may be that she is now just exercising her power to show those that argued she would be soft and ineffective are wrong…"

"Would you say that what we heard here today was like her?" Asked Oswyn

"I… Yes, unfortunately. I think she is currently badly advised."

"And as regards the main question?"

Mother Boann lowered her head. "I would tend to agree with Brannion. The Chantry's main aim in respect of the circle should be to protect non-mages from the potentially devastating effects of magic, not to oppress mages for the sake of it."

"Wynne?"

"Erno Fonst was always a little strange, a little withdrawn, but generally prudent and practical, especially for a mage… I was happy to discover he had survived… I would take what he says with some seriousness. He is no fanatic, no fire-brand… The fact that he has come here with this matter, risking discovery, means he regards it as one of importance and he may well be right."

"And of mage Vallet?"

"I have heard of her, she belongs to the new generation. I confess to not having read anything she wrote… It is also sometime since I myself have reported to the Tower. I would ask that you bear with me and I shall see if I can confirm some of the details of what has been said here today."

"Chamberlain Crabbe?"

"Check it's not too dear, Sire." He replied gruffly, "And I don't mean just money." The dwarf gestured towards the purse on his belt, "You can win a war but loose the peace if the price is not right. As for mages…" He shrugged.

"I shall bear that in mind…" Said Alistair, "Bregeth, it's no secret that Dalish Keepers are mages… How does that work?"

"In what sense?" she enquired fiddling with her dreadlocks.

"Are there no cases of Keepers being possessed?"

"Of course there are. But to a certain extent all mortals are susceptible to possession, except perhaps dwarves…" Bregeth glanced at Crabbe, who grinned at her. "But in our clans according to our tradition a Keeper is the clan leader but they must also, like any of the clan's members commit to a Vir…" She realised most of the others were looking at her somewhat confused and lowered her hands to her lap and set her features. "That is to say, they must also carry out one of the set of duties that are carried out by all the members of the clan, which can be either hunting, hearth keeping or crafting."

Alistair recalled Lanaya doing the washing at the stream when he last met her.

"All Dalish, who have the capacity, should contribute to the clan's well-being in one of these ways… I have sometimes thought that this also helps minimise the dangers of being possessed. Keepers do not spend their time solely occupied in magic or in the company of other magic practitioners, they have contact with the reality around them. They labour side by side every day with their clan folk who will pick up fairly soon is something is amiss…"

"Much as Enchanter Fonst does now." Suggested Wynne.

"Yes." Replied Bregeth. "That is what I thought when I heard him speak."

"So Fonst may have found a good way for mages to coexist without being supervised by a circle…" Said Oswyn.

"He may have, Alistair…" Said Wynne. "It might work for him and Jora but nothing can ever be certain. Especially when it concerns magic."

"Fergus?" Fergus' chin was on his neck, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked as though he may have nodded off in his corner though when Alistair said his name he raised his head soon enough.

"Hmmmm… What are the policy implications of this?"

Oswyn glanced at Alistair and then replied. "We'll be discussing those at another meeting, for the time being do you have an opinion on what we've heard today?"

"Do we know how many mages are living outside the circle?"

Oswyn opened his arms.

"I see, so there could be many hundreds or just a few dozen… Even less… That doesn't give us much to work on by way of comparison…"

"No it doesn't." Agreed Oswyn.

"Oh to the Black City and back with it! Let's just say yes for fun and games…"

Oswyn looked at Alistair. "I think that's a no…"

Fergus said "Huh!" and resumed his former posture.

"I think we should wind up…" Oswyn said, Alistair nodded his acquiescence.

                                                                              ~...~

Once the other had left Alistair, Oswyn and Fergus were alone, save for Lawler seated discreetly by the door.

"As the Dalish woman said, good head on those shoulders, could be a trap." Opined Fergus who still hadn't sat down.

"It could be." Echoed Oswyn.

"But this Fonst doesn't seem to be the type of person who would allow himself to be used in that manner… Wynne clearly doesn't believe so… Obviously we'll have to wait until she reports back." Said Alistair, his fingers drumming on the table.

"Wynne…" Said Fergus.

"Wynne was one of the companions. I trust her implicitly." Replied Alistair looking at him sternly.

"Right." Replied Fergus. "If this has to be done…"

"I suggest Dean and some of his men…" Said Oswyn quickly.

"Definitely." Agreed Alistair, "And I'm not very amused by the Divine sending a squad of Templars over our borders without so much as a 'by your leave, Your Majesty'…"

"You could write her a prissy letter, then, Alistair. But really…We should go along." Said Fergus.

"'We'?" Asked Oswyn.

"Yes. Alistair and I. How about it, Alistair?" Fergus suddenly seemed animated, "It's been some time since I picked up a sword for real… Hand's getting itchy… There's a blacksmith in Highever who makes armour for the Templars… We could pay him a visit…"

"Oh by the Maker, Fergus! Please, this is not…" Said Oswyn, but then he paused when he noticed Alistair eyeing Fergus.

"Last one to say 'yes' is a sissy?" Suggested Fergus.




Author's Note: Dear Readers, sincere apologies for being so late with this instalment. This chapter was a bit of a challenge, RL intervened somewhat and for the better, with offers of work. The future holds puppies! Or one puppy at least… And I also feel free to blame one Geralt of Rivia…

[Esbatty]

I liked this "inner circle" turn in the story. Hardened King Alistair is growing on me. *claps* I am most pleased, M!

[Maria13]

Chapter 71

Dragon 9:35     Kingsway/Parvulis     Denerim         [Present]

After their spat a few weeks ago Alistair and Anora had moved on to the exquisitely courteous phase. This would be followed by the professional, detached phase, to end up where they had began at the mutually supportive phase. Anora sighed, perhaps she was getting a little bored with their continuous cycling too…

"Not too bad…" Tepid words but they had the ring of truth about them. "I am sorry we argued the other day…" Not so sincere then. "Especially when I remember I used to reproach Cailan for his lack of frankness with me rather than for his infidelities… And you were frank with me. And I… Didn't like it…"

"And then you, very frankly, scolded me." Alistair smiled.

"Oh I did."

"Anyone ever tell you how good at that you are?"

"Not as such but Cailan used to look at me with big, sad eyes afterwards and promise never to do whatever it was again… But he always did."

Alistair nodded, neither thing surprised him. He summoned his courage. "Look at this." He slid a little velvet bag across the table towards her.

Anora raised her precisely plucked eyebrows, picked up the bag loosened the cord and spilled the contents into her hand. The pearls were fat, heavy and glossy with an almost golden lustre. Anora let the necklace trickle under its own weight from one small white hand to another, sighed and put it on the table…

"It's beautiful." She said coldly and then, "Exquisite."

Alistair was piling up the books and parchments he'd used for the meeting. "It's for you…" He said not looking at her.

"You're mocking me, aren't you? It's for that woman…"

"No, I've bought something else for her, I admit. The pearls are for you." He almost had his back to her, he was heading for the door carrying the pile of books.

"Alistair… Stop, turn around and look at me." Anora got to her feet and picked up the necklace. Alistair seemed to cringe but did as he was told placing the books on the table again. "Why?" She asked.

He looked at the table. "Because… It occurred to me… That I have never given you anything… And for all our differences, even if we weren't married… You would be the nearest thing I had to a relative, and I don't have many of those… Well, none, really, apart from you… So…"

"You're not going to send me away… This isn't some sort of… Apology?"

"Anora… Please. That would be ridiculous… Ferelden would loose its best statesman… stateswoman… Whatever… In one stroke. It's because…" He took a deep breath, "It's Kingsway my name day month. Not that I know which day is my name day, but… Well, I'm a year older."

She listened with her head tilted to one side. "Come here. Put this on me." She said holding out the necklace to him.

He crossed over to where she was, took the necklace from her.

"And yet you never seem to agree with me… At this meeting…"

Alistair who was at least a head and a half taller than her, draped the necklace around her neck.

"Well, of course I don't… Look, that. It's nothing personal… It's the way I am. I'm contrary… Born like that. Why, in the Chantry the good mothers used to pull me out of class by my ear I used to annoy them so much…" He started fiddling with the catch that seemed far too small for his big fingers. "You've no idea how much work in the kitchen I had to do as punishment. And I hate kitchen work, scouring pans and those big cauldrons, I really, really do…"

"I can't imagine you with your arms in soapy water up to your elbows…"

"Damn…" The catch slipped. "In cold greasy water, more like… Wielding a stiff wire brush…"

"That last I can." She said and giggled. "I can just picture you scrubbing away furiously."

Alistair smiled. "Definitely not my favourite weapon… Give me a sword any day." He managed to do the necklace up. "There you go…"

Anora toyed with it and turned towards him. "Wait here." She bustled towards the door and exchanged a few words with one of the guards. "You're going away…" She said closing the door behind her and turning back towards him.

"To Highever, yes, in a day or two."

"With her?"

"No with Fergus… Rous will be going to Lothering…"

"Ah, she endowed that Chantry there."

"Exactly."

"What will you be doing in Highever?" In response, Alistair frowned slightly. "Is it one of those things I'm better off not knowing?"

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

There was an awkward silence.

"Do you know where pearls come from?" She asked him eventually.

"Oysters. They're really delicious to eat, Anora." He added, recalling a day a few months ago where he and Rous had stopped at a shack on the beach and tied up the horses. 'You must try these…' Rous had said to him.

"You swallow them raw." He continued, "You prise open the shell with a knife and then tip them into your throat… Like so." He mimed the action. "They're cold and squelchy and…"

Anora winced. Alistair paused. He was just about to go on to hint that they tasted like the sea and… That would not have been appropriate.

"Yes but why do oysters make pearls?" She asked him.

"I have no idea."

There was a discreet knock on the door. Anora hastened to it and the guard gave her a hand mirror.

She held it in front of her. She pulled herself up a little straighter and… Preened turning her head this way and that without taking her eyes off the mirror. A pink flush came into her cheeks. Alistair realised he had never seen her preen before. It was rather fascinating.

"It suits me, does it not?" She asked.

"It suits you very well."

"I shall have to buy a new dress to go with it. Perhaps two."

"Why not?"

"Pearls…" Anora said picking up one of the fine orbs and holding it out between her thumb and index, "Come about, so the theory goes, because the oyster gets annoyed… When a grain of sand or two gets trapped within its shell, the poor creature in order to reduce its discomfort coats it in a layer of nacre… That smooth, hard, whitish silvery rainbow coloured substance that you see within the shell… By adding layer after layer in the end the oyster makes a pearl… All around a minute troublesome grain of sand."

"I did not know…"

"So from irritation comes beauty…" She said releasing the necklace again. "Do you think there is a message for us both there?"

"Perhaps." Said Alistair smiling at the inference and picking up his books again. "In any event, it is good to see you happy."

"Thank you, Alistair, thank you…" She ran over quickly and pecked him on the cheek and opened the chamber door for him on his way out.

                                                                          ~...~                             

Rous lifted her healthy breast, squeezed it slightly, tweaked the nipple somewhat and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. With utmost care, she handled the scarred one in a similar fashion. Then she ran her hands over her belly rubbing it lightly, turning to the side for a different view.

Then she tossed her hair and started scanning it very carefully for any grey strands. She found more than she was comfortable with and screwed up her face as she pulled them out one by one. Her mother had gone grey in her late thirties, she recalled, a disturbing thought.

'Breathe', she thought, she closed her eyes for a moment willing herself to let it all go attempting to ease the tension she felt from her shoulders and her tight chest. 'Think about something else…' She instructed herself, like what was Alistair doing and why was the mirror here and not somewhere else?'

She looked over to the other side of their bedchamber. Her not quite Templar was taking longer than usual to disrobe and, at the moment, appeared to be sorting through his discarded clothing while sitting on the bed. Curious…

"Alistair," she said, "What is the mirror doing here?"

"Hmmm…" He replied. "What Cosy?" He asked, setting his garments to one side, getting up from the bed and loping towards her as if he were wearing a sword even when he was quite naked.

"This mirror," she repeated pointing at it, "Why is it here and not somewhere else?"

"I don't…"

"Well it could be at the foot of the bed…"

"At… Oh I see." He said. He stroked her hair. "Why don't you turn around and face it?"

Without thinking about it over much she did as he asked. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. She reached back and over to fondle his cheek. There was a glint in his hand, but she thought nothing of it, a trick of the light perhaps, and closed her eyes as he put his arms around her, kissing her neck, one of her most sensitive places ever so gently. A few seconds later when he stepped back she felt something cold nestling between her breasts. She opened her eyes.

An emerald on a gold chain almost the size of a quail's egg lay just over her heart. She gasped.

"I bought it in Orzammar… because I was thinking of the colour of your eyes." He said quietly kissing her again.

Rous held it up to the light of one of the candles and its glimmer seemed to fill the darkened room.

"I never asked… I never…"

"Of course you didn't. But you've already given me a gift, I'm just responding in kind. I was told I could have had it cut, but I like it how it is: raw and irregular."

"Raw…" Murmured Rous and turned around wrapping her arms about his waist. They pressed their bodies together the emerald trapped between them as their mouths sought each other and made contact their lips and tongues frolicking teasingly.

"Thank you…" She said, "It is really beautiful. Now tell me what you want me to do in exchange for it…" She added smiling up at him perkily.

Alistair chuckled, "Well, I wasn't really… But since you're asking…" He paused, "What were you saying about putting the mirror at the foot of the bed?"

"In Orlais I understand they even put them on the ceiling… And not just in brothels, either…"

"On the ceiling? Oh Maker… Those Orlesians… Just so decadent…I'm not sure, wouldn't that be a little distracting?"

"Weren't you born in Orlais, Alistair?" She enquired batting her eyelashes very innocently.

"Yes I was, but…"

She grasped his Grey Warden pendent. Rous stroked his flank, running her hand over his soft smooth skin there, purposely ignoring other things that were going on in that area of his anatomy. "Mistress…" She prompted.

"Mistress…" He echoed looking down at her.

Still holding the pendent Rous turned them both around and started heading for the bed. "Shall we put that innate decadence to the test?"

"If you really, really insist… But I'm probably a beginner compared to you…" He said his large feet padding meekly on the flagstones behind hers.

They got to the edge of the four-poster. "Lay down Alistair…" She said.

He did. She knelt on the bed next to him, bent over and put her mouth against his again, reaching out towards his waist and clasping him as she did so.

A few minutes later, having released him, she broke their kissing for the second time and was about to straddle him when he said, "Ah… No, I…" He sat up abruptly. "Cosy, I can't." He said.

"But…" Rous looked down at him. He meant it literally. She looked back up at his face. His lips were pursed, his features tight.

"I'm sorry…" He ran his arm across his eyes, "I need a drink…" He was poised to throw his legs over the side of the bed.

Rous put her hand on his knee, "What happened?"

Alistair looked down at her hand and rubbed the back of his head.

"That thing you were going to do just then… I… It brought back memories. Bad ones."

"Oh." Said Rous suddenly realising. "Oh."

"Not your fault." He added quickly.

"Alistair." She said, "I'm not her."

"I know you're not…"

"I love you."

"I know that."

"And I would never hurt you…"

"I know that, too. Look…"

She caught him in her arms and lay her head on his chest listening to his heart for a while. "You can't let the recollection of what that women did to you limit you, us, in any way, Alistair. It's not healthy and it's not right."

"Easier said…" He remarked stroking her hair.

"Have you ever confronted it directly? Did you talk about it with Neriya at all?" Rous asked looking up at him.

Alistair flexed his shoulders. His discomfort was obvious. "Not really. You see I didn't want to add to her guilt. I knew she felt guilty about persuading me, she shouldn't have; I am responsible for my own decisions. But… We just sort of decided to work around it, I guess… Come to think of it, that may be part of the problem."

Rous thought about that. "I understand some people cope better with bad memories by burying what happened and not mentioning it ever again. You and I, we're not like that, I don't think. We're talkers and doers…"

"Perhaps…"

"You don't know how many times I went over with Fergus what happened to me… To tell you the truth, not even I know anymore. I talked it through again, and again until it became old and stale and I got tired of hearing my own voice twittering on about it… I did the same for Fergus, we used to take these long walks together or sit up all night drinking and talking, we took it in turns… It brought us closer together. And then, eventually, I was able to stop. Fergus was able to stop. It still troubles me now and then but I think I came to reconcile myself to it, in the main. Somehow…"

"But looking at what happened to me now, it seems so trivial, so…"

"Yet it's still playing on your mind. Do you dream about it?"

"Sometimes, yes…"

"And not good ones, I bet."

"Embarrassing dreams. Dreams where I'm naked and helpless, even a child sometimes, and… Nasty things happen to me…" He sighed.

"As if you were the son you conceived."

"Yes, perhaps." Alistair replied thoughtfully. "That makes sense, in a very twisted and confusing sort of way…"

"If you get any more of those dreams, tell me about them. I promise to listen. And search for your son. You must do that, you promised me you would."

"I will."

Rous held up the jewel in front of his eyes and said in a cajoling voice, "Promise me Alistair, you naughty little boy, you, promise me…"

"I do. I do. Alright?" He was getting tetchy.

She let the emerald drop, "I will join you in a drink later but, for now…" she began moving all over the large bed on all fours gathering the many pillows and cushions strewn on it and piling them up against the headboard, aware of Alistair's hazel eyes following her all the while.

"This is your place, My Lord," she said once she'd finished, pointing to a cushion she had set before the headboard, Alistair took his place. "Now lean back against the other pillows and cushions." Smiling slightly he did so and put his legs out straight in front of him. "I see we have recovered fully from our little mishap…" She said running a hand over his hair.

"Mishap? What mishap?" He asked teasingly.

"And where would you say my place is, Alistair?"

"Here," He said pointing downwards. "Right here."

"I would never have guessed…"

"King's orders. Get to it. Now…"

"My, we are so forceful, all of a sudden…" She said straddling his waist. "Are we sure?" She said kissing his cheek very lightly.

"Oh, yes, we are… We definitely are…"

                                                                                  ~...~

He'd never mentioned those dreams before, not even to Neriya. As he'd attempted to explain to Cosy, after everything that had happened it seemed so trivial. But he definitely felt more comfortable looking her in the eyes, as he was now, while she was riding him rather than lying below her.

Her graceful fingers touched his chest and she seemed to be gasping. He put one of his hands over hers and pressed it even closer to his skin. He closed his eyes and for a moment concentrated on the very pleasant feeling of her moving around him.

She'd been a bit short tempered of late and he'd wondered whether she was getting fed up of him, now the initial thrill had passed. He certainly couldn't get enough of her, that was for sure, but after Neriya…

Her hands moved to his shoulders, pressing into his muscles there, he blinked, suddenly those clear green eyes of hers misted over and her head went back exposing her throat.

"Oh Maker! Alistair… Oh, bloody hell! Oh…"

He clasped her against his chest as she struggled, shuddered and climaxed… Well, at least, she was still calling out his name.

[Esbatty]

D'aww... I like that Anora and Alistair getting along as family. Thats actually kind of awesome. I don't like the idea of Anora being unhappy nor Alistair getting the cold shoulder by his own wife-sister-in-law.

Another wondiferous Chapter, M!

...

ALso, bleurgh at the idea of Son-Alistair w/ Morrigan nightmare. Thats - disturbing, and kind of appropriate kind of mixed up trauma dream.

[Maria13]

Chapter 72

Dragon 9:35 Parvulis/Kingsway Denerim/Highever/Redcliffe

They'd started off for Highever from Denerim at dawn and what little conversation there was between them was on the harmless generalities of a soldier's life, their erstwhile brothers in arms, the fights, pranks, bets, binges, food… When Fergus got on to the subject of wenching and spun several ribald tales about his own amorous escapades, prior to his marriage, Alistair could only repeat second-hand stories.

Finally, Fergus realised this: "Not much wenching in the Chantry, I imagine?"

"We had half a day in ten on release, so no, not really… And I, well…"

"Andraste's ******!" Exclaimed Fergus, eyeing him and Alistair winced somewhat at the profanity. "Half a day in ten. No wonder Templars are such a grim lot."

                                               ~...~

By the second day, they seemed to have exhausted most of the subjects of conversation readily available to them and so rode mostly in silence.

On their third day, they were due to reach Highever that evening, Fergus drank too much ale at the inn where they rested for lunch and they had to keep stopping in order for him to relieve himself to the extent that it was getting embarrassing. Alistair decided to pretend that he was suffering likewise so Fergus didn't feel he was alone.

They'd been riding for several hours by then and not much conversation had passed between them but as they shared a tree Fergus suddenly said: "I always wanted her to get married and have children, you know."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint." Said Alistair lacing himself up.

Fergus sighed, "It's not like that."

"Then how is it?"

"I... You're a good man, it seems..."

"Look," Said Alistair, leaning against another tree while Fergus finished up. "I swear to you that, if I thought that her life would be better if I weren't in a relationship with her... I would give her that opportunity."

"You would leave her?" Fergus asked.

Alistair's face was set his chin jutted somewhat but he nodded.

"Strange bunch you Theirins are..." Fergus mused as if Alistair weren't standing directly in front of him, "There's not one of you that doesn't have a hatful of redeeming features and not one who lacks a glaring defect... Cailan's was vanity, your father's, melancholy... Yours... naïveté... You seem to have no idea how real people work, seem to think you can save the world... Oh, all right then, let's set that last comment to one side."

"Explain." They began to make their way back to the horses.

"Rosy would hate for you to leave her. She would go to pieces… Again. And my problem with Rosy and you is..." Fergus paused while he remounted. "Look at it like this... when that woman dressed in a novices robe clutched at my sleeve during your coronation. I had nothing. Less than nothing. No family no relatives, not even anyone to take revenge on: Howe, Loghain, they were both dead..."

"But you took care of that Godfrey…"

"Oh that I did! A few years ago, now. It was quite… Satisfying."

"Still, it must have been difficult" Said Alistair with not a little sympathy.

Fergus laughed. "You have no idea... When I was in the wilds... I spent quite a lot of time fending off those Chasind women, preserving my virtue would you believe. Dreaming of getting back to Highever and my family, and all the time my sweet Oriana and my little boy were dead. Already dead. Together with my parents of course... Absurdly ironic."

They rode for about half a mile and Fergus added: "What I am trying to say to you, Alistair, is that even if you were the Maker's own chosen anointed one, which, by the way, I know you're definitely not, I would still resent your relationship with my sister with all my heart... I think it's only fair I should warn you. But I think you don't really understand that. Rosy says… Anyway… and Rosy does not lie about such things but... Well you never really had a family growing up did you? So it's not your fault."

If cantering his horse would have allowed Fergus to shrug, Alistair is sure he would have done so once he had reached that point. Since Fergus appeared very much to have reached his own conclusion and Alistair didn't disagree with it, he thought it best to just grunt in acknowledgement and Fergus seemed to appreciate that.

They were a few miles from his estate when Fergus turned to him and said. "I've been thinking. About your little girl... Why don't you send her to Highever for a few weeks when she's older? Children like the countryside, it's healthy for them and it would be pleasant to hear a child's laughter between Highever's walls again. I could teach her how to fight, like I did Rosy..."

Alistair hesitated and it must have shown in his posture somehow because the other man immediately added. "Ah, I see you already had plans in that direction. Of course you do. But any child can benefit from having more than one trainer... Surely you would agree?"

                                                ~...~

When they arrived at Highever the estate's servants greeted them in a friendly manner. There were many enquiries as to Rous's whereabouts and activities.

Over a simple supper of broth and bread, Fergus asked Alistair whether he would prefer to use a guest room or sleep in Rous's room, "Don't worry it has a double bed…" He added.

Alistair said he would prefer Rous's to the guest room and shortly thereafter, it was Fergus himself who showed him there. "I'd all but forgotten how hard horses can be on the body. We need the rest." He remarked sounding tired. "The horses I ordered are due anytime now, from Antiva. I still have contacts there, you know."

"I'll make a note of that." Said Alistair.

"Oh, I fully expect you to… Anyway, this room…" He said opening the door, "It isn't the one where all those things happened. Rosy and I had a good talk very shortly after our reunion and as a result, we decided to close that wing of the house. Too many bad memories, especially for her…" Fergus seemed to suppress a shudder. "Well, anyway, enough of that. Sleep well, Alistair."

Alistair heard Fergus murmur a further muffled good night and found himself standing in the centre of his lover's bedroom.

It was so different from his own.

To start with, the curtain around the bed was not simply functional it was very elaborately decorated with the Cousland reef heavily embroidered in the centre surrounded by fruits, apples, grapes, pears, different kinds of berries, and such. The pillows and sheets behind the curtains were fringed with lace and made of stiff, thick cotton. The coverlet was embroidered to match the curtains. 'Nothing better than being a Cousland', he recalled Cosy saying. The bed smelt crisp and clean, no doubt made up for him fresh today.

On the floor to one side of the bed was an immense white bearskin mat, silky soft between his fingers when he stooped down to touch it. A white bear? He had never heard of such a thing…

Two oval portraits in oils were displayed on one wall, the subjects male and female, painted in a charming, he imagined, Orlesian style; plump rosy cheeks, snub noses and wide lips. Even if this was artifice, which he was almost certain it was; there was a distinct resemblance to both Fergus and Cosy from which he supposed that the portraits were Bryce and Eleanor in their youth.

On the wall opposite there was an ancient bow made of solid black timber Alistair took it down carefully and turned it around his hands. It was quite heavy. He did not dare pull it although he was tempted for fear of cracking it. From the dry feel of the timber it was apparent that time had made it brittle. A family heirloom he imagined.

Arranged around the room were five sideboards or bureaux each completely different from the others and covered with knick-knacks, beads, stones, coins, earrings, figurines… His own statuette and rune collection looked positively modest in comparison, he thought. He picked up a cheap tin locket that seemed out of place and, forcing the catch a little, found himself looking at the wide face of a homely redheaded woman. He wondered who she was, she did not resemble either of the siblings, and the locket seemed slightly distorted and stained, by fire perhaps? He put it back exactly where he had found it.

Alistair found three embroidery frames, one, rectangular in shape, which he guessed she must have been working on most recently, was actually attached to a stand that would allow Cosy to sit while she sowed without having to hold the frame and was, in fact, placed next to a sturdy high-backed chair with a worn seat. Two others, one round the other square, one in wool, the other silk but also unfinished, he found lying on the bureaux. It seemed she liked to work on several things at once, moving when she tired of one, to another.

Thinking he would now have to make an abject confession to Cosy and rather enjoying that idea, Alistair threw open the doors of her wardrobe. There were four or five elegant dresses but they had gathered dust, most of the contents were plain enough, breeches and doublets, some in velvet or silk but most wool, cotton, leather or roughspun; all in plain darkish colours. He concluded that Cosy's preference for male dress was not a novel or new affectation.

He closed the wardrobe door, sat on the bed and began to remove his boots. He could open all the drawers and cupboards and continue his ramble but even the very thought of doing so suddenly seemed exhausting. Fergus was right. Horses were tough on the body. His rear was sore, his thighs, even his ankles and shoulders. His back ached and tomorrow would not be much easier.

No Cosy to distract him or massage away the aches and pains. He wondered what she was doing.

                                               ~...~

Rous and Lawler caught up with her escort just outside of Redcliffe. This was not as strange as it seemed as the five-man, largely ceremonial, escort had been sent out on foot two days before while Rous had insisted on riding and therefore Alistair, in his absence, had insisted that Lawler accompany her on horseback. Something like that would usually have annoyed her but she liked Lawler's straightforwardness and didn't object to him as a travel companion.

They were due to spend the night at Redcliffe Castle with the Guerrins and depart early the next morning for Lothering. They arrived late afternoon and were shown to their accommodations and allowed to refresh themselves from the ride. Around evenfall, they were called to sup with the family.

Rous enquired politely after Connor and Isolde waxed lyrical about how well he was doing in his studies and what a powerful mage her son had turned out to be. While she was saying this Rous glanced across the table at Teagan, her favourite Guerrin bar none, and saw him picking irritably at his food. Seated to her left, Lawler was busy burying his face in his plate, either because he was hungry or because he wished to make clear that the concerns of nobles were not his concerns. Rous could hardly blame him.

Apparently, Connor was due to return to Ferelden from Trevinter before the end of the year and Isolde went into some detail as to how she was having his old bedroom redecorated for his use. At that point Teagan said in a patient voice, "But Isolde, Chief Enchanter Irving told us that they might allow the lad to spend a few days here, but no more… Especially since the Tower is local to us."

Isolde scowled and instead of replying to Teagan turned to her husband, "Eamon you said you would write to the Chief Enchanter, have you done that yet?"

In reply, Eamon waffled somewhat ineptly, about how busy he was and how it had slipped his mind.

Isolde, eyes blazing with a mother's fervour, then turned to Rous, "Rosaura, you must mention this to Alistair… Connor is his nephew, after all, and that should be acknowledged."

Rous looked down at her onion soup and mumbled a non-committal reply. She could fairly well imagine what Alistair's response would be to any request that he should sue the Chief Enchanter for special treatment for his nephew, particularly since she was very aware that he could hardly bear to even be so much as in the same room as Lady Guerrin.

Isolde still looked angry so she added, "Knight Commander Gregoir will be at the re-consecration ceremony tomorrow perhaps you could approach him then, Lady Guerrin." As these words left her mouth she recalled how a few weeks' ago Alistair had insisted she invite the Knight Commander. At the time this had struck her as rather strange. He had left everything else to do with the ceremony completely up to her. She hadn't thought to question him on the point, now it nagged at her.

Isolde nodded gravely. "Yes, Rosaura, I will do that."

Rous suddenly felt sorry for Gregoir.

Surprisingly Eamon then intervened and suggested that Isolde might like to tell Rous about their recent visit to Orlais. It was obvious that if there was something Isolde loved almost as much as Connor it was her home country and for the next half an hour she launched into a long discourse on the beauty of Orlais, the excellence and grace of its natives and the charm of its latest fads and fashions.

Teagan showed her to her room after Rous had pleaded her tiredness from the journey to excuse herself from viewing the many gowns and jewels Isolde had apparently purchased on her trip. "I am glad Alistair found you Lady Cousland." He said mildly as they walked down a winding corridor.

"It's Rous, Teagan." She corrected him.

"Rous. The last time I had any meaningful contact with him was on his wedding day and he was drinking some foul brew to render himself unconscious before his bedding… I felt sorry for him. Even sorrier when I heard the Hero had left him. As for Anora— even I am forced at this stage to admit that she has many good qualities as a sovereign but an overabundance of affection is not one of them."

"He still loves Neriya, you know. Well part of him does, at least." Rous acknowledged as Teagan opened the chamber door for her.

Teagan blinked, "I only met her briefly but Circle Mage Neriya Surana was a powerful woman. Of the kind that makes a mark." He looked Rous directly in the eyes as he said this, "I sure she returned his feelings, too. They worked well together during the Blight from what I could see… But peacetime brings its own stresses to bear, as no doubt you and your brother know…"

"I do, Teagan, yes, I do."

"My darling sister-in-law's endless prattle being the case in point…" the Bann of Rainesfere added with a mischievous glint in his pale blue eyes.

Rous laughed.

"It's good to be in a position to laugh at such things, is it not?" Asked Teagan.

"Indeed it is."

"Be sure to give Alistair my sincere regards when you next see him… Sweet dreams, Rous."

"You too, Teagan."

                                                    ~...~

Master Blacksmith Barlow of Highever had a chest as broad and deep as a barrel covered in whorls of sooty hair that peeked over the top of his worn leather apron.

"Milord Cousland," He snarled, "and you…" He paused for a moment taking Alistair in, his eyebrows lowered, "Whoever you may be… My 'prentice will fit you in the next room. Me, I have proper work to do."

"Good day to you, Master Barlow." Replied Fergus airily.

"Yeah, as you say…" growled the blacksmith turning to beat out a piece of steel he had just drawn from the fire.

The next room was nothing but a dusty storeroom fully of stacks of armour and other things that would clutter the main room of the smithy. It was a fine day and a door was open into a small fenced-in enclosure with a trough in the middle where it was obvious animals used to be kept or perhaps visitors used to tie up their horses. The apprentice in question turned out to be female, a skinny young dour thing with an expression that said that she had seen it all before on her longish face.

She introduced herself as Brat "Not my real name," she added. "Remove your doublets."

They did, standing in just their shirts above the belt and Bratt frowned especially at Alistair. She went to the door. "We need an extra large breastplate for the blond one." She called out.

Alistair grinned at Fergus raising his eyebrows. Fergus turned away pretending not to notice. Bratt handed him one of the breastplates leaning against the wall and they proceeded to buckle it on. "Definite medium." Said Brat.

A child barely a toddler with a mass of sticky hair came in dragging a large breastplate that made a scraping sound against the cobbled floor. Alistair picked it up and tousled the infant's locks before starting to put it on. Bratt glanced across at him, left him to it and continued assisting Fergus.

About half an hour later they'd both been fitted, they were wearing the breastplates, one set of leg armour and one set of arm armour each. Brat had said something about going to fetch the cummerbunds and left the room.

"Cummerbunds?" asked Fergus.

"A fetching shade of purple, if you will, with yellow detail and a very becoming fringe." clarified Alistair. "Like the off duty robes."

"Know-it-all. Extra large." scoffed Fergus. He picked up a rusty pair of tongs from a pile of old tools in the corner of the room and began to prod Alistair's breastplate with it, "Know-it-all!"

"Hey!" said Alistair, "I can't help my size!" Perusing the same pile himself, he came upon something that at first he thought was a rusty blade but that when he took it in hand he saw was actually a large chisel. He did a mental shrug and shouted "At you!" to Fergus.

"As you will, bastard," Fergus responded spiritedly and the iron of tongs blocked the chisel's thrust with a deep oxidized clank. "For Highever!" he shouted, launching a counterattack.

"For cheese!" responded Alistair.

Fergus stopped mid thrust. "For cheese? What kind of battle cry is that?"

"Oh, in the Chantry they attempted to get us all to adopt our own devout battle cry. 'For Andraste's virtue!' And the like. I always refused; mine was, 'For cheese!'"

"No wonder they never let you join the order…," muttered Fergus darkly resuming the attack.

Alistair tried to find a way through his guard but Fergus parried and then forcefully drove the chisel down. "This is ridiculous…" Fergus exclaimed, "These are toys…" and so saying he dropped the tongs instead throwing a punch aimed at Alistair's jaw.

"Just because you're her brother…" Said Alistair dodging, and skipping back on the balls of his feet, fists raised, "Think I can't hit back? Think I won't?" His punch grazed Fergus' shoulder were the breastplate had come slightly loose.

At this point Brat returned , she sighed when she saw what they were doing and set the sashes to one side, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her budding breasts resigning herself to waiting them out.

"Do your worst, Theirin…" sneered Fergus.

"Think I won't, Cousland?" Alistair repeated.

Fergus cuffed him across the left ear and for a very brief moment, he heard the chime of tiny silvery bells.

"Right, that's it…" He clonked Fergus under the chin. With a 'Uuuuf' and then an 'ulp!' Fergus staggered backwards and lost his balance. Alistair grabbed him by the neck of the back breastplate and dragged him out into the little yard with the intention of dunking him in the trough there but Fergus began to struggle digging his heels into the dusty ground and reaching back attempting to loosen Alistair's grip.

As Alistair pulled him through the narrow doorway, Fergus managed to hook one of his feet on the lintel. Alistair was about to turn around to improve his grasp when he heard a voice from apparently calling out to him, "Oy you!" A large man was leaning on the fence; there was something familiar about him. It took Alistair a few seconds to recognise Dean.

He dropped Fergus and walked over to Dean "Smarty pants…" Said Dean. Suddenly a humongous grin split his face from side to side. Alistair was just thinking what that could possibly mean when something or someone grabbed his leg from behind.

[Esbatty]

"Extra Large"... brilliant. It just struck me if Fiona had the same problem as Neirya birthing a Theirin.

The odd thing is, I never imagined Maric being very large. Although I did imagine Queen Moira was having her Grandfather's Stature.