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[Sarah1281]

Because I don't want to. And I do have the link if you'd rather read it at ff.net.

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-first story was 'A Future King's Second' on how Dulin and Vartag both know their place in the world and the King they intend to see on the throne.


Dulin Forender had never trusted an Aeducan. They may have had a reputation for heroism and pity for the small man but they were also the unquestionable leaders of Orzammar and had been so practically since their house’s inception. There had been, to date, nine successive Aeducan Kings. Many people had just assumed that the Aeducan reign would go on forever and Dulin had been one of them until Prince Trian’s death.
 
Yes, House Aeducan had a wonderful reputation and the public loved them but it just wasn’t at all realistic for an entire House that so unquestionable dominated Orzammar to be so morally sound. There may not have been any proof of wrongdoing but that just meant that they weren’t caught doing it not that it wasn’t going on. As King, Endrin Aeducan was above suspicion but everyone else…the biggest surprise when Princess Aunn had been exiled for killing Trian was that it left the untalented and uninteresting one, Prince Bhelen, as heir to the throne. Only now it seemed he wasn’t nearly as untalented or uninteresting as he had passed himself off as for all those years and was quite arrogant as well.
 
Lord Harrowmont was among the first to believe that Bhelen had a hand in his brother’s death. After thinking carefully on the matter for all of five minutes, Dulin had to conclude that Lord Harrowmont was probably right. He also insisted that Aunn had had nothing to do with it as she had sworn so very earnestly that she hadn’t mere moments before being sealed into the Deep Roads. That, Dulin was a bit more skeptical of. He didn’t doubt that that was what Lord Harrowmont believed but everyone had their faults and one of Lord Harrowmont’s was having too much affection for the late King Endrin’s only daughter.
 
Aunn was…she was okay, Dulin supposed, and she had certainly seemed capable if a bit lacking in dedication. That said, she was as much an Aeducan as her brother and what else had Lord Harrowmont expected her to say? That she had killed Trian and enjoyed it and that he himself could drop dead for all she cared? That could very well be true but while playing the victim may not have ended up helping her, admitting to any sort of depravity certainly would not have. It helped, of course, that Lord Harrowmont had wanted to believe her, had wanted to be able to assure their King that Aunn hadn’t done it. Personally, Dulin felt that the King might have been happier believing that he hadn’t sent his daughter off to her death for something that she hadn’t done but that was just him.
 
And now Aunn was back and trying to meet with Lord Harrowmont. Dulin knew that if he took her request to his lordship then he would be instructed to bring her there straightaway and so perhaps it was best that he didn’t do that and refrained from mentioning that she wanted to see him until she’d proven her loyalty to his satisfaction. Bhelen may have tried to have her killed and had her removed from House Aeducan but he was still her brother and who knew what kind of deal she had worked out with Bhelen’s people or what she hoped she could achieve by gifting him the throne? No, he had to be certain.
 
Dulin had worked closely with several prominent politicians of Orzammar in the past, including the late King, but he had to admit that Lord Harrowmont was his favorite. He wasn’t painfully corrupt like certain Aeducan princes he could mention and he wasn’t an outright defeatist like the head of House Helmi either. Lord Harrowmont wasn’t perfect – as evidenced by his affection for the exiled princess – and not literally everything he said was the truth (but Dulin would defy anyone to find him someone from whatever wake of life or whichever species who did that) but he was, by and far, the most honest man in Orzammar and certainly leaps and bounds ahead of anyone else of the noble caste.
 
Not everyone cared much for honesty (read: Bhelen and the snakes he allied himself with) and that was hardly surprising as if honestly were really something that any real value was placed on then it wouldn’t be so very rare, now would it? Dulin himself was hardly obsessive on the matter but there came a time when the amount of dishonestly and corruption became outright ridiculous. Bhelen’s second, Vartag Gavorn, was even now trying to find a halfway credible source to convince Lord Helmi and Lady Dace that the perfect legitimate deal Lord Harrowmont had made to secure their votes was fraudulent as he had promised the same land to both parties. As if the Shaper would let anyone get away with that! And no, the fact that the Shaper himself was a distant relative of Lord Harrowmont’s didn’t mean anything as Czibor was a very dedicated and honorable man who wouldn’t dream of lowering himself to shaming the very memories he was charged with protecting by lying about something like that. Dulin had always liked the elderly Shaper; he reminded him a good deal of what Lord Harrowmont would be without the politics.
 
That was another thing that made Lord Harrowmont so special in his eyes: the fact that for all that his hands were cleaner than most of Orzammar’s, Lord Harrowmont was firmly located near the top of the political hierarchy. House Harrowmont, while one of the most ancient of houses, had never been particularly important until Pyral had befriended King Endrin. The alliance hadn’t initially appeared to do the King much good but over time as Lord Harrowmont’s prominence rose the association began to benefit the King as well. Clearly King Endrin had seen the value in having someone honorable and whose word could be trusted close at hand as an advisor and Lord Harrowmont had never steered him wrong. While Dulin dearly wished that he wouldn’t be so outspoken about his belief that Aunn had been framed, he had ended up convincing the King in the end. It wasn’t like Dulin really expected someone like Lord Harrowmont to just be able to sit back and watch Bhelen profit from his fratricide and attempted sororicide anyway.
 
Everyone knew that King Endrin had rejected Bhelen and if he had any honor or dignity at all then he would step aside gracefully. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t and it was clear that he wouldn’t. Lord Harrowmont was Endrin’s chosen successor and while Dulin was a little concerned about the age, he knew that Lord Harrowmont would be ten times the King Bhelen could ever be. Lord Harrowmont didn’t even want the throne but he was willing to take up the burden to save Orzammar from Bhelen’s corruption.
 
Frankly, at this point Lord Harrowmont was the only one who could keep the throne away from Bhelen. He’d spent years serving King Endrin, acting as an able administrator and the author of many compromises in the Assembly (and that was no mean feat given how contentious pretty much any decision the Assembly had to decide turned out to be), and he had never shown himself to be power hungry. Lord Harrowmont would make a good King while Bhelen would destroy their culture in his single-minded quest for power.
 
Dulin Forender knew what kind of Orzammar he would prefer to live in and it was up to him to make sure that the future King Harrowmont got the opportunity to preserve it.
 

 
Vartag Gavorn knew the way the world worked. In specific, he knew the way that Orzammar worked and he knew his place in it. He was the second to the most important and powerful man in Orzammar – who would soon be King – and that wasn’t something that just anybody could handle being. He was not a nice man and he knew it but then any idiot could be pleasant and polite when called upon to do so. A feigned good nature – or worse, a genuine one – wouldn’t do him or his prince any favors.
 
Bhelen Aeducan was the kind of man who liked results and didn’t much care for questions of morality. He wanted to be his father’s heir? Vartag opened up communications with the carta to go after Orzammar’s other prince and the princess. Houses Helmi and Dace were bribed to turn their back on their traditional alliances and supporting the usurper Harrowmont’s bid for the throne? Alter the Shaper’s promissory notes and find someone less publicly aligned with Bhelen to deliver it. Whatever Bhelen needed done, Vartag would do it. While some – most notably the usurper Harrowmont – spoke of the injustice of what had happened with Trian and Aunn, it didn’t bother Vartag a bit. If they possessed the survival skills or ability to get things done needed to rule, they wouldn’t have fallen victim to Bhelen’s plot. It was a very good plan, granted, and it had taken years to piece together but if either of them had truly been the better candidate than they would have found an out. The last man standing was usually the best, after all.
 
Being Bhelen’s second also meant, of course, that if anything he did or had done for the prince got out – and there was every chance that the forged promissory notes would be taken to the Shaper and he wouldn’t be able to bluff his way out of that one – then it was understood that Vartag would take full responsibility while Bhelen denied all knowledge of wrongdoing. Vartag was the fall guy. Some might not consider this particularly fair but he had known what he was getting himself into when he had agreed to become Bhelen’s second and if he didn’t want to face the consequences of the dirty deeds he did for Bhelen then all he had to do was not get caught. If he was then it was his mistake anyway and he didn’t even want to know what Bhelen would do to him if he broke his silence and started pointing fingers. As for as incentives to be careful and not leave any evidence behind went, Vartag’s was pretty good.
 
His status as potential scapegoat was the reason that not only did it not matter if he came across as rude or obsequious but it was actually encouraged. Had he passed himself off as another oh-so-honorable lord then it would be less plausible that he was the corrupt one while Bhelen was so very shocked by this all in the event that he was caught. By looking bad, he was actually helping his lord to look good. It was hardly a sacrifice, either, as he had never really been fond of all the complexities and subtleties of the manners that the nobility of Orzammar thrived upon. He could and would do it if required but why would he turn down the opportunity to be much more blunt and to the point when he could afford to be?
 
And even setting aside his personal preference, there were the benefits of being the second to a future King to consider. House Gavorn was a minor house. There was really no point in trying to deny this fact. Worse than that, it had been founded when a lady from House Forender – the house that Harrowmont’s blind supporter Dulin who actually thought being truly honorable mattered in Orzammar hailed from – married a man from the warrior caste. Her brother died so her father was heirless and the Assembly agreed to grant him a new family name and adopt his grandchildren as his heirs. The fact that his house came from Dulin’s caused him no end of annoyance but at least he was the one more in touch with reality.
 
House Gavorn had been an unimportant house since the beginning but now with Prince Bhelen taking an active interest in them – and in a few other minor houses but mostly in House Gavorn – that could all change. Vartag’s own son was fostered with House Aeducan for a year and when Bhelen’s own son, little Endrin, was twelve then he’d stay with the Gavorns for a year. Imaging the influence that they would be able to have on that little boy in the year he was with them and the trust that that showed Bhelen placed in him was enough to assure Vartag that he wasn’t that expendable. And the perks of riding the coattails of the future King were enough that he probably wouldn’t mind if he was.
 
For all that the nobles liked to pretend that they were all honorable or, when complaining, that they were the only good man in a den of thieves, Vartag knew the truth. There were no members of the nobility with any sort of power who actually practiced what they preached because if they did then they took great pains to remove themselves from politics or they died. The only thing the usurper Harrowmont had ever done to impress him was to be so talented at appearing honorable. It was a lie, of course, but actual evidence of any sort of wrong-doing proved few and far between and so it was much more efficient to just start inventing things. It might be hard to find things but that hardly meant that Harrowmont was any better than the rest of them. If he were, after all, how could he have gotten so far?
 
Still, regardless of just how skilled their would-be King was when it came to cover-ups, he would be an absolutely horrible King and Vartag wasn’t just saying that because his future depended on Bhelen’s. The usurper Harrowmont was a weak man and so it would only follow that he would be a weak King. He had practically admitted it when he announced that he would rather be a just and kind King than a strong one and that he believed that the Assembly should make most of the decisions for Orzammar. Technically, that was the way it was supposed to work but in practice? Hardly. One would think that the usurper hadn’t spent most of his life watching Bhelen’s father. It was really wasn’t surprising that Harrowmont had gained so much support when you thought about it: the deshyrs all sensed an opportunity to expand their power and to take the throne in the five years or so the usurper would be able to hold it (if he weren’t assassinated first) before simply dying of old age and, like any self-respecting noble, they weren’t going to waste an opportunity.
 
They could scheme all they liked. One way or another, Bhelen would take the throne and it was Vartag’s job to make it easier for him.

[Dean_the_Young]

Hard to come with a good way to say it, but both of them reflect their Kings quite a bit. Dulin seems like a nice guy, but way too idealistic for me to believe in, while Vartag is far more convicted (and deserving of conviction) while following a more strength-of-will approach.

[Sarah1281]

I'm glad you liked it.

That was what I was trying to do.

Modifié par Sarah1281, 24 août 2010 - 04:21 .

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-second one was 'Exactly What's Wrong With Orzammar' where Loilinar Ivo (the noble who exists to complain about Oghren and tell you about Branka, really) and Oghren each see each other as the personification of what's wrong with their city.


Loilinar Ivo knew that Oghren Kondrat was the personification of what was wrong with Orzammar. He had once been a well-respected warrior who married a smith girl so talented that she became the first Paragon in four generations. Oghren, as difficult as it was for Loilinar to remember at times, had once been honorable, had once had pride and dignity, had once been looked upon as a shining example of what a warrior should be.
 
Now…now he was an embarrassment and a disgrace. It was almost sad to see him fallen so far but it was his own sodding fault. While no one really knew why Branka had decided to take everyone in her house down to the Deep Roads with her searching for some ancient artifact, the fact that she had neglected to take Oghren was quite telling. Just what had Oghren done to warrant Branka not even wanting to take him along with her on a suicide quest? Granted, Loilinar himself wouldn’t ever want Oghren around no matter what he was doing but the Oghren of two years ago had been a man worthy of respect and things hadn’t started to go downhill until Branka had left so that couldn’t be it. Or maybe Branka had seen the start of his decline and wanted nothing more to do with him?
 
Loilinar wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Branka was dead. She had to be dead. The Deep Roads were dangerous and it didn’t matter if she had had taken roughly three hundred dwarves with her. Maybe if someone had gone after her right away they could have saved her but after two years Oghren was just fooling himself. How much longer was he going to insist that she was still down there alive? Five more years? Ten? Twenty? Frankly, he couldn’t even see Oghren managing to live that long at the rate that he was going.
 
Regardless of whether or not Oghren played a part in his abandonment or even in Branka’s decision to go down to the Deep Roads – because, face it, Paragon or not she’d never seemed particularly happy to living in the Diamond Quarter – his behavior since then was appalling. Most warriors drank but Oghren had long since crossed the line from normal to excessive and then further crossed it into obsessive. Not only was he giving his fellow warriors a bad name and embarrassing himself and anyone who had happened to come across him but he also acted downright indecently! Oghren had always had a questionable sense of you and not much of an sense for what was appropriate and what wasn’t (he had become so prominent in his family through skill with a blade alone and not through any sort of political maneuvering as that was really not his strong suit) but when he got drunk it was ten times worse. When he got Oghren-smashed – and yes, a new term had to be coined for the new ways Oghren had pioneered for getting wasted – then anyone from a barstool to the King of Orzammar himself was at risk for his attempting to hit on them. It was one of the reasons the late King Endrin hadn’t let his daughter anywhere near him and Loilinar really couldn’t blame the man. Had he a daughter, he wouldn’t want her to be anywhere near the likes of Oghren either.
 
Oghren’s drunken behavior, while not liked by any means, was tolerated for a time. Every week, without fail, Oghren came to the Diamond Quarter he had once lived and now was no longer welcome in order to beg for someone to go and track down their Paragon and his house and every week his request was denied. Why he seemed to think that irritating persistence alone would convince someone to actually acquiesce to his foolish request as more and more time passed was beyond him. Perhaps that simple logic had yet to permeate Oghren’s drunken little brain. It had gotten to the point where the guards usually chased him away before he got an opportunity to harass the King.
 
What really made Oghren such a laughing-stock was his lack of ability to carry a weapon within Orzammar (if he wanted to leave them and join the Surface then he was no longer their problem and the Assembly allowed criminals far worse than he to carry a weapon in the Deep Roads). Loilinar hadn’t really known the youngest son of Lord Meino but he still felt bad for the kid sometimes. All he had said was what everyone was thinking: there was no way that three hundred dwarves – half of them smiths – would come back safely after all that time in the Deep Roads.
 
Even if Oghren was totally overreacting to the perceived slight that no one else, not even the most thin-skinned of nobles, actually thought was in any way an insult, it was still his right to call an Honor Proving. It was to be until first blood. Technically, it was although most people had the sense to know that having the first blood spilled when your opponent was run through was not acceptable. Young Meino was a noble and the clear victim while Oghren was but a disgraced Warrior left by a Paragon and drunk out of his mind. What should have happened was clear; Oghren should have been executed. His once-great record was a saving grace, however, and so the Assembly went easy on him. He was barely even a warrior if he couldn’t bear arms but he was still allowed to live and to remain in Orzammar.
 
Every time Loilinar saw him, his blood boiled. Oghren was exactly what was wrong with Orzammar.
 

 
Oghren Kondrat knew that Loilinar Ivo was the personification of what was wrong with Orzammar. He was born a noble and so thought that he was entitled to whatever came his way, that he was automatically better than anyone who wasn’t fortunate enough to be born into the highest caste. Honestly, Oghren had no use for the noble caste. All of them just sat on their sodding rumps and waited for everyone else to solve all of their problems. The minute someone did something to prove once and for all that they were better than their so-called social betters, the nobles greedily snatched them up for fear of people realizing the truth. That had been the way it happened with Branka at least.
 
Branka, Branka, Branka…he hadn’t even particularly liked her when they’d first gotten married and now she was the cause of all of his problems, directly or indirectly. It had been two sodding years since she had disappeared down into the Deep Roads with his entire family, everyone closest to him…except him. He hadn’t been allowed to go. He knew that he should have followed her down there anyway but she was a Paragon and so not only had it taken him a little while to talk himself into defying her but the men that guarded the entrance to the Deep Roads wouldn’t hear of it. ‘The Paragon’ had apparently left express orders to keep him out for a full month. The minute he had been allowed down there, he had raced off alone to search for her. He hadn’t found anything. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t anything to find, however! Just that he hadn’t been able to go far enough by himself.
 
Two years…Everyone was always reminding him that it had been two years since Branka had taken his house – her house, really, as she was the Paragon – into the Deep Roads and that each passing day lessened the chances that any of them were still alive. Oghren knew that two years didn’t look good and that three years, four years, five years, however many years it took to find somebody else willing to go didn’t look good! What everybody seemed to forget, however, was that he had been after them to go after Branka since before she’d even left.
 
“Sorry, Oghren, no can do,” they had said at first, “we cannot defy a Paragon.” Then it was, “I don’t know, she’s been down there for quite some time and we don’t even know where she is.” And finally it was, “She’s dead, Oghren. They’re all dead. Just accept it.”
 
She was not dead! She had three hundred dwarves with her and she was mad and brilliant as the Stone itself. No, Branka was still alive all right. He didn’t know how much longer she would be, though, and every day saw even less faith in his wife and scorn for him in the eyes of the common folk. Not like they, mattered, of course. Only a deshyr could get people into the Deep Roads. He wasn’t quite a deshyr but the guards always let him in anyway as they considered him the next best thing. He doubted they’d let an expedition he formed in without a real deshyr agreeing, though. And how was he supposed to gather an expedition, anyway? House Branka had been a new House and so they weren’t obscenely wealthy like some of the other houses – House Aeducan in particular – and what wealth it did have was all spent by Branka to ready the rest of the house for the expedition he wasn’t permitted to go on.
 
Then, of course, there was the fact that he was a laughingstock. So what if he drank a lot? None of their sodding business, really. And as for the no-weapons prohibition? Please. He didn’t need a weapon. That thing with Lord Meino’s son…
 
But back to Loilinar. He was always so quick to find him whenever he went to the Diamond Quarter – he’d used to live there – and to berate him as he waited for a guard to notice and throw him out. He wasn’t even let into the palace anymore now that Gorim was no longer there to throw him out. He vaguely wondered whatever happened to him after Aunn was exiled then decided he really didn’t care. Loilinar was the type to mock him for his lack of ability to carry a weapon in Orzammar and for Branka leaving him but at least he was willing to fight!
 
Whenever Loilinar was called upon to do something to defend his home – and if a lowly warrior like himself could do it then surely a mighty noble such as Loilinar should have been able to – then he always had an excuse. He had bad knees. And a bad back. His arm wouldn’t move properly. He had difficulty breathing. He often felt lightheaded. He had a limp. Loilinar always had an excuse. It was pathetic, really, that Oghren was down in the Deep Roads as often as he could searching desperately for Branka and the others and killing everything in his way – and doing Orzammar a favor as they needed all the help they could get – and the likes of Loilinar Ivo with his bad everything could look down on him.
 
Every time Oghren saw him, his blood boiled. Loilinar was exactly what was wrong with Orzammar.

[FutileSine]

Ahh! I love this so much! You so totally do have the Dwarven mindset down so well! I love how you combined the two different views like this. I just had to leave a comment here to let you know how much I loved this new piece (how long does it take you to come up with this, btw?), but I'll be sure to leave a comment over on ffnet as well sometime soon.

[Sarah1281]

FutileSine wrote...

Ahh! I love this so much! You so totally do have the Dwarven mindset down so well! I love how you combined the two different views like this. I just had to leave a comment here to let you know how much I loved this new piece (how long does it take you to come up with this, btw?), but I'll be sure to leave a comment over on ffnet as well sometime soon.

I'm glad you like it.  Coming up with the ideas themselves don't take long but actually writing it out takes a few hours (it would probably take less time if I were less easily distracted but, well...).

[Dean_the_Young]

Going for a dualism/antithesis approach lately, I see. A new writing style experimentation, or just a fling?

[Sarah1281]

It just seemed to fit. I wanted to do both Vartag and Dulin and so why not juxtapose them? And when I decided to do Loilinar's beef with Oghren it occured to me that Oghren would have just as much of an issue with Loilinar.

[Dean_the_Young]

You know, given all your focus on Orzammar, in retrospect I'm surprised how little you gone into Dust Town or any of the characters who come from there. For every, say, ten Orzammar politicians, maybe a signle casteless.

[Sarah1281]

Well, I've done SOME casteless stories but the dwarven nobility and politics is really the part that interests me the most and the casteless barely have more to do with that than visiting surfacers.

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-third story was 'First Time Out' which was for the Anders thread prompt 'earring.'


It was the first time Anders had been outside since the day he had been dragged kicking and screaming – yet still manly and suave – to that phallic prison called the Circle Tower five years ago and the very first thing he’d done before heading to Denerim was to ditch the ungodly yellow robes he’d been forced to wear and did his complexion no favors. He hadn’t really been planning on leaving when he did but if the Templars were going to be stupid enough to give him an opportunity then he was most certainly going to take it. He supposed that, to be fair, most mages that survived their Harrowing were passed out for hours and not in need of immediate guarding. More the fool them, really. His Harrowing had been easy and he was really starting to wonder why there was such a high death rate. All he had had to do was tell a demon that yes he was sure he wouldn’t like to be possessed and then shoot fire at it for awhile once it decided not to take no for an answer.
 
While everyone knew that Anders was not happy in the Tower, he’d never attempted to escape before and that had certainly made things easier as if he was a known flight risk than they probably would have made sure to keep someone around to guard him, unconscious or not. Nineteen was only a little on the young side to be undergoing his Harrowing but considering he’d only been at the tower since he was fourteen, his progress was remarkable. From the moment the Templars had realized what he could do, Anders had wanted to escape from them more than anything…except becoming a Tranquil. Nothing would be worth that. Fortunately, the Templars had a policy of not making anybody Tranquil once they had gone through their Harrowing and they weren’t allowed to be officially executed unless there was reason to suspect them of being a blood mage. That still left overzealous Templars killing those who had left ‘in the line of duty’, unfortunately, but if he were caught and returned to the Circle alive he wouldn’t need to worry about losing his life. Good thing, too. If this first attempt to escape didn’t work out – and it probably wouldn’t as he was still new at this – then he fully intended to escape again at the next available opportunity and continuing to do so until he was free or dead. Personally, he’d prefer the former.
 
“Are you even old enough to drink?” the bartender asked idly as she placed another glass in front of Anders.
 
Anders snorted. “It’s a bit late to be worrying about something like that, I’d say.”
 
“Well, it’s almost closing time and I don’t want to have to deal with any guards who you drunkenly stumble upon who want to know why I’m serving alcohol to someone underage,” the bartender explained. A golden earring flashed in the lamp light as she turned.
 
Anders looked on with great interest. He’d always had a bit of a fascination with earrings but his parents wouldn’t hear of letting him get a piercing. They were always so afraid of him doing something to draw attention to himself, even just by having an uncommon aspect to his appearance, and Anders had to admit that they probably had a point. If they hadn’t died then there was every chance that the Circle Tower would have remained a distant fear for him instead of an ugly and utterly boring reality.
 
The bartender caught him staring. “See something you like?”
 
Anders nodded. “I was just admiring your earrings.”
 
The bartender laughed. “My earrings. Right.”
 
He really had been but knew that any further protest from him would just further convince her that it was a hasty cover story. “I wish I had an earring,” he said wistfully.
 
The bartender looked at him consideringly. “Tell you what, kid. You’re cute and you’ve kept me entertained all night so if you wait until I close up then I’ll pierce your ears or just one if you prefer.”
 
Anders bit his lower lip, thinking the proposal over. No one liked to be called a kid – especially by a pretty woman like the one in front of him – even if one was only nineteen. On the other hand, her proposal was a tempting one. He couldn’t think of anyone in the Tower who had an earring. Something as awesome as that really seemed to have no place in the Tower. As it happened, Anders had always been of the opinion that someone as awesome as him had no place in the Tower either. This would be just perfect: an actual physical reminder of how much he didn’t belong there.
 
Anders smirked. “Sounds like a plan.”
 

 
Twenty-five minutes later, Anders was admiring his new earring in a hand mirror that the bartender had supplied. She hadn’t had any extra on hand but for ten silver he was able to purchase one of hers. He had gotten a little nervous when she took out a match, a needle, and a cork but she had assured him that she knew what she was doing and, as she was the one with earring experience and not him, he had decided to trust her.
 
The needle was passed through the flame to clean it and the cork was placed behind his ear to stop the needle once it had gone through. He had to admit, he was rather anxious to get it over and done with as it really didn’t seem very professional but it had only stung for a few moments. She told him that he’d need to keep the earring in for a few weeks and he had no intention of doing so because half the fun of having this new earring would be seeing all of the reactions and how could he do that if he weren’t wearing it?
 
He had ultimately decided to only pierce one ear as that had struck him as more stylish (not that the mages with their hideously unflattering robes or the Templars with their bucket helmets would know anything about that) and had chosen his right ear as he had thought that looked better after holding up the earring to both sides.
 
Anders looked up from his reflection – it was difficult to do but he managed somehow – and found the bartender smiling at him. There was a look in her eyes that both intrigued and excited him. It wasn’t anything near as desperate as those looks he’d seen in the Circle. “Thank you for doing this,” he told her sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”
 
“Glad to help,” she said huskily. “It looks good on you. Since this proposal has turned out so well, I have another one for you.”
 
Anders raised his eyebrows and smirked again. He could see where this was going. “Oh?”
 
The bartender nodded and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Indeed. How about we-”
 
That was when the Templars found him. Those bucket-headed bastards either had the worst sense of timing or they did it on purpose. Still, at least he had gotten an earring out of the deal and he could always come back on his next trip out…

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-fourth story was 'If We Kill Him, We Might As Well Join Loghain' where Angélique decides that if they kill Zevran then they would be forced to acknowledge that Loghain was right and they're too dangerous to be left alive. Alistair...disagrees. A lot.


“So what say you?” the elven assassin Zevran asked looking up at them curiously from his position on the ground.
 
Alistair glanced over at his fellow Warden, Angélique. Normally, he just let her handle the decision-making process because despite how…special she was at least he didn’t have to do it and she hadn’t done anything too crazy as of yet. Still, the decision on what to do with the man who had just been hired by Loghain (and some other guy who couldn’t possibly be as evil as Loghain) to kill them was important enough that he felt they really should discuss it. “This is a bad idea,” he told her flatly. “How do we know that he won’t just try to kill us again?”
 
“I’m sure he won’t,” Angélique said with a trusting smile. “He did promise us that he wouldn’t, after all.”
 
“I can promise again, if you like,” Zevran offered.
 
“No, I still remember the first one,” Alistair said dryly. “I’m just not entirely sure that I trust it.”
 
“I think you’re being too hard on him,” Angélique declared.
 
Alistair stared at her. “You think that I’m what? Do you not remember how just a half an hour ago he ambushed us and tried to kill us?”
 
“I remember just fine,” Angélique assured him. “But we really do need to give him a second chance.”
 
Alistair crossed his arms. “I was not aware that I ‘needed’ to give anybody anything of the sort,” he said stiffly.
 
“Oh, but you do,” Angélique told him, her violet eyes widening dramatically. “Otherwise we might as well admit that Loghain was right all along.”
 
Alistair nearly fell over. “Wait…what? How do you make the leap between killing an assassin that Loghain hired to kill us to cover up his own treachery and Loghain being right? Which, you know, he’s totally not.”
 
“Well, think about it,” Angélique said slowly. “Zevran’s really not all that different than you or I or any of the others that have come with us.”
 
“See? I’ll fit right in,” Zevran spoke up. Alistair glanced down to see that he’d evidently gotten bored of waiting for them to decide his fate and had started to play tic-tac-toe against himself. “And while I’ve never killed a darkspawn before I am certainly good at killing.”
 
“That makes me feel so much better about this, thank you,” Alistair muttered. “As per usual, Angélique, I have no idea what you’re talking about so maybe you could explain.”
 
“You said that Zevran tried to kill us and that that wasn’t very nice and I agree,” Angélique began.
 
“You must believe that I am simply wracked with guilt about that,” Zevran felt the need to announce.
 
Angélique, for some reason, seemed to believe him as she positively beamed. “Oh, I know. Thank you for telling me that.”
 
“What does this have to do with our other companions or the two of us?” Alistair asked pointedly, hoping that she’d get back on topic before they got even more sidetracked. “Particularly in regards to Loghain being right?”
 
“Oh, yes,” Angélique nodded her appreciation at the reminder. “Well, take Sten. He killed an entire family whose only crime was to not have gone around the battlefield collecting all of the weapons for when Sten woke up. That’s even less nice than trying to kill us because at least we can defend ourselves.”
 
“Yeah, one family,” Alistair countered. “That’s horrible, true, but think of how many innocent people Zevran has probably killed!”
 
“On the contrary, I am reasonably sure that most of them thoroughly deserved it,” Zevran murmured indolently. He had finished his game and was now looking for all the world like he was trying to take a nap.
 
“Sten is very sorry about what he did and I forgave him, of course, but it doesn’t change the past,” Angélique continued. “And he could always go crazy again and kill us all, especially if he loses his sword again and yet that’s a risk we’ve all accepted. We can’t really judge Zevran without judging Sten. Then, of course, there’s Leliana.”
 
“Leliana?” Alistair repeated, surprised. “I know she was a former bard but they did things besides killing and she said that was her last resort. Besides, all that’s behind her now.”
 
“So she says,” Angélique pointed out. “And even if that’s true, being a bard required her to do a lot of very not nice things that, if we’re holding peoples’ pasts against them, must be taken into account. And then there’s her vision, of course. You can’t deny that you thought she was crazy when we first met.”
 
“Maybe,” Alistair admitted reluctantly. “So you think she’ll snap and try to kill us all as well?”
 
Angélique nodded. “She might. Maybe she’d have another dream and mistake it for a vision again. You can never be too careful.”
 
“I’m really starting to wonder if I really want to join you people after all,” Zevran mused aloud.
 
Alistair ignored him. “What about Morrigan? You can’t tell me that you really think Leliana’s a threat and not Morrigan.”
 
“Well of course Morrigan is a threat!” Angélique exclaimed. “She’s an apostate of questionable intentions. I mean, I know her mother told her to come with us but surely a grown woman like her could make her own choices. Oh, and she made us kill her mother as well. That doesn’t really strike me as the nicest thing to do no matter what her mother may have been planning first.”
 
“That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Alistair announced, greatly cheered by hearing negative things about Morrigan. “I agree absolutely.”
 
“The reason to worry about Shale is obvious since she killed her last master,” Angélique continued. “Dog already got tainted once and so who knows if that could happen again and he’d be a Blight Mabari.”

“I’ll give you Shale but Dog was cured of the taint and even if it happened again we’d be safe due to our Grey Warden immunity,” Alistair told her.
 
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t attack us or that anybody else would be safe from him,” Angélique replied. “And Wynne is perhaps the most concerning of all of our companions. I know that were I not such a generous and forgiving spirit that I would rather have ten…no, twenty! I would rather have twenty assassins hired by Loghain to kill us than her.”
 
Alistair frowned at her. He rather saw the elderly mage like a grandmother and didn’t appreciate this defamation of her character but Angélique of all people. “Come now, what do you have against Wynne?”
 
Angélique blinked. “Nothing. Didn’t you hear me?”
 
Alistair sighed and wished that she wouldn’t be so infuriatingly literal at times. “If you did not have such a generous and forgiving spirit then what would you have against Wynne?” he tried again.
 
“She’s an abomination,” Angélique answered promptly.
 
Alistair choked. He had been expecting something more along the lines of ‘she won’t stop talking about things she knows nothing about’ or ‘she keeps trying to make me go back to the Circle even though she won’t do it’ which were Angélique’s usual complaints. “She is not!”
 
Angélique looked surprised. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?”
 
“Didn’t tell me what?” Alistair asked suspiciously.
 
“Wynne died right before we showed up at the Tower,” Angélique explained. “And a Fade spirit that had been stalking her decided to bring her back to life and is inside of her this very minute sustaining her. Sure, she’s not all melodramatic like Uldred or Connor were and hasn’t changed form but by the Chantry’s standards she’s still an abomination and who knows if we can trust her?”
 
“I agree,” Zevran spoke up. “That most definitely sounds like an abomination and I assure you both that I have never even considered getting possessed.”
 
“See?” Angélique asked brightly. “That already gives him an advantage over Wynne on the ‘will he snap and try to kill us’ scale.”
 
“I’m not sure that I agree with that,” Alistair said slowly. “She may fit the technical definition of an abomination, I guess, but she just seems so normal…and didn’t you say something about how you and I were also untrustworthy? How can you not trust me? Or especially yourself? We’re Grey Wardens and everyone knows that that makes us the epitome of trustworthiness.”
 
“We are Grey Wardens,” Angélique agreed. “And I’ll get back to that in a second. You were almost a Templar and have been subjected to about a decade of Chantry brainwashing while you were training and I’ve been living with them at the Tower for my entire life so neither of us is entirely rational, either.”
 
“We’re perfectly capable of thinking for ourselves!” Alistair argued. He paused. “Well, at least I am…”
 
“Maybe that’s just what they want you to think,” Angélique said knowingly. “And given that to become a Grey Warden you have to imbibe darkspawn blood and get exposed to it all at once-”
 
“Not in front of him!” Alistair hissed, glancing at Zevran.
 
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Zevran asked politely. “I wasn’t listening.”
 
“That’s very courteous,” Angélique said with a warm smile at Zevran. “So as I was saying, we are Grey Wardens and that makes us basically high-functioning ghouls. If we’re really going to hold Zevran’s past against him-”
 
“What past?” Alistair demanded. “He attacked us less than an hour ago!”
 
“Exactly,” Angélique said, nodding. “Bygones and whatnot. If we hold Zevran’s past against him then we’re going to start holding everything else against ourselves or risk being unbearable hypocrites and if we do that then we’ll be forced to concede that Loghain is right and we’re all too dangerous to be allowed to live. Do you want that?”
 
Alistair simply stared at her for a moment and wondered, as he had so many times before, whether she were for real. “You know what? Spare him if you want. I don’t even care at this point…”

Modifié par Sarah1281, 28 août 2010 - 01:24 .

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-fifth story was 'Fun With Pirates' based on the prompt of Zevran and pirates.


Tonight was the night the Rivaini captain of the ship the Siren was going to die. Zevran wasn’t particularly fond of the paranoid Captain Omer which certainly made killing him easier than if the reverse was true. When Zevran had first been contracted to kill Omer he had thought it would be an easy enough job. He had been mistaken. Omer was, as he’d mentioned, an extremely paranoid man. Zevran couldn’t quite say that he was overly paranoid because there was, in fact, at least one assassin aboard Omer’s very vessel with orders to kill him.
 
It had been a month since Zevran had first joined the crew of the Siren and he had to admit that while he had certainly not expected the job to go like this, he couldn’t really complain. When he was a young child he had often dreamed of escaping first from the brothel and then from the Crows on a pirate ship. He could get an earring and a ponytail and go off and find the Dalish. Well, he had got an earring, at least, although the Dalish had spectacularly failed to live up to his expectations and he felt that he looked ridiculous with a ponytail.
 
Joining the Siren’s crew had actually not been his first idea or, indeed, his idea at all. He had initially been trying to get close to Omer – and failing, tragically, as the pirate captain was far more well guarded than he had any right to be – when he had come across the captain’s gorgeous young wife, Isabela. She seemed to have no great affection for ‘the greasy bastard’ as she referred to her husband and she had quickly fallen into bed with him. She had, to his slight surprise, proven very smart if almost desperately bored. She hadn’t known he was a Crow but she had come up with the idea to add him to the Siren’s crew anyway so that they could continue their tryst and Zevran could – as far as she knew – get passage to the other side of Antiva.
 
Zevran hadn’t been sure about the plan as it he knew little about pirates and wasn’t sure if he could impersonate the kind of person a pirate would recruit skillfully enough to be allowed to join the crew but he needn’t have worried. Isabella had been doing this for a few years and had easily coached him on how to approach her husband (with far too many guards to make his move, unfortunately), how to make his case, and how to be a convincing recruit. He had wondered vaguely whether she had done it before but it was no matter.
 
Once aboard the Siren, Omer’s security was much lighter. After all, it wasn’t like a threat could come in from the outside. He had two guards to protect him on the off chance that one of his pirates – such as, say, Zevran – were to decide to attack him and Zevran had made sure to drug the wine that they had drank at dinner. It wouldn’t kill them but it had made them both violently ill so that there would be no one protecting the dear Captain. He supposed that he could have struck earlier but Omer refused to be awakened before noon and they were coming in to port far earlier than that in the morning so if things went as they should then he should be long gone by the time the body was discovered. It just made things easier that way and the month spent at sea had been invaluable for any pirate-impersonating needs he would have in the future as well as for learning all the details of this ship so that he could commit a flawlessly planned assassination.
 
The only thing that worried him was Isabela. She had proven a fun and engaging companion both in bed and out of it and had, truth be told, reminded him a little of his fellow assassin, Rinna. She was using him, of course, but there was a slight difference between using someone for sex and amusement and using someone to get closer to and murder their husband. Still, it had to be done and it wasn’t like she wouldn’t okay. Girls like Isabela always landed on their feet and she was quite vocal on her distaste for her husband anyway.
 
He crept into Omer’s room. Isabela slept in separate quarters which just further showed that husband and wife were not particularly close. He made no noise as he crossed the room and stood near Omer’s bed. Zevran carefully removed the pillow from underneath Omer’s head and pressed it over his face. Smothering was so inelegant but it would get the job and done, if someone had discovered the body before he could make his escape, it would not be immediately clear that it was murder.
 
Omer did not awaken at first but once he did he tensed, panicking at his inability to breathe. Zevran doubted that he realized what was going on at first but he quickly began to thrash around trying to free himself. In response, Zevran pushed down on the pillow harder. Suffocation wasn’t a pleasant way to die but in a few minutes it would all be over.
 
Although it seemed like much longer to Zevran, the five to seven minutes it took for a human to suffocate eventually passed and Omer stopped moving. Zevran replaced the pillow and did a quick scan of the scene to see if he’d left any traces of his presence. He hadn’t.
 
He creaked open the door to the cabin and peered outside. He didn’t see anybody so chances were that there was nobody to see him sneaking out of Omer’s quarters. He slipped out the door and hurried away from the room. He didn’t see anybody which likely meant that he had gotten away with it.
 
On his way to his own bed, however, he encountered the lovely Isabela leaning against the railing of the ship and staring out at the ocean, her hair glowing in the moonlight.
 
“Can’t sleep?” Zevran asked, coming to stand beside her.
 
Isabela turned to look at him. “You’re leaving tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question.
 
Zevran nodded. “I do need to get back.”
 
Isabela smiled at him. “We had fun.”
 
“That we most certainly did,” Zevran agreed with a smirk.
 
“We may not have tomorrow but there is still tonight,” Isabela said suggestively. “And let me tell you, I am notorious for long goodbyes…”
 
“Well, when you put it that way then who am I to deny such a beautiful woman?” Zevran asked rhetorically as he allowed himself to be led to Isabela’s quarters.
 
Yes, all things considered he had quite enjoyed his time as a pirate.

Modifié par Sarah1281, 29 août 2010 - 12:11 .

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-sixth DA story was 'About My Father’s Death' where Nathaniel confronts Anastasia about the rumors going around concerning how his father died. Semi-sequel to 'An Unfortunate Encounter.'


It had been a week since Nathaniel Howe and Anastasia Theirin née Cousland had encountered some specter of his dead father in the Fade. Nathaniel wasn’t quite convinced that it was really him and not just some Fade Spirit masquerading as the former Arl but that didn’t make the conversation any less disconcerting. His father had basically confirmed every horrible thing that he had heard about him and never wanted to believe and then had the gall to blame Anastasia and her family for ‘holding him back.’ That wasn’t the most disturbing part, however. At one point his father had made a certain accusation about the manner in which he had been killed, an accusation that had matched up with rumors that had been flying across Ferelden for months, an accusation that Anastasia hadn’t actually denied. He didn’t want to believe that of her – given the gruesome nature of the accusations, he couldn’t really believe that of her – but she hadn’t denied it and so there was the horrible doubt clawing at him all the time.
 
He felt horrible that he was going to even ask her about it. Horrible and guilty and foolish but at least he trusted her enough to tell him the truth and to, more importantly, deny it. He found her sticking her tongue out at a book about Orlais in the Vigil’s library. That was…odd but it didn’t seem too far out there for his somewhat eccentric commander and he really did have more pressing concerns so he said nothing about it.
 
“Hey Nathaniel,” Anastasia greeted him brightly. She set the book down and then used a quill to push it far away from her. “Is everything okay? You look a little upset?”
 
“I am, at that,” Nathaniel admitted. “I really hate to ask this but I haven’t been able to put it out of my mind and I don’t think I’ll be able to rest until I get an answer one way or another.”
 
Anastasia’s eyes flickered. “This is about your father.” It wasn’t a question.
 
Nathaniel nodded anyway. “He said that you spent hours cutting him into pieces while he still lived.”
 
Anastasia eyed him impassively. “Do you believe that?”
 
Nathaniel looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t want to as it doesn’t sound like you at all but there have been all these rumors and you didn’t even deny it…”
 
“Let me ask you something, Nate,” Anastasia said slowly. “What would you do if Oghren came in here right now and accused you of not only being female but also pregnant with Anders’ child?”
 
Nathaniel blinked, not quite sure what such a ludicrous question had to do with anything. Still, she presumably had some point here and so, grudgingly, he replied, “I would not even dignify that with a response.”
 
“And should I take that as a tacit admission that that’s true and confront you about it a week later?” Anastasia pressed.
 
Nathaniel realized where she’d been going with it now. “So you’re saying that it’s not true?”
 
Anastasia hesitated. “I know that this isn’t even remotely tactful but I hate your father, Nate. I can’t quite put into words how deep my hatred of him goes but I even now whenever I close my all I can still see the dead faces of my sister-in-law trying to protect my baby nephew and my perfectly healthy mother insisting on staying at my dying father’s side to face death herself. I don’t know if I’ll ever really get over that. Had I heard that he had been killed in such a manner as you described than I can’t say I would be all that put-out. That said, I am not sadistic and I’m no torturer.”
 
“Then what did happen?” Nathaniel demanded. Part of him wanted to defend his father – part of him always would, he supposed – but given what had happened he really couldn’t blame her for feeling that way.
 
“I stabbed him in the stomach the way that he or his men had stabbed my father,” Anastasia recounted, her eyes suspiciously shiny. “I watched as he bled out, just like my father. It…it took awhile and every second of it all I could see was my father, knowing he had the same death. He at least had my mother with him but I don’t know whether they were found before he died or the circumstances of my mother’s death. Your father claimed the last thing my father saw was him forcing my mother to kiss his feet but I don’t believe that. She was too much of a fighter and there was nothing left for her to protect so she’d never demean herself in such a manner.”
 
Nathaniel swallowed. That sounded horrible, both for him and for her. “Then where did all the rumors come from?”
 
Anastasia shrugged. “Where do rumors ever come from? I have heard rumors that Anora was infertile because she wasn’t noble enough to be Queen and it was a curse, I’ve heard that Cailan was an imposter and Maric and Rowan’s real child was imprisoned in the basement of the palace – I’ve checked, by the way, and he’s not – I’ve heard that you were actually the child of Teyrn Loghain, I’ve heard that Loghain had Maric killed and claimed he was ‘lost at sea’, I’ve heard that dwarves hatch from rocks although I’m willing to admit that that rumor may be entirely Oghren’s fault, and I’ve even heard that Leliana was secretly on a bard mission when she helped us end the Blight.”
 
“Rumors usually come from somewhere,” Nathaniel pointed out. “What’s that expression? There’s no smoke without fire?”
 
Anastasia made a face. “I hate that expression. Sometimes there really is gossip and rumors without any cause for it, like the example I mentioned earlier about you having Anders’ love child. In this case, I think the rumor came from the fact that not only was it blatantly obvious that my hatred for your father rivaled my husband’s for Loghain but Alistair also refused to leave the room while your father was dying and he’d never seen such a slow death before as he usually put people out of their misery and I was remembering my own father’s death so neither of us were in exactly the best shape after it happened. Does that answer your question?”
 
Nathaniel nodded slowly. “It does.”
 
“And what’s the verdict?” Anastasia inquired, her tone deceptively light. “Are you upset that I didn’t just slit his throat and be done with it? I know you’ve already somewhat made your peace with the fact that I killed him at all?”
 
“I…” Nathaniel trailed off, wondering what he could possible say. “I’m not quite sure. I know that, however you felt, you didn’t have a choice but to kill him. I know he gave you damn good cause to hate him. I know that his death could have easily been worse and that he did bring it all upon himself. Just the same – and I honestly cannot believe that I’m about to say this – I think that Oghren was right and I shouldn’t have asked about the details. It’s one thing to know that you killed my father and it’s quite another to be able to imagine you strangling him or decapitating him or stabbing him through the heart or…leaving him to bleed out.”
 
“I understand,” Anastasia said quietly.
 
“I’m not…I’m not mad exactly,” Nathaniel told her, struggling to put his feelings into words. “I just wish I hadn’t known and I’m going to need some time to process this. I wish it had been quicker, of course, but at the same time I’m relieved it didn’t go the way that he said it did. I’m going to need some time.”
 
“Take as much time as you need,” Anastasia said earnestly.
 
Nathaniel nodded and then turned away. He wanted to go see Delilah again. He was sure that she wouldn’t like to hear the details of their father’s death no matter how much of a monster she thought him at the end but he knew that she’d be a comfort even if he didn’t explain why he needed it.
 
So while this was sure to bother him for awhile, he was actually really glad that they’d had that conversation. The truth might not have been pretty (although it was important to remember that he’d feared worse) but it was always better than wondering and he, besides, he was a Howe and as such he would not run from his reality.

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-seventh story was 'In-Laws' where Alistair and Loghain are trapped together in a carriage post-Blight.


It wasn’t that Loghain was particularly unhappy about living through the Blight. As it happened, Riordan’s insistence that his soul would be destroyed was a disconcerting one. It would be one thing if he had simply been killed but having his very soul destroyed? Aside from the fact that he had no idea how Riordan or the others would even know that, it wasn’t something he had been looking forward to risking. He would have done it for Ferelden, of course, but the third option the marsh witch had suggested – while horribly mentally scarring – was one that he could live with. He just wished he could think of a way to break the news to Anora about her little demon brother or sister.
 
Speaking of Anora, Loghain was thrilled that she had managed to remain on the throne (and while he wasn’t pleased when she’d thrown him under the proverbial carriage at the Landsmeet to guarantee that she would, he did understand) but much less so that it had required her to wed Maric’s Grey Warden Templar reject of a bastard. He and Anora looked good together, admittedly, and Alistair seemed willing to take orders from his far-more-capable wife but he really had no business being on the throne and he’d need a miracle to convince the nobles otherwise.
 
Loghain was currently trapped in a carriage with his reluctant son-in-law on their way back to Denerim. Anora had been riding with them but she’d left the carriage some time ago and had yet to return, leaving her father and husband to sit in stony silence.
 
Finally, the silence became too much for the boy King – honestly, he was barely more than a teenager and had had no formal training – and so he cleared his throat loudly. “So.”
 
Loghain ignored him. He had no particular fear of silence.
 
“Anora said that the First Warden wanted the ‘Hero of Ferelden’ to be the Warden-Commander Arlessa of Amaranthine. Since she’s apparently too busy to do her duty, however, there has been talk of sending in an Orlesian Warden.” It was remarkable, really, how every word Alistair spoke to him made it so und like the boy was accusing him of murdering babies. His bitter refusal to use the name of ‘Hero of Ferelden’ was also quite telling. His attempts to goad him by bringing up the Orlesians was quit predictable. Contrary to popular opinion, while hearing an Orlesian accent still made him twitch, Loghain was perfectly capable of hearing about the subject without flying into a rage.
 
“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Alistair continued, undeterred by the lack of response his words were causing. “That despite being one of only a handful of Wardens who ended the Blight, they would rather cause problems by sending in an Orlesian than entrust the Arling to you.”
 
“Anora won’t just hand over the title of Arl or Arlessa to any Orlesian who managed to survive imbibing darkspawn blood,” Loghain spoke up finally. “She has been taught better than that.”
 
Triumph flashed momentarily in Alistair’s eyes as he finally managed to force Loghain into speaking. “That is true,” he admitted. “She told the First Warden that if he insists that we need an Orlesian Warden to be the Warden-Commander as there aren’t enough Wardens in Ferelden then they have no business sending you to Orlais. She also reminded him that he wants an Arling far more than she wants to give the Grey Wardens one and we’ve yet to hear back from him.”
 
Anora was always interfering on his behalf, it seemed. It was sweet, he supposed, but he would really rather she not go through so much inconvenience on his behalf. “Anora knows what she’s doing.”
 
“I suppose one of you has to,” Alistair said blithely. “I can understand her concerns, of course. Why, just imagine! Any one of them might be an Orlesian spy.”
 
“The people of Orlais are far more likely to be Orlesian spies than they are to be spies from different nations,” Loghain agreed curtly.
 
“Like Riordan,” Alistair continued. “That was why he was locked up and tortured for all those months, right?”
 
“You do remember that you found him in Howe’s dungeon, not mine, don’t you?” Loghain asked tiredly.
 
“I do,” Alistair conceded. “But you know what else I remember? I remember that Howe was your ally and Riordan saying something about how he was given an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice which he accepted as he didn’t think you knew who he was.”
 
“You honestly don’t have enough to blame me for that now you have to start in on me about Howe’s actions?” Loghain demanded. “What’s next? Blaming me for the fact that your friend wouldn’t kill me to indulge you?”
 
“I suppose I can’t blame you for her actions,” Alistair said, looking very much as if he would love to do just that. “But you not only tolerated Howe’s actions but you rewarded them by handing out new titles for him.”
 
“I was rather more concerned with dealing with the darkspawn, the Orlesians, and the civil war than with the particulars of Howe’s internal affairs,” Loghain said stiffly.
 
“Well, your mistake, huh?” Alistair asked rhetorically. “And yes, those damnable Orlesians. I’ve been thinking about it and I really think you were right about Riordan being an Orlesian spy. First there was the fact he was far too arrogant to try and hide his accent. Very insidious. And then, of course, there’s the fact that he tried to lull you into a false sense of security by letting you capture him so easily and hold him for months.”
 
“Don’t be absurd; I don’t think he just let Howe imprison him,” Loghain retorted.
 
“But…but he escaped so easily when he had a mind to,” Alistair protested innocently. “And then there is the fact that, as far as I know, he never actually told you any relevant information until the last minute. Clearly, he was hoping that by revealing information that you and her wouldn’t have known at all if it weren’t for him so late in the game that he could sabotage your efforts better than if he had simply never shown up at all. And don’t even get me started on his sabotage during the final battle…”
 
Loghain knew he probably didn’t want to know. He asked anyway. “What ‘sabotage’? While I can’t deny that Riordan’s leap off of a roof and onto the Archdemon’s back was incredibly reckless, it also wounded the Archdemon enough so that it had to land and allowed us to kill it on the top of Fort Drakon.”
 
“Well, the wounding was probably an accident,” Alistair decided. “He was just trying to get himself killed without making it obvious what he was doing so that he could further sabotage your attempt to stop the Blight.”
 
“While his aid was frankly minimal at times, we were still better off with him here than if he had never bothered to show up,” Loghain argued. “Meaning that his ‘sabotage’ was counterproductive. Honestly, you cannot possibly think that that is an accurate reflection of my concerns about the Orlesians.”
 
“Who said anything about you?” Alistair asked with a rather stupid expression on his face. He really was quite good at that. Sometimes it disturbed Loghain to see just how good at it he was. “You really are paranoid, aren’t you?”
 
At that moment, Loghain desired nothing more than to be rid of his infuriating son-in-law but he was not about to be chased out of the carriage by Maric’s royal bastard and so he stayed exactly where he was, hating every minute of it.
 
They relapsed into silence waiting for Anora to come back.

[Dean_the_Young]

Ah, Alistair always gets the best revenge in the end.

[Raonar]

Alistair asked with a rather stupid expression on his face. He really
was quite good at that. Sometimes it disturbed Loghain to see just how good at it he was.

I laughed so hard. Alistair is definitely a quasi-sadist isn't he?

Modifié par Raonar, 01 septembre 2010 - 08:08 .

[Sarah1281]

Raonar wrote...

Alistair asked with a rather stupid expression on his face. He really
was quite good at that. Sometimes it disturbed Loghain to see just how good at it he was.

I laughed so hard. Alistair is definitely a quasi-sadist isn't he?

It would be one thing if Loghain just thought Alistair looked stupid but we all know that he totally does it on purpose.

[Dean_the_Young]

If there's one thing I wish they had done with Alistair, it would have been to make clear the distinction between the willing fool and just being a fool in general. Why hardly a Machivelian in waiting, when I see Alistair laugh at himself and make some innane joke, I always think of a description for another character who wasn't known for his public intelligence: "Sure, he's not the smartest of them all, but he's smart enough to know how to play dumb."



Alistair playing an idiot just to get at Loghain seems so perfect to me, I refuse to believe otherwise.

[Sarah1281]

Dean_the_Young wrote...

If there's one thing I wish they had done with Alistair, it would have been to make clear the distinction between the willing fool and just being a fool in general. Why hardly a Machivelian in waiting, when I see Alistair laugh at himself and make some innane joke, I always think of a description for another character who wasn't known for his public intelligence: "Sure, he's not the smartest of them all, but he's smart enough to know how to play dumb."

Alistair playing an idiot just to get at Loghain seems so perfect to me, I refuse to believe otherwise.

They really don't talk much in-game so if you're just referring to my story...that's exactly what he's doing. He's making fun of Loghain's Orlais paranoia by accusing Riordan of being a spy since he's from Orlais and we all know that all Orlesians are spies.

[Dean_the_Young]

Well, good! I'm glad I don't have to pretend. But in regards to the game itself, it could have come out with Morrigan or some of the others.

[Sarah1281]

Dean_the_Young wrote...

Well, good! I'm glad I don't have to pretend. But in regards to the game itself, it could have come out with Morrigan or some of the others.

Well, he does tell you at the end (assuming you did the DR and didn't spare Loghain) that when the Orlesians ask him about the fact no one died again he'll just shrug and look stupid, which he's always been very good at which I took as a confirmation of sorts.

[Dean_the_Young]

Aye, I agree that it existed, I just wish they had done more with it.

[Sarah1281]

My fifty-eighth story was 'Getting Away With Murder' where I had to create a whole new CE as the one I had couldn't ever had justified taking the bribe and I wanted to see how she could have gotten away with it.


Caelavel Tabris would have been quite content to never return to the Alienage she had been born into and that she had called home for nearly eighteen years. Unfortunately, Queen Anora had been quite insistent that they go check out the ‘strange occurrences’ taking place there. It was clear that Anora knew exactly what they were supposed to find but, for whatever reason, she refused to tell them anything about it, only that it was important. Needless to say, being asked – ordered, really – to return to the Alienage for such a vague reason was enough to seriously annoy Caelavel and make her resent Anora, particularly after she had been willing to go to Fort Drakon to protect the Queen from her father.
 
While Caelavel would never come right out and admit it, she was mildly terrified at the prospect of returning to the place of her birth. The day of the wedding she’d never even wanted to have in the first place had ended badly and had irrevocably severed her connection to the Alienage. It was no longer home after what she had done, could never be home and Caelavel was just practical enough to admit it.
 
As a Warden, she was far removed from the docile servant she’d been expected to be in the Alienage and, given that she had no ties anyway, she didn’t think it was…prudent to advertise where she had come from. It was embarrassment, really, but she didn’t want those that looked to her to save them all from the Blight to see the squalor that she had come from. They all knew she had come from an Alienage as she was an elf who wasn’t Dalish or a mage. Maybe that sense of shame wasn’t becoming of a Warden but these people weren’t the first who had looked to her to save them and if she failed then it wouldn’t be the first time.
 
She hadn’t wanted to go at all but since that wasn’t an option, she had wanted to go in alone for fear of what the others might learn about her. Alistair refused to let her, though, since he was also a Grey Warden and there had been riots and purges recently. Zevran had also insisted that he be allowed to go as, being an elf, he would stand out less than any of her other companions. And they were companions rather than friends because as much as they had tried to get close to her, she seemed incapable of letting them. She couldn’t forget what had happened to the last people she had called friend.
 
Alistair tapped one of the ever-present reminders that the humans would kill any elf that they happened to catch with a weapon. “We’re not here to antagonize anyone and both of you are elves so I was wondering-”
 
“The next words out of your mouth better not be a suggestion that we hand our weapons over to you or so help me I will cut you,” Caelavel threatened.
 
“But the guards might have a problem with you and Zevran being armed,” Alistair pointed out.
 
“The guards will just have to sodding deal,” Caelavel said darkly. “I am seriously not in the mood to indulge them.”
 
“I, too, would be more comfortable keeping my weapons,” Zevran agreed. “Of course, as I lack a hefty weapon mine are easier to hide. They’ll never even know I have them.”
 
“I suppose that’s something,” Alistair said reluctantly. “I’m not going to try and force you to give me your weapons – mostly because I think that would end very badly for me – but let’s try to be careful, okay?”
 
“Fine,” Caelavel said shortly. She looked around and her eyes landed on a section of wall that had a loose stone. She hadn’t exactly had very much time to think of a hiding place. Would it still be there? Hesitantly, she reached out a hand and removed the stone. The bag was still in there. Shakily, she grabbed it and replaced the stone.
 
“What do you have there?” Alistair asked curiously. His eyes widened when he saw what it was. “Maker’s breath, that’s a lot of sovereigns. I never expected to see it in an Alienage given how poor they are…”
 
“Yes, well, it was money that wasn’t easy to come by,” Caelavel said stiffly. What did it mean that it was still there? Had Soris not thought to come get it? He had seen her hide it, right? Was he okay?
 
“That sounds like quite a story,” Zevran noted. Upon seeing the look on her face, he quickly added, “But now’s not really the time.”  
 
The group of three continued further into the Alienage. They saw several ill elves languishing in the street but there was really nothing that could be done for them. In the center of the Alienage there was a building that hadn’t been there the last time Caelavel had been in Denerim. Humans dressed like Tevinter mages were standing around observing a frenzied crowd of desperate elves.
 
“I’m going to take a wild guess that this is where the source of all the discontent is,” Alistair said dryly. “Maybe we should wait until things get less hectic? Is there anyone else we could ask to see if they know what’s going on?”
 
“I…there might be,” Caelavel admitted hesitantly. She didn’t want to go back but if it meant that she could get this over with sooner then she would just have to put up with whatever well-earned words her family had for her. “I can take you to my father’s house. He’ll probably know something.”
 
Silently, she led the way to the place she had grown up in. It had always been a happy home, even once her mother had died. Something told her she would find no more joy within these walls. “Maybe…” she started to say. Zevran and Alistair turned to look at her. “Maybe you should let me go in first. I haven’t seen him in quite awhile and-”
 
“You don’t want us to get in the way of your family reunion?” Zevran supplied. “I understand completely.”
 
“So do I,” Alistair assured her. “I mean, I know I wanted you there for when I was going to talk to Goldanna but that was hardly usual and I hadn’t even met her before, so…we’ll be right out here trying not to look out of place if you need us.”
 
“You are always going to look out of place in an Alienage,” Zevran pointed out.
 
“Well, we’ll try not to look out of place enough to attract the attention of a guard then,” Alistair amended.
 
Caelavel nodded at them, closed her eyes, and then opened the door and stepped inside.
 
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Cousin?”
 
Caelavel turned to see Soris staring at her incredulously. “So how bad is it?”
 
Soris looked confused for a moment. “How bad is what? Oh…you mean after you left?”
 
Caelavel nodded. “I haven’t really been able to stop thinking about it. Vaughan lied. I heard about the riots and the purges.”
 
“The purges came after he died,” Soris corrected.
 
“I killed him myself,” Caelavel announced. “Just yesterday, in fact. Howe had him locked up in his dungeon.”
 
“Still, I suppose he did keep that part of the deal,” Soris told her. “The riots were because you were the only one to come back.”
 
Caelavel froze. “What do you mean I was the only one to come back?”
 
“Just what I said,” Soris said, looking like a man twice his age. “No one came back. Not Valora, not Shianni, not anybody. Just you.”
 
“So they’re…” she couldn’t say it.
 
“Dead?” Soris asked harshly. “Dear Maker, I hope so. That sounds horrible, I know but just think of the alternative. They’ve been gone for over a year…”
 
Caelavel shuddered, feeling more horrified by the minute. “But…he said that he’d return them ‘a little worse for the wear’ in the morning. If he kept his word about not leading a purge then why not keep it about that?”
 
“I don’t know, Cousin,” Soris answered quietly. “I suppose we should have expected it. They had already managed to kill one before I could get to you even.”
 
“This is all my fault,” Caelavel cried out.
 
Soris shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
 
“How can you say that?” Caelavel demanded. “I was the one who took the money, I was the one who just left her there after she begged me to take her home! How is this not my fault?”
 
“I didn’t say you weren’t to blame,” Soris pointed out. “Just that it wasn’t all your fault. I was there, too, after all and I went along with it. Not to mention that pig Vaughan and his men who actually did what we allowed to happen.”
 
“You didn’t touch the money,” Caelavel said, pulling the bag out of her pack and holding it out to Soris.
 
“I don’t want it,” Soris said, unable to even look at it. “It’s more money than I’ve ever seen but…it wasn’t worth it. It cost too much.”
 
“Well I don’t want it, either,” Caelavel said. She tossed it over onto the table. “And what’s more, you need it and I don’t. I have…I have a ridiculous amount of money. My fellow Warden? He found out he had a half-sister out there and even though she was very rude we still thought nothing of giving her nearly half of that. I won’t touch that money and I don’t need it anyway. You do.”
 
Soris just shook his head again. “You should have just left it there. Maybe someone more deserving could have found it.”
 
Caelavel wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. As horrified as she was, she was also fairly certain that she was in shock. She had known what she had done but she hadn’t expected everyone she had walked away from to die while Soris had been living with that knowledge for over a year now. “I’m actually surprised to find you here. Why in the world would my dad have let you stay here considering…” she trailed off. He knew what she meant.
 
Soris laughed bitterly. “Oh why wouldn’t he? He feels just terrible for me, you know. They all do. I tried so damn hard to save everyone but only managed to bring back my cousin and it cost me her betrothed to do it. That’s just as many deaths as if I had never bothered to go in the first place although admittedly one less rape. One less rape victim I should say because who knows who long they kept going.”
 
“Are you saying…” Caelavel couldn’t believe it. “Do they not know?”
 
“How could they know?” Soris countered. “Neither of us mentioned it when we came back and no one else made it back at all. Vaughan, his friends, the guards, Shianni, and us were the only ones who knew. Vaughan and Shianni are dead and you know that the others wouldn’t waste their breath.” He paused. “It almost makes it worse, you know. Their sympathy. I don’t deserve it but I’m too much of a coward to tell them the truth. I lost everything because of my own actions and I can’t stand to have the whole Alienage turn against me, too.”
 
“Where’s my father?” Caelavel asked quietly. She didn’t think she wanted to see him because if he tried to console her on what happened then she was afraid that she might break but this was his house and so the longer she stayed here the more likely it was that she would run into him. He’d never understand if she started to avoid him and she didn’t want to hurt him anymore than she already had. She knew, much as Soris did, that he could never know the truth or it would destroy him. Not to mention that she would then have to face his crushing disappointment and his wondering where he and her mother had gone wrong.
 
Soris looked away and said nothing.
 
Caelavel’s heart started to race. “Soris, where is he?!?!”
 
“I don’t know,” Soris admitted. “He said he was going to the hospice a few days ago but he never came back. He might just be under quarantine I have a really bad feeling about this. If Shianni were here then I just know she’d be out there trying to get everyone to go home.”
 
“They wouldn’t listen,” Caelavel replied. “They never did.”
 
The pair stood there in silence for a few moments before Caelavel started to feel that the whole thing was absolutely unbearable. “I…I have to go. It was good seeing you,” she said vaguely as she practically flew to the door. “I’ll try and find out what happened to my father.”
 
What was almost worse than the jeers and hatred she had expected was the fact that she had essentially sold her cousin and her friends to Vaughan for forty sodding sovereign that was, quite frankly, a pittance to her nowadays and had gotten away with it.
 
She never should have come back.