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[Addai]

Ack, poor thing!    I guess it's better that Alistair is not there to see it.  *sniffle*

[Maria13]

Chapter 29

Dragon 9:34

Parvulis/Kingsway Denerim [Present]

Alistair did not usually go mob handed into his meetings with Anora, but that Wednesday he had three people sitting at the table with him, although the only new one was Oswyn, both Crabbe and Lawler having attended previously.

Crabbe prepared to start taking notes. As he had done in the past for Neriya, Alistair summarised the meetings protocols and secured Oswyn's agreement to abide by them.

He was then poised to introduce him but Anora intervened with a discreet, "Welcome, Oswyn of Dragon Peak" to which Oswyn responded with the merest nod.

As usual, Anora opened, "First, matters arising, Alistair, the Grand Cleric..."

Lawler heard Alistair mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "bugger the Grand Cleric," under his breath.

If Anora had overheard the same comment, she did not show it but continued very reasonably, "The Grand Cleric is persisting in expressing her concern that there has not yet been a private meeting between ourselves and her representative, and I do note that almost a year and a half has passed since we first made that proposal..."

"Anora, my dear," said Alistair, "I can't really spare the time until the new year... I think it's called, oh, I don't know... Being King of Ferelden? These next few months especially... Can't she put it in writing?"

"Well, I am not sure that will be acceptable to Her Reverence. She has always emphasised the importance of personal contact. There are ways around it; of course, Alistair, and I do note you recently took some time out... I could meet with her representative by myself..."

"Suddenly I find myself terribly interested in what Elemena's representative may have to say..." Alistair said leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand.

"Then, as a matter of courtesy, may I suggest we apologise for the delay and fix a mutually convenient date in advance? That will quell her impatience... I am happy to draft the letter myself and supply you with a copy, and consult Crabbe on your availability. We could also agree an agenda."

Alistair rolled his shoulders, "Fine." There was a slight edginess to his tone.

"Now, item one, Alistair..."

"Well, you have the copy of Bann Walford's confession..."

"Indeed I do, but I have to ask, how was this extracted?"

"His Majesty and I had a meeting with the Bann on summer's eve, here at the palace in one of the upper rooms." Said Oswyn.

"And the tone of this meeting was..."

"I would describe it as open and friendly, Your Majesty. His Majesty and I expressed some concerns and reservations regarding the good Bann's recent activities and he was more than happy to help us with our enquiries, we only detained him for some four hours. But as you can see, he gave a very complete and explicit account of the activities in question and the others involved in them..."

"I see." Said Anora, her eyes flicked from Oswyn to Alistair, then back to Oswyn and finally to the document in front of her.

"He then departed for home, where he remains, after giving us assurances that he would not share the contents of our conversation with any others." Concluded Oswyn.

"This all seems to have been... Rather well managed..." Remarked Anora, she sounded quite impressed, "So..."

"I am requesting your consent to detaining Bann Ceorlic and putting him on trial for treason..." said Alistair.

"I cannot see any grounds on which to object to that. However, what of his family?"

"From our information it would appear only the Bann himself was involved." Alistair replied, "Should the trial not go well for him, I am quite happy to allow his eldest son to inherit the title and leave the rest of the family in peace..."

"That is generous of you, Alistair, but... Historically there has been a fair amount of bad blood between the Theirins and the Banns of Southern. Perhaps any future conflicts could be avoided now, at the same time as the Bann's arrest... Have you considered exile for his children and spouse?"

Alistair glanced at Oswyn, "I have. I have also had the same discussion with others... I may be new to this, but it seems to me unfair to punish the innocent for the crimes of their relatives, if such can be proven against the Bann. Moreover, it could be that exiling the family will not suppress any resentment but may actually have the opposite effect..."

"Nevertheless, an enemy in Orlais, the Free Marches, or Antiva is somewhat further afield than one in Ferelden and will have less access to any resources to stir dissent here..."

"I appreciate that, but..."

"I just thought the suggestion should be made."

"And I thank you for making it." Replied Alistair, Anora nodded in acknowledgement.

"Now: Logistics."

Alistair glanced at Oswyn who shrugged, and then at Lawler. "We have agreed that the best way to proceed would be to carry out a night-time arrest. Present the warrant to the commander on night duty and then proceed to detain the Bann, using only reasonable force. We would hope that way to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed."

"Who will be involved?"

"All of us here excluding Crabbe, of course."

"So you intend to supervise this yourself?"

"I do. This should not be taken as any reflection on the skills of Lawler and Oswyn. It is simply that since I am the person aggrieved and ultimately responsible for this decision, I should also be there to execute it."

"The following day," added Oswyn, " we will make arrangements for Bann Domhnall's confession to be read in the main squares of the villages around Southern and in the market square here at Denerim. Once we have Bann Ceorlic in custody, Lawler will be responsible for ensuring he is escorted to Denerim while his Majesty and myself will proceed to Orzammar to undertake some business there..."

"I only have one slight objection, Alistair, along the lines of my previous one; do you not think that your presence at the arrest will aggravate further old animosities? Is this a risk you need to take?"

"Perhaps not, if truth be told," Alistair said replying to the last question first, "but I am still young and fit and sometimes the tame life I am living here in Denerim tires me... I don't mind taking risks, never have..." Alistair realised he had said a little more than he intended and Anora was looking at him cocking her head, with... Was that pity? "I'll have time enough to grow old and delegate..." he concluded lamely.

"And my first point?"

"Oh that. Bah..." he said.

Anora smiled. "Well then. You two," she said wagging her finger at Lawler and Oswyn, "make sure he doesn't take too many risks and bring him back to Denerim in one piece... I have no appetite for being widowed twice over... It would be politically disastrous." She paused, "This visit to Orzammar?"

"Diplomacy vis a vis our dwarven allies..." Chipped in Oswyn.

"And some work on that project I started last year..." Added Alistair.

"You mean the one I know nothing about?"

"That's the one, dearest..."

"I have nothing to say. Diplomacy is always good, as for the project, since it appears to be self-financing... Bah?"

Alistair almost grinned at her.

                                                                              ~~...~~

Lady Cousland pursed her lips as she drew the bow. This was her fourth arrow on her first target of three and Alistair already knew he was in trouble. Bowmanship had never been his forte. Archery being what it was, he had mostly expected her to turn up in a gown similar to the one he had seen her in on summers eve. Perhaps even carrying her shoes in her hand as she had then.

However, today, she had dressed the part and was wearing a suit of fine expensive pastel dyed dragon leathers which cleaved to her figure pretty impressively, emphasising the curves, and clothed in which she really looked every inch one of the two surviving warrior scions of house Cousland that indeed she was. Her long hair was pinned up with only a few loose red strands hanging around her face. Alistair thought he detected a white vertical mark on the right side of it but she was not still enough for him to make it out.

Together with the gown she also seemed to have discarded much of her previously frivolous demeanour, in fact Alistair was beginning to wonder whether he was dealing with the same woman. Her fletch flew smartly and embedded itself firmly in the ring surrounding the bull's eye.

As Lady Cousland nocked her final arrow for this target, she at last addressed him, "Like love," she said somewhat cryptically, "initial resistance, the application of a little force harnessed with dexterity, flexibility, give and then, finally, relief..."

"You shoot well" Alistair said, it was actually a bit of an understatement.

"My mother taught me." That would be Eleanor, he thought, slaughtered together with her father Bryce by Rendon Howe a few months before Ostagar.

"Of course," he said.

Now it was his turn. He was not wearing armour of any kind just some rather comfortable, supple, garments, jerkin and breeches in dusky blue burlap, the kind of which were usually described as "hunting wear" but since he never went hunting... He drew his bow and then he heard a slight creak from her leathers as she settled against the wall crossing her arms.

He let fly and did not, he thought, let himself down too badly. It was obvious, however, that she viewed his efforts quite differently. "Your posture is appalling..." commented Lady Cousland.

"Why, thank you..." he replied, as if she had praised him, it was his usual reflexive reaction against any personal attack since he had been sent to the Chantry.

She smirked, "Typical man, far too rigid."

"As you say," he said gritting his teeth and lining up his next shot.

"How is Anora?" She asked suddenly.

"Look..." he said lowering the bow about to chide her for distracting him.

"I mean in bed" She said. "I bet she's bloody cold..."

Alistair released the arrow and set that and the arc aside and met Lady Cousland's green eyes. "I see." He said, "So this is how it's going to go down..."

"Ouch?" She queried.

He sighed and lined up his second shot again. "I don't really know..." He replied and then loosened. "We only tried it once and it didn't work out..."

"Really?"

"Really." He said preparing to shoot again. "I heard her afterwards trying to be sick in the privy..." Give her ammo, he thought, give her ammo and she might just end up laughing with you.

"Not good." She commented. He did not know whether she meant his third shot or Anora attempting to throw up, the remark could apply equally to both.

"But that," he added, "might just be a state secret and if I hear you've told anyone... Well..."

"Ha!" she said, "Not scared, but now I'm thinking you must be a bit of a sight without your clothes... Are you very hairy or something?"

"No... I'm not... I think I look quite nice, actually..." said Alistair.

"So says you."

"Yep, and it's the truth. But if you think I'm unattractive... Why are you bothering with this?" He said trying to temper his growing annoyance with reasonableness.

"I like a challenge..."

"If I were you, Lady Cousland," He said stepping aside after his final shot, "I'd be careful that the challenge doesn't come back to bite me on the bum."

She giggled, "Well, it certainly won't today; it looks as though I've got this one pretty much sewn up on that performance."

Silently, Alistair found himself agreeing with that assessment. However, he made sure he was standing pretty much within her comfort zone as she prepared for her second target. Lady Cousland simply ignored him.

"Where does Fergus think you are this afternoon, anyway?"

She didn't reply until she had shot. "Embroidery circle."

"Embroidery... In leathers, right, I can see that..."

Lady Cousland flashed him a smile.

"Embroidering reality more like..." Alistair muttered.

"I can embroider but I do this better..." she said firing again. As if to prove her point she scored her first bull's eye.

"What, issue challenges to men, in order to get into their smallclothes?"

"I meant archery, actually, but that too... It was an old trick of mine every time papa or mama tried to marry me off. Still works for some, apparently." She said looking at him.

Three more arrows on their way and Lady Cousland dispatched her second target.

"So, what did you do during the Blight...?" Alistair asked to distract her as he took up his bow anew.

She suddenly went very still. "Why, what have you heard?" She asked him accusingly.

"Nothing," he said, "honestly, nothing..."

She began to lace the fingers of both hands together and turned away, "What I didn't do in the Blight would be an easier question to answer..."

"I'm sorry... It was just a stupid question..." He said looking at her back between shots.

Lady Cousland did not disturb him for the rest of that target but his aim did not improve.

"Well, I certainly can't say I slew an archdemon, or even that bastard Rendon Howe." She remarked at last.

"We should have saved him for you," said Alistair, "we honestly didn't know..."

"Any death lasting less than a week and anything less than excruciatingly painful would be too good for that son of a b****..." Lady Cousland said fiercely, "Everyone thinks I'm the one that's traumatized, but they've never seen Fergus on an off day... After all, I only lost a great friend, a casual lover, a dog and my parents... He lost those and his wife and child."

As if anger had honed her skill, her third target was the best of the three overall.

Resignedly he began to prepare for his third target.

"You don't stand a chance..." she commented.

"I know..."

Despite that, his first shot did not fare too badly, but then everything went to hell when she said, "I had Cailan..."

"F***..." he swore and his current arrow missed the target completely. Suddenly Alistair pictured Cailan naked moving up and down on Lady Cousland and could not seem to get that image out of his head. He lowered the bow and glared at her.

"That upset you..." She observed.

"You are the most irritating woman..." He snapped, "I hardly knew him, anyway..." He added.

"Neither did I..."

"How's that supposed to help?"

"It's not; it's just a comment..."

He ignored her and eventually put down the bow and began to tally up the totals. "I apologise..." she said, sounding nervous again. "Sometimes I do talk too much..." She added.

"You were doing it on purpose. On purpose..." He said tetchily.

"Perhaps you're just a bad loser..."

"No. Apparently, I'm a rather good one if these tallies are anything to go by..." He walked over to the row and of six targets began to pull the arrows from them with impatience and she followed on his heels.

"When's our next encounter?" She asked with some enthusiasm.

"Can't see it happening until next year..." He said huffily, still extracting arrows, "I have stuff to do... Kingly stuff... Away from Denerim..."

"Dangerous?"

"Not really..."

"Will you summon me?"

He turned to face her and handed her her arrows back, Lady Cousland put them in her quiver, "Yes. Yes I will..." Alistair found himself saying, not really knowing why.

Suddenly Lady Cousland smiled very sweetly at him. "Good," she said, "Very good, then, I'll wait to hear from you..." Unexpectedly she kissed him quickly on the cheek and then strode away, swinging her bow jauntily as she went...

Alistair could not make her out at all.

                                                                                  ~~...~~

"So who do you wish this child's guardian to be?" asked the Arbiter again.

"Her mother, firstly, Neriya Surana, also known as the hero of Ferelden..."

"But she may be dead, you say," said the Arbiter.

"But should she not be..." Clarified Alistair.

"Then she should take precedence over any of the others..." the Arbiter specified. "Who are Bregeth, surname unknown, of the Dalish Istvaen clan, currently employed as her wet nurse here in Denerim and Keeper Lanaya, the leader of said clan to be found usually somewhere in the Brecilian Forest in the environs of South Reach, failing that, Oswyn of Dragon Peak or one Lawler Dunne, also a citizen of Denerim... Any two of the above to share guardianship at any given time."

The Arbiter paused, "Can I make a point here, Your Majesty? Since this child is yours then she is, illegitimate as she may be, a clear contender to the throne and a Theirin by blood, why would Your Majesty not wish her to be brought up as such, and by persons of... Uh, standing? There is only one person who meets that description on this list." He nodded in Oswyn's general direction, "I understand the inclusion of the child's mother, of course, in a preferential position, but some of these other persons..."

"Arbiter, what do you know of my childhood?" Alistair asked him.

"Fairly little, I know that you were brought up in the household of the current Arl of Redcliffe..."

"Did you know that at the age of thirteen I was sent to the Chantry to train as a templar?"

"I had heard..."

"I had and have," said Alistair, "the worst temperament possible for a Templar and the fact is I was never admitted as such, anyone who knew or really cared for me at the time would have seen that..."

He paused, "What I am trying to say here is that I wish for my daughter to be brought up by people who may love her or at least respect her, for what she is or may be, not just for her name. These are not necessarily people of standing who can often have other concerns than the best interests of a child... And, please do not take anything I have said here as a criticism of the Arl... He did what he could in the circumstances. I am just beginning to appreciate myself that bringing up a child is no easy task..."

"I shall make an attempt to draw this up, Your Majesty, and provide you with the copies you have required." The Arbiter said looking intently at Alistair, "Of course, it shall be kept in the strictest confidence. But you must understand it is all very complex and, in the circumstances, it would be much simpler if you did not die, or at least refrained from doing so until this child is of age..."

Alistair smiled, "I shall try and follow that advice," he said.

Modifié par Maria13, 23 septembre 2010 - 10:05 .

[Maria13]

Double post. :o:o

Modifié par Maria13, 23 septembre 2010 - 10:03 .

[Addai]

Huh... I like your Anora, too. How do you do that?! lol

[Addai]

*looking forward to an update*



*bounces*

[Maria13]

Thanks Addai, it's coming. I'm I bit upset in RL at the moment but writing FF is currently one of the great pleasures in my life and it make me happy to think that some people enjoy it...

[Addai]

Maria13 wrote...

Thanks Addai, it's coming. I'm I bit upset in RL at the moment but writing FF is currently one of the great pleasures in my life and it make me happy to think that some people enjoy it...

Aww, I can understand that.  No stress, just letting you know I'm watching.

[Maria13]

That's actually very kind. Thank you.

[Maria13]

Chapter 30

Dragon 9:34

Frumentum/Harvestmere                       Lothering/Southern Bannorn                               [Present]

They made camp just off the imperial Highway a few miles south of Lothering. Alistair who had decided to take Mince with him on the trip, after sparring and supper settled down for a quiet evening with a book and the dog who was happily chewing a beef bone, at the foot of his bed. This time, though, his one remaining Mabari would not be on the front line if he could possibly help it.

Lawler and a few of the soldiers, on the other hand, he sent to Lothering with some silver, to see if he could "find out anything…" Lawler did not seem to mind.

Earlier on, in the trip, Oswyn had asked Alistair how it had gone with Lady C and Alistair had given him a run down of the archery competition. Oswyn had shaken his head in mock concern, "I warned Your Majesty that that woman was dangerous, give her half an inch and she'll eat you alive…"

In reply, Alistair had pointed out that he had more than an inch to give and as for the eating alive thing… Oswyn had told him he was obviously a very sick man and Alistair had immediately concurred…

Alistair put down his book, which was entitled "The Further Adventures of an Orlesian Bard" and was in the original Orlesian, he had found a Fereldan translation but it was a little clunky. It was not quite, as amusing as the first one ("The Intimate Adventures of an Orlesian Bard"), he asked himself what Leliana would make of them, and from that thought his mind began drifting wondering about his lovers and friends…

Neriya… He just could not see her as dead. Abandoning him, sadly, yes; But dead? Neriya and "dead" did not seem to fit in the same sentence… He never discussed her with anyone apart from the Keeper and Lawler after he had received the note with Niamh because he was afraid that if he did, she would become that thing "dead", he so dreaded for her. That she would somehow actually die… While if he kept her to himself, on the other hand, she would always be alive… Somewhere at least, if only in his head.

Oswyn seemed to have made a good recovery from his mistreatment at the hands of the wretched Howe (just how many lives did that monster ruin?), but was there an affective void there? Oswyn had said as much himself, after the interrogation of Bann Domnhall. Did he currently love vicariously through Alistair? If he was, Alistair hoped he was enjoying himself and would eventually find the confidence to move on...

Lawler, now there was a surprise, or was it? It seemed to Alistair that part of him had always known and accepted Lawler as he was, but was he just giving himself too much credit? That guy at the port seemed interesting, and Lawler protective of him, in a way Alistair immediately recognised… Very different to Lawler, but isn't that what Lawler needed? Alistair thought he should start giving Lawler more holidays…

Anora, was definitely more relaxed recently or was that because he was more relaxed with her, or a bit of both? She didn't seem to be getting so much on his nerves as she did initially, but ultimately could he trust her? He didn't really think so, and that was sad, the reason being he could never see himself forgiving anyone who had killed his father…

Sweet Andraste, come to think of it, Duncan, after Neriya was one of the main reasons he had taken out Loghain in the first place… In addition, what would Duncan think of him now? He was sure he would not approve… Certainly not of that thing with witch b***, not of him being king, the womanising (though he might understand that, actually, Duncan was not puritan in sexual matters). Carrying out your duties as a Grey Warden was paramount to him, but where was Duncan when his guidance was most needed? Not his fault he died, of course, but then survivors have to improvise…

Bregeth seemed to be the perfect mother to his child, but still said the most outrageous things together with the most sensible ones… He liked that, found it appealing and challenging, and she had been helpful and sympathetic a few weeks ago when he was so down. She was not, however, a romantic option, and he was very comfortable with that, as was she. In fact, it was one of the most interesting developments in his recent life…

Lady C was a bit like Bregeth, in that she, too, was unpredictable… She seemed, however, far more unstable…

As for himself, Alistair had only just realised that he had a very low boredom threshold, he wondered if there was any sort of woman he could now settle down with permanently, and not through a sense of obligation (because he had that still, somewhere), but because he was happy with her day to day…

He let Mince who had been pawing at the door, out, told him to come back quickly and began to undress.

But then, supposing he found such a woman would she be happy with him? That was the key question. Neriya, Casildea, to a certain extent Isabela (there was the age gap and the fact that she was a pirate); any of them, he could see himself content with for a long time, but ultimately they had all left him or turned him down… In the nicest possible way, of course…

In addition, the reason was more or less the same, it was not personal, they had or wanted lives of their own and things to get on with… Which was probably precisely, what had made them so attractive to him in the first place…? It was all a bit circular, actually, and just thinking about it made him begin to feel tired…

He was tired he realised, it had been a long trek to get here.

Then he thought about the real love of his life, Niamh. He could almost feel her in his arms, hear her cooing and smell her sweet (and not so sweet…) little baby smells… He wondered who she would resemble the most when she grew up, him or Neriya? Neriya, he hoped, but he would still love her anyway… What would she become as an adult? Bregeth had said she was not a mage but respect Bregeth as he might; he was not sure how far she was believable on that score.

All the other stuff, except perhaps for Neriya, paled into insignificance so long as Niamh was safe and happy. Then, he saw Neriya as part and parcel of their daughter's safety and happiness…

Mince whined from outside. Alistair let him back in.

He hoped Niamh was sleeping soundly back in Denerim, said a quick prayer to the Maker asking him to protect her always and then got into bed. Mince jumped on top of him just to be friendly, lick his face and keep him company, Alistair pretended to shoo him off, and then fell asleep with the dog snoring beside him...

                                                                                   ~~...~~        

Alistair woke the next morning to find Lawler sitting on his bed teasing Mince with the remains of the bone.

"Lothering?" He said, "Dead or deadish… The only place with anything resembling any life is the tavern… Even the Chantry seems to be abandoned…"

"I'm sad to hear that," said Alistair, but he was not really surprised thinking back to the town he had first visited four years ago, full of refugees and a deep sense of panic and despair.

"But the tavern is frequented by soldiers from Southern… The captain on duty tonight will be a certain Baines, straight as an arrow, very loyal to the family. Could be difficult… Where's a rogue when you need one, eh?"

"Apparently on my bed…" said Alistair.

"Want me to help you dress?"

"This is getting tedious…" Said Alistair, "How's that other guy anyway?"

"The guy on the dock? Puy? Fine thanks. Left him in Denerim with Jo and the boys, he's a good cook, he was the strategist… Whatever that is, and one of the cooks on The Siren's Call… Kids seem to like him and he says he always wanted a family, you can have mine, I said… for free…" He paused, "I was just joking, you know…" Lawler said looking a little embarrassed.

"Interesting… A strategist is a person who plans things out… Isabela will miss him, how long was he working for her?" asked Alistair getting out of bed and casting around for his smallclothes…

"Ah," said Lawler, "I pretended I knew what a strategist was because I'm a bit worried that one day Puy's going to realise just how ignorant I am… About two years, I think. He's originally from Trevinter... Your underpants are over there by the way, but you're not going to wear yesterday's again, are you?"

"You're not ignorant, Lawler, just disadvantaged…" Said Alistair bending down, "Trevinter... How interesting... I'm going running with Mince, will be good for him, then breakfast, bath and change of clothes... Discuss things, again… but using your new info..."

Alistair found going over their plans for the coming evening repeatedly extremely wearing, but always at the forefront of his mind in that regard would be his memories of his half-brother Cailan at Ostagar and his impatience with the battle plans and with Loghain's attention to detail.

One of the reasons he was going running was that it assisted his concentration.

Lawler yawned, "Well I'm going to bed..."

"Hmmm, sweet dreams then... I'll be waking you up later, no doubt."

                                                                                             ~~...~~

When he started running, he found his mind going back to Cailan and Ostagar…

If only Cailan had paid more attention, if only he had taken Duncan's advice, if only he had not been so cocky and spoiling for a fight, if only he had sat back on his heels and actually thought things through just one more time… The course of history may have been very different and Cailan would still be alive to tell the tale. More importantly, Lothering would not be little more than a ghost town…

"The distraction of Kings often costs kingdoms… and lives"… Now where had he read that? Perhaps it was from Bearnard Nicholas' 'The Philosophy of Governance' the companion piece to his vastly superior 'The Morality of Governance'? I should check that out when I get back to Denerim… Bet Loghain read that as well as stuff on strategy… Bet Anora's memorized the damn thing…

                                                                                         ~~...~~

"Believe me; I do understand how difficult this must be for you…" Alistair said to Captain Baines, They were in the guardroom at the gates of Bann Ceorlic's castle, "I've been a soldier myself and always took pride in my loyalty… But sometimes loyalties conflict, such as here… I am your king after all…" He paused to allow that to sink in a little, "That aside, though, my intent is only to spare bloodshed and see that justice is done. I am not going to harm the Arl; he will be escorted to Denerim to face a fair trial… If he is found innocent all well and good…"

Alistair could have sworn he saw tears in the Captain's eyes as he shook his head, "Your Majesty, with all due respect to you, I can't do it… I just can't…"

Alistair patted him on the back, "Then what I'm going to ask you to do is to resign your command temporarily and appoint someone in your stead who is more… amenable to our reasonable request…"

Captain Baines looked at one of the young soldiers present. "Go fetch Quinn," he said, "Wake him up if you have to, and bring him here, not a word to anyone else. Quick now…"

Once the soldier had departed Captain Baines turned stiffly to Alistair, "Your Majesty," he drew and handed him his sword, hilt first, Alistair accepted it with a formal nod.

"This Quinn…" said the Captain, "He is not a bad man, just… Younger and he hasn't been working for the family as long as I have." Alistair's eyes flicked to Oswyn who smiled grimly back at him over the Captain's shoulder. It all seemed to be going to plan.

"Thank you, Captain Baines," Said Alistair, "I wonder if you would wait outside while we talk to Quinn?"

Some ten minutes later, the soldier came back followed by a bleary-eyed lieutenant with rather sharp features who immediately did a double take when confronted by Alistair with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

"Good evening, Captain Quinn," said Alistair, "I have a problem and I think you may be able to help me…"

                                                                               ~~...~~

They discussed what Alistair should say and the tone in which he should say it. They discussed posture and even what they should wear. Full armour was considered too belligerent it would cast a question mark over their prime argument that they were seeking to avoid bloodshed. No armour at all was not an option… After all, the situation could easily turn nasty.

They settled on gauntlets and vambraces, sabatons and greaves, but silverite chain mail for the body. For Alistair, a scarlet doublet with an embossed crown over it, for Oswyn a deep blue one with the Dragon Peak crescent moon and five stars in silver. Lawler refused to depart from his usual black leather. Over it all, black burlap waxed capes with hoods, the same as worn by the royal soldiers who now had "AA" engraved on their steel cuirasses.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

Alistair left Oswyn chatting amicably with the guards on the gate and with a contingent of five well-armed royal soldiers. He, Lawler, and the remainder of the troops then proceeded after Quinn through the castle ensuring all the rooms were lighted as they went towards the family bedrooms.

Apparently, there were three of them on the third floor, one shared by the Bann and his wife, one for their young daughter and her nurse and another for their 16-year-old son. The Bann of Southern also had an elder, married daughter.

After leaving a further five-man contingent on the second floor, they arrived silently at the Arl's bedroom door.

"Does the Bann keep a sword in his bedroom?" Alistair had asked Quinn earlier…

"Are Mabaris from Ferelden, Your Majesty?" Quinn had replied. It was a tad more helpful than captain Baines' previous response, "I don't know…"

"Which side of the bed does he sleep on as you go through the door?" Alistair asked.

"Left."

"And where would the nearest weapon to him in the room be placed?"

"Usually together with his discarded clothes on a chair…"

"To the left side of the bed?"

"Yes… Ah… Apologies, Your Majesty, now I recall… but about six months ago, he suddenly started keeping his sword propped up against the bed… I remember because one of the maids tried to remove it one morning to make the bed and the Bann lost his temper with her…"

"Does he do that often?" asked Alistair, "Loose his temper with the servants?"

"Lately – yes. He seems to be getting tetchier…"

"How is he as a fighter?"

"Your Majesty… He is old… He likes to talk the talk, still, but his body is inflexible… Although I would not underestimate some of those elders when their blood is up, certainly my grandfather, every now and then, used to trounce me as a lad and the Bann does have a nasty temper…"

"Thank you for your advice, Captain Quinn… It is much appreciated." Said Alistair giving him a quick smile.

                                                                                     ~~...~~

Alistair took a deep breath, Lawler stood protectively to his right, whereas Quinn had placed himself at his left. This was the part he was most dreading. He looked behind him to check that everyone was in the right position. He motioned the soldier with the crossbow to stand a little further to his right.

Then, leaning forward he turned the knob and opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.

As the crossbowman Lawler and Quinn entered quickly behind him Lawler and the crossbowman to the right, Quinn to the left, he took a few wide strides to stand at the foot of the bed.

When the soldiers behind came in with torches, Alistair cleared his throat and said, "Bann Ceorlic of Southern, I have come to arrest you and arrange for you to be escorted to Denerim, where you will be tried for treason…"

There was a stifled whimper from the right side of the bed and, in the shadow; Alistair saw that the crossbowman had placed himself so he had a clear bead on both the figures in the crib. Then Lawler's hand lowered itself almost comfortingly, on what must be the Bann's wife's shoulder. From the left side there came a strangled oath and some sudden movement as Bann Ceorlic lurched for his sword… Only to find it had been removed by Quinn.

Alistair bowed his head and raised it when the lamps began to be lit around him in the bedchamber… More impotent curses came from the Bann while his wife, her eyes flicking nervously between Alistair and the impervious crossbowman, cowered under the sheets.

"I am sorry to disturb you Madam…" said Alistair addressing her. "Bann… my men will prepare your clothes and make ready to conduct you to the capital…"

"YOU! YOU!" exclaimed the old man.

He seemed to have aged badly since Alistair last saw him, about a year or so ago. He had looked then quite debonair and personable, with a balanced regular face, a neat white beard and well-proportioned features. Now he looked old and deflated, his skin sagged and seemed to have a greyish tint about it, although perhaps that was the bad lighting. His beard was unkept and straggly, he squinted badly…

Alistair looked slightly embarrassed.

"You have come yourself…," said the Bann suddenly recovering his coherence.

"Yes…"

"A Theirin here, under my roof, in my castle… Come to gloat at me in my dotage… Come to cast his impure gaze on my wife and my children…"

"Bann…" said Alistair.

"What's that on your surcoat, lad?" demanded the Bann pointing a bony finger in his direction with a malicious gleam in his eye. "A crown… Why, look dearest," He addressed the cowering figure next to him, "the upstart wears a crown… What do you think of that? Eh?"

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door, the Bann's son, Alistair guessed. He did not take his eyes of the Bann but thought he heard the youth being disarmed.

"Agus, Agus… please don't hurt him, don't hurt my baby…" Cried the Bann's wife.

"We won't, Madam," Alistair sought to re-assure her, "That is not our intention here…"

"Why aren't you wearing your family's arms, lad, the two rampant red dogs? Beneath you are they?" Asked the Bann, ignoring his wife completely.

"Bann, please… Quinn, assist the Bann to rise and let's get him dressed…"

Quinn tried to support the Bann out of the bed but was shaken off abruptly, "Traitor!" the Bann snarled at him.

Alistair turned to two of the soldiers, "Get the Bann out of the bed and get him dressed. NOW. We have to be on our way…"

The soldiers grabbed Bann Ceorlic and, as gently as they could, hauled him out of the bed in his nightshirt.

As they dragged him past Alistair, he struggled a little and thrusting his face towards him hissed, "You know, I've heard about you, heard how you bridle when people call you a bastard… Me I don't care whether you're a bastard or not because first and foremost you're a f***ing Theirin and how typical of them you are… A very pretty face, yes, but behind that smarmy, duplicitous, dissolute, violent and ruthless… Like the base born dogs on your shield… Just like them…"

"Get him out of my sight," said Alistair in a low voice and clipped tones to the soldiers, "Get him out of my sight before I do something I'll regret…"

As the Bann was hauled from the room, Quinn handed Alistair his sword. It was at least half an age, plain but most finely wrought in keen steel with excellent balance. On handling, it felt immediately as any good blade should, as if it were an extension of the wielder's arm. He strongly resisted the temptation to swish it.

From outside the room he heard the Bann cry, "My sword… Take your filthy hands off of it!"

"I shall give it to Agus before we leave," Said Alistair handing it with some reluctance back to Quinn. Turning towards the Bann's wife who was now sitting up in the bed, her face in her hands weeping silently while her shoulders shook, he said quietly, "Believe me, I am sorry." And left the room.

Outside the boy who was obviously Agus, stood hard-faced between two shoulders. He was tall for his age, but gangly, his form yet to be filled in. He had abundant dark curly hair and lively brown eyes. He looked back at Alistair with scorn and then he spat at him in the face.

Alistair wiped his face with the hem of his cape and rolling his eyes at Agus said dryly, "I've had worse than that on my face in my time… Much worse." Then addressing the guards, he said, "Bring the boy."

When they had reached the guardroom, Alistair asked Oswyn to come in with him and ordered the guards to sit the boy in a chair. Alistair himself took a chair on the opposite side of the rough plank table to the boy and Oswyn straddled a chair behind Alistair.

Alistair sighed, laid the Bann's sword that he had retrieved from Quinn in between him and the boy on the table, "A fine blade…" He said, "Very fine." Then he tilted himself back in the chair, crossed his legs, propped them up on the table and perused the boy carefully who looked nervous and embarrassed.

After a while, he spoke, "We had a chance here," He said, "Both our families had a chance... Do you know what I'm talking about?"

The boy shook his head.

"Your grandfather, also Bann Ceorlic…" Alistair said slowly, "helped set up the ambush where my grandmother, Moira Theirin, known as the 'Rebel Queen' was killed. My father, King Maric Theirin, in turn, later killed your grandfather in revenge… Does that ring a bell now?"

"Ye-es" stammered the boy.

"Good. I, on the other hand, as your father quiet accurately pointed out, am a bastard. My father never recognised me, he knew who I was and I actually met him and my half-brother, Cailan, a few times but I never exchanged more than a dozen words with either of them. My mother, by the way, is dead, I never met her…"

He paused, "What I am trying to say here is that I grew up estranged from my blood family. I hardly knew my father or my half brother. I was educated by the Chantry so all these things, Moira, the Rebel Queen, Maric the Saviour, our glorious war of independence from Orlais, Bann Ceorlic, the elder… all this… Stuff… for me was just so many stories from dusty history books… Like many survivors today, my fight was the fight against the darkspawn and the Blight, quite enough brawling for a lifetime. I did not have an axe to grind against your family. There was nothing personal. Indeed, many of the things I now know about my own father, I dislike and frown on.

I was content to let things lie, to let the old wounds between our families heal, but then, a few months ago, I discovered that you father may have been involved in an unprovoked attack against myself and some of my friends when were encamped in the Brecilian Forest, not too far from here… I think it is extremely unfortunate that your father may have chosen to reopen all those bitter wounds…"

"My father would never… He would not…" said Agus.

"Perhaps you're right," replied Alistair, "and he will be found innocent. However, several people lost their lives and I and Oswyn here, and not a few others, had to fight for ours. I have to do something to find those who are culpable. I cannot just sit back."

Alistair sighed pulled off his gauntlets put them on the table next to the sword, laced his hands and cracked his knuckles. "You're young; you're responsible for your family now. You will have to assist your mother; help raise your little sister… I am hopeful there is still a chance for peace between Theirin and Southern… Here…" he said picking up the sword and standing. "Take your father's sword Agus. It's a superb weapon. Please think about what I have just said, over the next few months, that's all I ask…"

After the boy had left Oswyn shook his head, "That", he said, "I truly hope you don't live to regret that…"

"Think I will?" Asked Alistair.

"All nobles love 'sport'" explained Oswyn, "Games, tourneys, gambling, drinking, dog fights…" Alistair flinched, "but what they like most of all is blood sports, and the best blood of all to spill? Blue…"

"Surely you must be wrong…"

"I wish I were…"

"Anyway, let's see Lawler off…"

Lawler seemed merry enough, almost as if he were heading for love and home, thought Alistair a little enviously. He reminded him that he should visit Bregeth at least once a day and ensure she was all right.

It was raining lightly so everybody had their capes wrapped tight around them and their hoods up. As Alistair and Oswyn were about to go back to camp, one of the hooded figures standing near Lawler turned.

"What of Habren?" Asked Bann Ceorlic

Alistair tried to ignore him.

"Does she amuse the Theirin King? In which dungeon do you have her, Your Majesty?"

Before Alistair could do or say anything, Lawler went over to the Bann and struck him on the cheek, not hard, but enough to make the Bann reel. "Enough," he said, "You bitter, spiteful, old man… Enough… Unless you want to walk to Denerim gagged as well as bound…"

"Lawler…" said Alistair.

"Oh, so he doesn't know?" Crowed the Bann, "No one dares repeat to his face what is said in the all the taverns from Amaranthine to Jader?"

"Alistair…" said Lawler "I'm so sorry…"

Modifié par Maria13, 01 octobre 2010 - 10:13 .

[Addai]

Yay! Alistair is so sexy when he's being kingly. Great chapter.

[Addai]

tgail73 wrote...

First time fanfiction reader, and I am so glad that I chose to read this one first. I had no idea that I could love(lust after) Alistair any more than I already do. Thank you Maria for popping my FF cherry. I'm totally addicted now, lol. More please!!

On a side note, I hope your rl is going better. /hug

You chose wisely, my friend!  Go read some of her other stuff.  Hothothot.

[Maria13]

Addai, tgail, I am extremely flattered by you both. 

When I started writing this stuff it was because I wanted to extend Alistair's life beyond the game because I found him to be such a fascinating personality (as well as sexy and HOT, of course...).   He seems rather uncomplicated at first but as you hope to get nearer to him he's ever more complex and contradictory...

Anyway, it's bedtime.  There's an awful lot of great fanfiction out there... 

Keep well.

[Merilsell]

Okay time for my endorsement here as well.

W00t I finally found the time to read Dark Ritual (instead to horde it only in my faves) and I'm in love with your snarky, mature and witty King Alistair. ../../../images/forum/emoticons/heart.png Currently at chapter 15, eager to read the rest now.

I'm a sucker for non-clichéd Elf/Alistair stories with a clever narration, so great FF, bravo

Modifié par Merilsell, 03 octobre 2010 - 11:34 .

[Maria13]

Chapter 31

Dragon 9:34

Frumentum/Harvestmere                     Kinloch Hold/Redcliffe                                               [Present]

"I just don't understand it…" Alistair said shaking his head, "How can people even think that I would, that I…" He cursed. "Tell me," He said, "Just tell me, am I anything at all like that monster Howe? Anything?"

This whole rumour thing about him and Habren had been really bothering Alistair for the last two days. The fact that some people had been saying that he had 'disappeared' Habren and kept her locked up somewhere for his own private amusement. As if he would find such a thing 'fun'.

However, he should have known better. He regretted asking Oswyn of all people that question as soon as the words had escaped his big, blabby mouth.

Oswyn went quite green and it was not because they were both on the prow of the rowing boat on the way to Kinloch Hold, no.

"You…" Said Oswyn, who had now turned away to look out over the water. "You… Alistair," He started again "are nothing, absolutely nothing like…" He paused and gulped, "Like that f***ing, s***ty, cruel, merciless, bastard… Rendon Howe. Nothing."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Alistair, "I really didn't think, wasn't thinking straight…"

Oswyn turned back to face him, his features still tinged with green, and waved his hand dismissively in the air between them. "Not your problem. Mine."

"You, I…"

Oswyn settled himself against his side of the boat, "Howe, was demonspawn, his happiness grew with the pain of others. When he came down to his dungeon, as he did at least twice a day when he was in residence… We all knew… All knew… It would get significantly worse while he hung around…"

"You don't have to tell me this…"

"I have been thinking, you know. It will probably make me feel better to tell someone…" said Oswyn, glancing away, "At least one person… I can never tell my parents exactly what… It would hurt them far too much… I have no-one else to unburden myself to, I would tell Lady C, we've become quite chummy, but I don't want to make things even worse for her."

Well, Alistair reflected, it's only fair I should pay some price for my utter thoughtlessness… This is my friend after all… What did I say once about people coming to Kings with bad news?

Nevertheless he felt bound to make a suggestion, "Isn't this something that should be done with alcohol?"

"Not in my view. I want to be stone cold sober… But if you don't want to hear it just say so, Alistair…" He added crossly, then he paused, "Of course you don't want to hear it, what a stupid thing of me to say. But what I mean is if you refuse to hear it… I… will try and understand."

"I don't want to hear it, who would? But you're my friend, so…"

"Then I will keep it short. When Howe came down the torturers would be particularly cruel because they were well aware he got off on it and they wanted to be in his good books. If it did not happen to be me, at the beginning at least, I used to beg, BEG, the Maker to help the person who was in torment when that happened, but that is one of the reasons I no longer believe in a kind Maker… He never assisted anyone there, not for a fair while, anyway. And the rest of us would have to listen to what was happening, knowing that the next time it could be us. That was the most horrible thing, even more horrible than enduring the torture… The anticipation… Knowing that you were next…"

After excruciation would come humiliation. Abuse, always sexual in nature, but any kind of thing, you know? Howe was not one way or the other in the manner that a normal person would understand it, it was the pain and the debasement that turned him on, the gender, age or species of the victim did not concern him one jot, just their suffering and degradation. Oh, he had his preferences, he enjoyed breaking the strongest most, I think… But in the main, it was all the same to him.

Sometimes Howe would carry out the abuse himself, sometimes he would get one of his favourites to do it and watch, other times, both things… And then more pain, always more pain…"

Oswyn had explained all this very quietly but now his voice dropped even lower, until it was little more than a whisper, "Towards the end, the most horrible thing was, that I no longer appealed to the Maker for that other person. I just used to be happy, that it wasn't me, happy that it was someone else, almost wish suffering on them… I despise myself so much for that now…"

He turned away again and pulled the hood of his cape abruptly over his head, although it was a fine autumn morning. Alistair had little doubt he was weeping though he heard no sound, the knuckles of his hands gripping the side of the boat were bone white… and yet he could not resist one further question.

"Was Riordan…"

"Oh yes," said Oswyn with a gasp, "Riordan too…"

"I cannot imagine…" said Alistair, he wondered how Riordan had succeeded in preserving so much dignity so shortly after his mistreatment, perhaps he had consoled himself with the prospect of an imminent death… Such a bitter thought. But Riordan was dead, Oswyn lived and that was the important thing now. "I am so sorry…"

"Not you, it's not you, it…" he shook his head.

"It wasn't you either, you know. Not your fault. At all. Anyone else in the same situation… You are extremely brave. Just the fact that you are here and functioning."

"That really doesn't…"

"But it will one day. You're alive. You got out. One day, perhaps, you'll come to terms with it all. Your revenge is living… and having fun while you're doing it… I just hope telling me was helpful. I always respected you, I respect you even more now… And Riordan."

"Riordan was brave," Said Oswyn vacantly, "I wasn't. I am a coward…"

"I really don't think things work like that," said Alistair, "It's not black and white, coward and hero… Never was." Alistair put his arm around his friend's shoulder, well aware that people, himself included, often said one thing to their friends and quite another to themselves. Oswyn stiffened and then returned the embrace lightly and sighed.

After a while he asked, "Why are we going to the Tower of Mages?"

                                                                                  ~~...~~

Time to try and keep that one promise he had made more than a year ago to Neriya, Alistair thought. This was not going to be easy but he might as well make a start.

Alistair noted that the Chief Enchanter's workroom was far larger and far more fancily furnished than that of the Templar Commander which was just over the way. There were elaborate chairs with comfortable cushions, lots of gilt and scarlet and several expensive looking heavy dark wood bookcases, containing richly ornamented tomes… If the Templar Commander had one book in his room you could almost guarantee it would be a complete copy of the Chant with no illustrations and on the roughest parchment.

He tried not to hold his love of luxury against the man, after all, Gregoir had freely chosen his duties, Irving had not chosen to be born a mage and was as much a prisoner as most of the mages under him.

Near the window stood what appeared to be an optical device. A telescope (?) he guessed.

Irving saw Alistair looking at it, "I enjoy studying the night sky from time to time," he said.

"Is there a good view from here?" asked Alistair.

"Very good…"

"Tell me," said Alistair to Irving, once the usual tedious pleasantries had been exchanged, "How many mages have been made tranquil since I've been on the throne?"

Irving's features assumed a blank expression, which on Irving Alistair was now beginning to interpret as, "I know exactly but I really don't want to tell you…"

"You might want to…"

Irving held up his hand. "Exactly fourteen. Your Majesty."

"Did any of those volunteer?"

"Only one. There are always nutters…"

"I gather you don't particularly like this…"

"Sometimes it's preferable to execution… Sometimes…"

"And these mages…"

"I choose them, I would consider them all extremely dangerous…"

"Is there no other way to contain a dangerous mage?"

"Execution." Irving's voice was clipped and to the point.

"Do they get a choice?" Alistair felt he had to at least attempt to manoeuvre around Irving's conciseness.

"No."

"Is there any way they could be given a choice?"

"Containing them once we've broken the bad news to them would be extremely difficult, don't you think, Your Majesty?" Was there a touch of sarcasm there?

"But don't you contain them once the decision has been made to make them tranquil?"

Irving sighed deeply, "We tend to spring it on them… We do our best to avoid patterns so there is no specific day or time on which the… procedure…. is carried out. It is horrible I would agree, but by doing so we limit containment to a short period and potential harm to everyone, including the mage him or herself…"

"How… How does this work, exactly?"

"Does Your Majesty really want to know?"

"Of course not." Alistair snorted, "I believe the procedure, as you call it, is particularly unpleasant." Alistair was beginning to get a very familiar gut-wrenching feeling about all this, but, he supposed, there was something to be said for concentrating all the s*** in one day, "But these are subjects, my subjects, so isn't it right that I should be aware of what is being done to them? And that I should be notified in some way of the reasons as to why they have been selected for this treatment…"

"They are wards of the Chantry, as are all mages…"

"But they're all Fereldans, aren't they? First and foremost. My subjects… and we are doing something to them without their consent, probably actually against their consent in most cases..."

"I don't tend to get into politics, Your Majesty. It only brings trouble to mages. I would suggest that may be something you should clarify with our friends at the Chantry…", Whatever the natural meaning of the words, Alistair noted the emphasis Irving put on 'friends'.

"Fair enough. But what about morality?"

Irving steepled his fingers, "What of it? Does not making mages tranquil limit harm? That is the only purpose for which it is done…"

"I trust you and Gregoir to make decisions that are for the best, but is that what has always happened in the past? I know for example that you were relying on… Oh, what was his name, the bald guy… Yeah, Uldred, you'd think I'd remember because my mate Zev run him through four years ago after Neriya had frozen him, to pick out those that were practicing blood magic and hence should be made tranquil… Now we all know what happened next. It seems mistakes were made, even under your stewardship… Mistakes that can never be undone."

Irving visibly swallowed "It is quite possible that they were… I agree I was somewhat responsible…"

Alistair crossed his arms and lowered his head. "It's good you recognise that…" he said finally looking at Irving, "I think I'm going to request that in future you provide me with copies of the notes that you make on all mages who you suggest should be made tranquil before the procedure is applied to them... And I would suggest that they include, so an outsider like me can identify the basis on which you've reached your decision, some reasons as to why you think undergoing the procedure is necessary for that particular individual.

I will go through them myself or get someone else with some knowledge to, more likely a bit of both. You will refrain from applying the procedure to the mages until you receive the nod from me. I will inform Gregoir of the same. It will introduce another check into the system and may help prevent or minimise further mistakes…

Thank you for allowing Oswyn to look through notes on all the mages currently here, by the way, and for agreeing to provide me with copies. In future, I would like to attend the application of the procedure… Just to see it for myself, but that depends on my availability… On another subject, do you have facilities for storing documents confidentially?"

"Well, there is a special section of the library to which access is extremely restricted…"

"Could you deposit this document there?" Alistair pulled from out of his cape a parchment with a grey wax seal embossed with a crown. I should change that, he thought, adopt the two Theirin Mabaris, why not?

"What is this?" Asked Irving.

"A copy of my will, so I would be grateful if it is not unsealed until you have confirmed news of my death… I have placed several other copies elsewhere. Not that I am intending to go unto the fade anytime soon, of course…"

Irving nodded and took the document.

"One last thing. What happens to mages after they are made tranquil?"

"We use their skills, although their emotional responses and their magic capabilities have been stunted, their intellectual faculties remain unimpaired… They make excellent stock controllers, for example. Additionally, they can bind lyrium and make all sorts of useful artefacts…"

"And who benefits from that last thing, the lyrium binding? Who profits from that?"

Irving suddenly beamed at Alistair, as if Alistair were one of his less bright pupils but had, one day, quite unexpectedly, made a particularly astute contribution to the class… "The Chantry" he said his pale lipped smile becoming even wider, "The Chantry…"

                                                                                             ~~...~~

Alistair's subsequent interview with Gregoir was little more than perfunctory. When the Templar Commander asked him if he wanted to go around the tower, he said yes though there was nothing specific to do. His thinking was, though, that once someone had made you a concession you should exercise if every now and then, even if it wasn't strictly necessary, just to make sure they wouldn't forget about it.

Alistair was pleased to discover that Gregoir had had a Templar's suit made for him as he had promised. He stopped on one of the lower levels to take a peep at Oswyn, who glared back at him with a thoroughly pissed off expression, which was quite funny, in a way.

He also stopped at the second floor library at the same spot from which the year before he had espied Neriya hard at work and bossing Magnus around. There were other mages reading at that table today, of course, and he wondered again, where Neriya could be, what space she occupied now…

                                                                                      ~~...~~

News of the Bann's detention had travelled pretty fast, she reflected. And two 'colleagues' of hers were dead. Those bloody elves… The remaining 'colleague' must be in Antiva by now. Habren and her Orlesian had never counted, they were just pawns.

So she was the last, the last of Ferelden, she thought. Pity really, but she had never been of the view that it would work, there was only an outside chance of success, that's why all the players were so low-level. No point in risking anybody important. Just a warning, see what the reaction would be. Not that she considered herself low-level, of course…

Besides, exposure to any risk was well worth the price of getting out of that hellish place where she had been confined for nearly four years…

Well, she had never met the Bann and he certainly did not know her, that was the advantage of working in small cells with ignorant go betweens…

She shook some of the late afternoon rain off her cloak before going in through the large doors.

"Good evening, revered mother," one of her new flock said to her. She smiled beatifically in response.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

"Nothing like being set work to keep your mind off things…" said Oswyn cynically.

"That's what I thought," replied Alistair purposely taking what he said at face value.

"Interesting people, these mages… Very interesting."

"And potentially bloody useful," said Alistair, "But they're all locked up in there…" He added waving in the tower's general direction. "Well, most of them anyway… I always thought it was a bit of a waste, frankly…"

"In any case," said Oswyn, "No Viviane…"

"Ach, she's probably passed," said Alistair, "Pity, but there you go…"

"Neriya's notes, nothing really interesting… Pretty much what you said she told you." He hesitated, "Alistair… Don't you feel… A little bit dirty about this… Just a little?"

Alistair looked towards the distant lights of Redcliffe, where they were headed, "You've just said yourself there's nothing interesting… I will ask you about what was there later. No. I guess, the answer is, I should, but no. I don't. Not at the moment."

"This Fiona… Well, I was only given the notes on the living, that was our cover, I did scout around some of the other stuff on the shelves but the blasted Templars were keeping an eye on me, I found a ledger round about the dates you gave me with some sparse notes... As for that other girl… Is there any reason why all the mages you asked me to pay special attention to are female?"

"Coincidence," said Alistair, "Just coincidence…"

Modifié par Maria13, 12 octobre 2010 - 09:37 .

[FutileSine]

Another chapter of brilliance! I loooooved the little bit of talk about tranquils and whatnot...and I especially adored how you phrased that last paragraph with Alistair and Irving - with Alistair being the kid in class who asked the question the teacher wanted ask...The imagery was great!



Poor Oswyn.



You know, I really have to start putting my "reviews" or perhaps more accurately "opinions" of your wonderful chapters over on FF.net...as I know it *shouldn't* mean anything, because a great story is a great story...but I still think yours still deserves waaay more reviews.

[Addai]

Ooh, the plot thickens! Very nicely done. Oswyn is a good guy and I'm glad to see him back in your story.

[Maria13]

I like the Oswyn love, I always wondered what would become of him once you've freed him in the game. He is still young and handsome, his father loves him, It is clear he is going to have trauma, but I think most Fereldans are pretty resilient people... Perhaps the 'Blight Generation' will be slightly different to those that have gone before...

[Addai]

Maria13 wrote...

I like the Oswyn love, I always wondered what would become of him once you've freed him in the game. He is still young and handsome, his father loves him, It is clear he is going to have trauma, but I think most Fereldans are pretty resilient people... Perhaps the 'Blight Generation' will be slightly different to those that have gone before...

I think they will be more like their parents were, the ones who came through the occupation, though in their youth they act like baby boom kids- used to privilege and pampering (Cailan, Anora, Habren, Oswyn himself).  Alistair being an exception here because of his unusual upbringing, a background that already makes him more like his dad.

[Maria13]

Yes, to the young aristocracy the Blight and everything else must have come as a bit of a shock...



But as you quite rightly point out not so much to Alistair and no so much to the poor, among whom, I guess would be Hawke's family...

[Firky]

Hi there. Still reading. Slowly. Just wanted to pop in and say how clever I think the way you are raising questions in the early chapters is. (I assume you are going to answer them eventually, but I'm getting a real sense of overall structure.)



Also, it's sentences like this "That evening at supper Alistair had talked too much, laughed too much and drank too much, and was sick while Lawler was supporting him on the way back to his tent." (to highlight how confused/conflicted he was?) that show the strength of your writing style.



Fun to read.

[FutileSine]

 Hahah...so umm...yea, I decided to have a quick little looksie at the kmeme unfilled prompts (what?  They posted about it here on the forum...:innocent:)...and one in particular caught my attention, if only because it sparked a memory - the requester has basically copied and pasted your Isa and Ali meeting from Chapter 24.  I can't blame them because that scene was HAWT....

I couldn't help but post about it here. 

Here's the link in case you want to see if it ever gets fulfilled.  Its for fanart.  

[Maria13]

Chapter 32

Dragon 9:34 Verimensis/Wintermarch

Val Royeaux                                                                                                     [Approximately nine months ago]

The Surgeon was not what Cullivan would have expected. Of course, he was a shem, weren't almost all of them shems here? However, he was a lean man, about a head taller than Cullivan, drab, lank grey hair of irregular length, a thin very brown face faceted by wrinkles with extremely keen blue eyes. He walked not like a scholar, but a warrior, erect and precise in his movements despite his age. He wore the surgeon's long black gown, although his appeared to be slightly dusty. He looked down at Cullivan and smiled, a hideous sight, because he only had some three crooked yellowed teeth in the front of his mouth.

"Are ye her husband?" He asked, his Orlais was rough and uncouth, his voice low.

"No" said Cullivan, "I'm her..." 'protector' or 'bodyguard' sounded far too pretentious, keep it simple, he said to himself, "I'm her friend..."

"A friend..." said the surgeon, "Well good for ye and good for her, I guess... I'm Younis, that's my surname." He added, he proffered Cullivan a long hard hand, Cullivan shook it limply. He had never got in to this shemlen handshaking, M Younis' felt as tough as old leather, "I might not look posh but I'm good at what I do... And fast, that's the important thing. Oh, I know what ya thinking, young elf...

Cullivan was about to object to the 'young elf' thing but bit his tongue, it would hardly be appropriate in the circumstances, the things I do for you, Neriya, he thought.

M Younis continued, "I usta be a professional fighter. When I started to get too old for that kinda thing I decided to use my skills for something else, the surgeon at the tourneys took me on as an 'prentice, a thirty-six year old 'prentice... Ha... But I already had me lotsa experience... Practical experience."

Cullivan suddenly noticed that many of what he had thought originally to be wrinkles were actually scars.

The surgeon pulled out a fat roll of material from under his gown. "Where's the poor lady?" He asked.

                                                                                     ~~...~~

An hour earlier the healer had retired and returned with a mixture in a cup while Cullivan and the plump midwife assisted Neriya to a bed.

"Help her drink this..." said the healer, a tall middle-aged lady with sweet dark eyes.

"What is it?" Asked Cullivan.

"Alcohol, poppy juice, mandragora extract in the main... It will put her to sleep. And, believe me, M Cullivan, she needs to sleep."

Neriya looked bad. Propped up on the pillows she was pale and her face was covered in perspiration, despite it being a rather cold day. Her eyes were even larger than usual and were beginning to look febrile. She was trembling and whimpering intermittently. But when she caught the sight of the cup in Cullivan's hand, he was relieved to see her smile, even if it was grim and forced.

"Another chalice..." she rasped.

Cullivan smiled back at her catching the reference at once, in the months they had spent together Neriya had explained everything she knew about being a Grey Warden to him and he, he had taken it all in with rapt fascination, "But this one will help you sleep through what is to come..."

"This hurts so much; I had no idea..." she said "and the baby..."

Cullivan pretended to ignore her and held the cup to her dry, cracked lips, "Drink." He commanded.

She took a sip and her face puckered up, "Maker that is so bitter..."

"Come now, lethallan, fine warrior that you are, you claim to have savoured the taint?"

"The taint tasted better than this..." remarked Neriya, "at least at first..."

"Drink deep Neriya," she sighed and gestured to him to pass her the cup. He did. She took it in her trembling hands and took a long swallow.

"Well done," he said, "More."

"You are such a bastard..." said Neriya fighting the impulse to retch.

"Drink, Neriya." He urged her softly.

She drank again and then moaned, the cup faltering in her grasp.

"Almost there." He said steadying it, "Finish it..."

She scowled at him and finished it.

"Good," he said, "Very good."

"I so hate alcohol..." She whispered.

He squatted down beside her and swept a stray lock from her face. "As I told you, lethallan, I will be here throughout..."

"That was horrible..." she said, "all this is so horrible... I would much rather be fighting darkspawn..."

"And you will again, if that is your wish."

She lay against the pillows for a while, exhausted. Then she said, "My legs..." and then "My mouth..." and finally, with a great effort, "Please tell Alistair... I love him... I do, but..."

"I will." Cullivan assured her gently.

                                                                                         ~~...~~

The surgeon came into the room. Cullivan stared at him in surprise. He had pulled back his hair and tied it and it was covered by a white cloth. The dusty cape had been discarded; he was wearing a snow-white vest and matching breeches. His bare brown arms were sinewy and taunt just pure muscle criss-crossed with yet more pale scars. Cullivan did not doubt that he had solid legs to match.

He untied the roll of material and there lay a collection of a dozen delicate instruments of gleaming silverite pristinely sharpened and honed. "What lad," M Younis addressed Cullivan, "Ye think I'm some rank amata?" He grinned, his virtually toothless grin and then turned to look at Neriya.

His smile disappeared immediately, "The poor lady," he said "she looks shattered."

The healer appeared at his side she was now wearing an apron also blazing white and carrying a large dull metal container and some matching metal dishes that she set out on the side table. M Younis picked up the container and sniffed. He proffered it to Cullivan, "Fancy a drink?" He said.

The smell of undiluted alcohol coming from the container was so intense Cullivan almost took a step back. M Younis cackled. Then he turned and tipped some into one of the dishes, "This stuff will hurt ya head and then might make ye blind." he remarked then he put his hands in the dish and rubbed them together. Cullivan suddenly understood why they were like leather.

The healer did likewise with a stoic expression. M Younis gestured to Cullivan, "Young elf..."

Cullivan imitated them and after a few seconds, he felt the alcohol begin to scald his skin. He grimaced and removed his hands.

"Ya can stay 'friend' but should ye pass out ye should know that neither this lady here nor I will be able to help ye until we are done here, save for giving ya a quick kick in the googlies to see if that t'will assist ya to come to. The child comes first, the good lady elf next and lastly, ye... Those are my prioraitis."

The healer had poured some more of the alcohol in another dish; M Younis selected a very fine, very sharp looking blade and immersed it in the dish. Meanwhile the healer lowered the sheet over Neriya so she was completely naked and with a cloth dipped in the alcohol rubbed her belly just above her delicate, hairless mons pubis.

Cullivan looked at her quickly; she was so pale and helpless, her big swollen belly dwarfing the rest of her anatomy. Her face was turned away from him so he could not see her expression. Something rippled through him like a breeze on the last leaf of a tree in autumn; he wondered for a moment what it was.

Wielding the blade in his right hand M Younis approached Neriya. Cullivan mumbled a quick prayer to Sylaise but could not tear his eyes away.

                                                                                                   ~~...~~

It was after M Younis had slit open Neriya's womb, prised the baby from it, tied and severed the umbilical cord, removed the afterbirth, and just after he had finished stitching up the section of her abdomen with silken thread, all with incredible speed and effectiveness, that it happened. A very slight groan escaped Neriya and her whole body convulsed for a moment and then flopped helplessly.

M Younis swore.

"What, What is it?" Demanded Cullivan.

The healer stepped to one side and hid her face in her arms. Then he knew.

"No," said Cullivan, "No, no, no, no… Sylaise will not allow this… Oh lady of the hearth… Get out the way…" He said to M Younis who, completely out of character appeared to be floundering.

Cullivan pushed the surgeon to one side and placed his hands on the centre of Neriya's chest. Using, as he had been taught so long ago, a prayer to Sylaise to mark his timing, he pressed in with the heel of his hand, at equal intervals, the prescribed number. Three times ten.

Then tilting back her head, pinching her nose gently he gave her two exhalations of vitality, sharing the life-force lodged in his own lungs, again in the appropriate rhythm, praying silently for his friend and her child both as he did so.

Cullivan did this six times and then, just as suddenly as before, Neriya gasped of her own accord and the colour began to return to her sunken cheeks…

He stepped back. Both the healer and M Younis were looking at him with nothing short of awe.

"I think…" he said, bowing his head "Sylaise permitting… She should be all right now… Please do not disrupt her balance any further…" He added quietly.

"Aye," said M Younis, shaking his head, his eyes suddenly wet, "Aye…"

                                                                                             ~~...~~

The next day Cullivan went in to see Neriya carrying the child. The baby girl was not at all frail he had been relieved to discover. She kicked and squalled with gusto. All healthy babies looked the same, though, in the first few days, he reflected, shemlen and Elvhenan alike, red, flushed and wrinkled with dark eyes, big mouths and small noses, although Elven babies tended to have little peaks on the tips of their ears even at birth.

If he had expected a joyous reaction from Neriya at the sight of her child he was sorely disappointed, in fact from across the room, he felt her body suddenly tense and her hands tighten into fists. She tried to smile but it just looked forced.

He thought the best was to pretend not to notice so he sat on the bed next to her and smiled at her. "How are you?"

"I've been better" she said "Now the overall pain seems to be going but my stomach is incredibly sore despite the healer's willow bark infusions… Is that?"

"This is your child Neriya, yes." He said holding her up for Neriya to see.

"She is well…"

"Yes, she is and very beautiful as you can see." He realised as he said it that he really meant it, this child was nothing to him, he was not its father, its mother was at most a friend, and yet, he found all sorts of protective instincts kicking in, "Don't you want to hold her?"

Neriya looked away and her eyes filled with tears… "I'm not sure… I don't think so… No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, I…"

"Is it because you have made up your mind to give her away…"

"I don't know," Neriya's hands began to move anxiously up and down on the bed.

"I won't pressurize you Neriya, but she needs you…"

"So that's not pressure then…"

Cullivan sighed, "I'm sorry…"

"Do you want to know what I think, Cullivan? Do you want to know what I feel?"

"Yes… I'm sure I do…" but he was not sure at all.

"I think this poor baby needs a parent that loves her, that loves her to bits as she deserves. Unfortunately, that parent is not me… As I told you, you need to find Zev…"

"Neriya, can you not even try to feed her?" He asked despairingly, "There is nothing like the nourishment of its mother's milk for any child…"

A terribly guilty expression spread over her face, "Yes. Of course. You are so right. It is wrong that she should go hungry. I'll try to do what I can…" She held out her arms and with a quiet exhalation, Cullivan placed the little girl within them.

He then went to speak to the midwife.

"She is trying, poor lamb…" The midwife told him half an hour later, "She is trying the best she can…"

                                                                                           ~~...~~

Where does one begin to look for a needle in a haystack? Where, oh where, does one begin to look for an elf in Val Royeaux?

Well, to start with this was a rather distinctive needle/elf. Not all elves are flamboyantly bisexual, promiscuous and proud, in fact, only perishingly few are. Add to this that the elf in question was an Antivan in Orlais, that you had a passing, rather distinctive physical description of said elf and further, his name, then it might just be that your needle is in fact, not a needle at all but something more akin to a sore thumb.

So it was that some four hours later after setting out from the maternity home, Cullivan found himself knocking, in a quaint picturesque hôtel in the BoHo quartier, on the door of a room belonging to one Avran Zrainai.

When Cullivan rapped on the door, he heard a mumble from the other side and then it was opened by a very tanned elf in a sheet toga.

"Allo," said the elf in question with a thick Antivan accent. The elf looked him up and looked him down, glanced at the sword on his back, very purposely scanned his crotch area and then said.

"I take it you have not come to join in the fun…"

There were some rather disturbing noises coming from the room behind him so Cullivan took a step back and gestured for M Zrainai to follow him onto the landing and to close the door behind him. M Zrainai did just that but not before he had very purposely drawn a vicious looking knife from… For the life of him, Cullivan could not guess.

"Well, mon ami," said M Zrainai smiling widely and then looking down and using the knife to pick at his very clean fingernails, "Would you care to explain your unexpected presence here?"

"Neriya Surana would like to see you."

"Neriya? Neriya as in Alistair's Neriya? She summons me?"

"Yes."

"From Ferelden? How do I know this is true?"

Cullivan described his favourite smell was and the first gift Neriya had given him. M Zrainai shrugged, and then Cullivan provided him with the address.

"In Val Royeaux, a maternity home?" He exclaimed, his blonde eyebrows climbing towards his hairline, "Just what kind of trouble has Neriya gotten herself into?"

Cullivan shrugged, he sensed that curiosity was a main driving force for M Zrainai so he assumed that the vaguer he left things, the more likely he was to turn up. Short and sweet, his instinct told him, short and sweet.

As he turned to leave he heard M Zrainai open the door again, "That was the garçon from l'agence, mes amis, I am afraid he was far from satisfactory, I will, of course, be making a complaint…"

                                                                                              ~~...~~

Zevran turned up at midday the next day holding a bunch of roses almost larger than himself and, fortunately, wearing some very classy leather armour rather than a sheet.

He comported himself like a perfect gentleman, he gave a rose to the servant girl, to the midwife and to the healer, who blushed, complementing them all on their appearance.

He even extended one tentatively to Cullivan who gave him a most withering look. He took it back "Come to think of it… Perhaps not." He muttered.

Cullivan took him to see the baby first. She was curled up quietly in a cot sucking her thumb; she had been fed by a wet nurse because Neriya was unable to lactate.

Zevran thrust what remained of the roses into Cullivan's arms and carried out a minute inspection of the sleeping child.

"This is Alistair's child" he whispered, "This is most definitely Alistair's… I do not understand… What is the problem here, why is Neriya in Val Royeaux and the father in Denerim?"

Cullivan gave him a brief summary of what he knew of the situation.

"Fereldans! Who can understand them? I tried to tell Alistair once, well, admittedly that was advice on how to improve his performance... But... Would you believe that he started to whistle and refused to listen?"

Cullivan thought he certainly would, and he felt a little sympathy for Alistair. But he shook his head, which was as neutral and ambiguous, a gesture as he could muster.

Zevran sighed and retrieved the roses from Cullivan. "Take me to Neriya," He said.

Neriya smiled when they entered the room as if she discerned immediately who was hiding behind the roses. A vase was found for them and Zevran pulled up a stool to her bedside, kissed Neriya's hand, and petted it.

Neriya asked him immediately what he had been doing and he launched into an extremely detailed and vivid half-hour narrative, which, Cullivan was pleased to see, made her smile more than once and even almost made him smile several times.

Then Zev said, "And what of you, Neriya, how come I find you here with Alistair's child and not in Denerim with him fussing over you both like some old hen?"

Neriya withdrew her hand from his, looked up at the ceiling for a while, glanced over at Cullivan as if she were considering asking him to leave the room but instead asked him to close the door, which he did, and then, addressing them both, asked them to pledge not to repeat what she was about to say to anyone.

Zev touching his heart, immediately swore by his life. Cullivan by Mythal, he saw Neriya raise her eyebrows somewhat and glance at him as if to say 'there is another deity you need to tell me about…' After that, Neriya seemed content. She then told them of Alistair, Riordan, Morrigan and herself and of the events at Radcliff.

When she had finished, she looked away. Cullivan guessed she was terribly embarrassed, he could quite easily imagine that the nearly Templar King of Ferelden would feel much the same, or perhaps even worse, sometimes these things were worse for men, he reflected.

But Cullivan, who was far older than both Alistair and Neriya, and probably even considerably older than Zev, did not see that they had anything to be ashamed of. They had done their best. They had been placed in an impossible situation and chosen one unpalatable option from a menu of just two, sometimes, in life, that is what happens. He fervently hoped that they would both grow old and experienced enough to forgive themselves one day.

The effect on Zev was quite different, however, he swore a terrible oath beginning with "Brasca!" and ending with wishing ordure, several extremely unpleasant and non-consensual sexual acts and eternal damnation on the party concerned an all their ancestors.

"This is my fault," he exclaimed, "this is my fault, I knew that woman was up to something, waiting for her chance... I just did not think... I wish now I had struck her cruel, calculating little head from her pretty body and played football with it... I should have alerted you and Alistair that something was up... I..."

"And what good would that have done, Zev?" Asked Neriya softly. "How would that have helped Alistair and I?" She added, "I did not want this child but perhaps Alistair needs her, she will give him the link he needs to life. She can be his anchor when I cannot... In any event, I cannot have a child of my own while seeking to kill that of another woman... If I can distance Alistair and our child from such a deed, I will be happy..."

"Neriya," said Zev sitting up straight on his stool and folding his arms over his chest, "Has it occurred to you that at this moment in time you might not be entirely well... I do not wish to be patronising but from time to time giving birth can be very traumatic and... Women's bodies and minds can take some while to recover..."

Cullivan was taken aback by Zevran's perceptiveness. He was glad that this argument that he may have been obliged to make, was being made by someone with much closer links to Neriya's past than he.

"Zev," Neriya said, "I appreciate what you are saying. You, like Alistair, lost or were deprived of your mother when young and that too, leaves marks. But you have told me several times where you grew up, so tell me did all the courtesans-"

"W***s, Neriya, w***s, they would have been offended to be called courtesans..."

"... love their children?"

"Most did... Surprisingly."

"But some didn't, did they?"

Zev nodded reluctantly, "That is the truth..."

"So tell me, Zevran Airaini, what happened to those whose mothers did not love them? To those whose mothers pretended to love them, to those who were abandoned, abused, sold by their mothers..."

"Neriya... You..."

"I cannot love this child, Zevran; she is more Alistair's than mine... We are not attuned the same way... And then there is the other thing..."

Zevran sighed. "So why did you summon me, Neriya, if you are not willing to listen to me or to take my advice..."

"Why? I thought it was obvious, I need someone I trust and who knows us both to take his daughter to Alistair..."

                                                                                                  ~~...~~

Some four days later M Younis came by to remove the silken stitches. He seemed delighted to see Neriya looking well and with colour enlivening her cheeks and he tactfully did not comment on the baby's absence from her bedside. He introduced himself, chatted with her, and doused the wound once he had removed the stitches with honey water, bowed his head to Cullivan and then, on his way out asked to see the child.

Cullivan handed her to him and he stood for a while rocking her in his arms standing by a window, whispering things to her in a quiet voice.

"What are you saying to her?" asked Cullivan curious.

"Eh? Oh, I'm asking her to put in a good word for me…" replied the surgeon, "I have killed so many people… I was hoping that if I could save as many as I've slain, the Maker will not be too hard on me when my time comes. Children are nearer to him than we so… There is no harm in asking…"

He handed the child back to Cullivan, "I can pray for you too, should you wish," Cullivan told him, "You have done my friend and this child a great service with your skill…"

"Thank you, thank you," Said the old warrior, "I would be in your debt…"

                                                                                              ~~...~~                                                                                   

Several days later, a severe-looking Zevran came to collect the baby. Neriya kissed her on the forehead, whispered something into her ear and draped her Grey Warden amulet around her neck.

She also handed Zev a sealed letter. Cullivan had no idea what could be in it.

"Be safe." She said to Zevran.

"I will," he replied.

                                                                                      ~~...~~

The following morning Cullivan went in to see Neriya only to find her sitting on the edge of her cot fully dressed with her travelling cape on, her staff strapped to her back and Konrad's Grey Warden amulet glinting at her throat. A neat bundle lay at her feet. She was looking at her hands, opening and closing them.

"What are our plans?" He asked her.

She looked up at him and smiled dourly, "Today," she said slowly, "We begin our search for Morrigan."

Modifié par Maria13, 12 octobre 2010 - 09:42 .

[Addai]

Misty! 

But, for Zevran who is great here.  Just love Zev.  And well done on Younis.  That name sounds familiar somehow.  Anyway, very touching bit about his asking the baby to pray for him.

Eee, Alistair girl-baby, that is almost too cute an image for words.