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[maxernst]

1. COTEAUX DU ROCHE: INNUENDO
 
“A fine impression I will make in Coteaux du Roche, Aedan, arriving in a carriage like an old lady,” complained Alistair, as I helped him into the carriage. “Why don’t you ask Leliana what the aged spinsters are wearing at the court in Val Royeaux and deck me out for the role?”
 
I gave Alistair a quick kiss before getting on my own horse. “Don’t tempt her, Alistair. She’s been trying to dress me ever since I got to Orlais.” I sighed. “You know I would prefer not to have you travel at all with your injuries. Besides we’re not here to impress the Orlesian Wardens, just to get your shield.”
 
The previous day, Leliana and I had rescued Alistair from a run-in with some bandits on the road to Val Foret. Because Alistair had had Rendan Howe’s old shield repainted with the Grey Warden insignia, they had naturally assumed him to be from the nearby Warden post at Coteaux du Roche, and had sent the shield there with a ransom letter. 
 
Coteaux du Roche was a formidable fortress, perched on a high, rocky hill overlooking the highway between Val Royeaux and Val Foret. It had been the stronghold of the Orlesian Wardens since the Second Blight, with its four square towers and high walls. The Warden flag flew above the battlements, the silver griffon on a dark blue background, flapping in the early summer breeze.
 
As we rode up to the gate, a bored guard called out “State your business, stranger.”
 
“We wish to see Commander Yves de Chambrais.”
 
He frowned. “Uh…I do not know if that will be possible. I was not told that he was expecting any visitors.”
 
I held up my hand, showing my Warden Commander signet ring. “I think he’ll see me.”
 
His eyes widened. Piecing together the signet ring and my accent, he raised the portucullis and fell to his knees. “Forgive me, Commander Cousland. It is a great honor to meet you. Please enter. I will send a message to our commander immediately.” 
 
Yves met us in the audience chamber. He was a tall slim man with shoulder-length dark hair. To my eyes, he seemed a bit foppish to be a Grey Warden. The cut of his leather coat suggested fashion more than function, his gloves looked too thin to afford much protection and he wore velvet shoes rather than boots. However, he was Orlesian, after all, and I had no doubt the rapier at his belt was not merely for decoration.
 
“Well, what an unexpected surprise to see my esteemed colleagues from Ferelden. I assume Alistair is on his way to Weishaupt as requested, though I am uncertain why he is coming this way rather than by sea. But I am completely astonished by this visit from the great Commander Cousland; I had this curious idea that he had been specifically requested to remain in Amaranthine. How very piquant to see you! And I have not had the pleasure of meeting your charming companion,” he said, bowing gracefully to Leliana. 
 
“Good afternoon, Commander. This is my dear friend, Leliana.”
 
“Ah, of course. Enchante, madame.” He kissed Leliana’s hand. “However, as much as I would like to enjoy the company of such a ravishing lady as yourself, I am afraid I shall have to ask you to stay here while my colleagues accompany to my private chambers. We shall be discussing business that is private to the Wardens.”
 
“Shall we?” I asked. “I don’t believe my business here to be confidential in any way.”
 
“Mine is. I do not intend to pass up an opportunity to discuss matters of great import with my fellow Commander.” He turned to one of his men. “Do find a comfortable place for the Lady Leliana to wait and get her a goblet of wine. I would not have it said that we failed to provide for an honored guest.” Turning back to us, he said. “Please come with me.”
 
As he closed the door behind us, I helped Alistair into a seat and then sat down myself. I was not looking forward to this.
 
“So,” Yves began, “What is this so not confidential business that brings you all the way from Amaranthine, Commander? It must be a great emergency to cause you to leave your post.”
 
“We are here to get Alistair’s shield back, no more,” I said. “We were informed that it had been sent here with a ransom note.”
 
“Ah, so it’s your shield, then. We had all wondered, as we had no missing wardens here. I did send messenges out to inquire with some of the other posts in Orlais. How very fortunate that you managed to escape the bandits in one piece…more or less,” he said to Alistair. “I must ask how a legendary warrior such as yourself fell prey to bandits on the road.”
 
Alistair gritted his teeth. “There was a young woman on the road, who claimed a tree had fallen on her husband and she was too weak to lift it off of him herself. She led me down a path where I triggered a net trap and the other eight bandits ambushed me. I managed to cut myself out of the net with my sword, but by that time, I was already pretty beat up and was only able to kill three of them before succumbing.”
 
“Serves you right,” said Yves. “You’re a Grey Warden on important business. You should not have delayed yourself for such petty reasons. What’s next, looking for stray pets?”
 
“I will not fault Alistair for his good heart, though it led him into trouble on this occasion,” I said evenly, placing a hand on Alistair’s forearm. “I can only thank the Maker that Leliana and I were able to rescue him.”
 
“Yet that only deepens the mystery. News of poor Alistair’s predicament can hardly have reached Amaranthine so swiftly.”
 
“It did not. However, I had come to Orlais in an effort to catch up to Alistair and accompany him to Weishaupt.”
 
“Had you indeed? How very fortunate for him. However, as I understand it, only Alistair was invited to Weishaupt.. I believe you were given specific instructions to remain in Ferelden.”
 
“Ah….there was a slight miscommunication. Alistair did leave instructions for me to stay, but it was not made clear to me that those instructions came from Weishaupt.” Strictly speaking, this was true, though I suspect I would have learned otherwise had I not avoided speaking to Nathaniel during my brief visit to Amaranthine. “I was not in Amaranthine when the messenger from Weishaupt arrived, you see.”
 
I added, “You seem remarkably well informed about the situation. Why is that, Commander?”
 
“I am well informed because it is largely at my behest that Alistair was summoned. As you will recall from the last time we met, I was…dissatisfied with your explanation of the Archdemon’s demise.”
 
“Yes, yes, I have not forgotten, though I fail to see why it matters. Perhaps Riordan’s soul had not yet fled and the Archdemon sought it out, perhaps this Archdemon was somehow weaker than his predecessors. Perhaps I was saved by the Maker himself. The Blight is over. A Warden’s duty is to stop the Blight, not to die trying.” I regretted that last choice of words, recalling that Riordan had been a friend of his.
 
“But is it over, really?”
 
“I must have missed the Darkspawn horde on my way up from Val Foret, if it is not.” observed Alistair drily.
 
“There was a major Darkspawn uprising less than a year after the Blight in Ferelden.”
 
“That had nothing to do with the Archdemon,” I snapped. “I gave a full report on that, as you know.”
 
“So you did. Yet it remains an…anomaly, as does your survival.” His eyes narrowed. “I cannot help thinking that the Blight was not ended but somehow…altered in a way that we cannot recognize it. I have had strange dreams, lately,” he remarked.
 
“Wardens always have strange dreams, Blight or not,” I observed, careful not to react to that unexpected comment.
 
“Do not patronize me Commander,” he snapped. “Although I don’t doubt that you have slain more Darkspawn than any man alive, I was a Warden when you were still a child. I know what to expect from taint dreams and the ones that I and my men have been having in the past months are unlike anything I have experienced before. He knows what I mean.” He pointed at Alistair. “Don’t deny it—I saw you start when I mentioned dreams.”
 
Alistair sighed. “I did have an odd dream when I was in Val Foret, it is true.”
 
“You really don’t know what I’m talking about? Well, perhaps you don’t…you haven’t been here very long, have you? Or perhaps you’re just a very good liar. Regardless, I want to know who that girl is who has been haunting our dreams.”
 
“A girl?” I asked with feigned incredulity. “I fail to see how this can have anything to do with me. I’ve never even been here before. And if you have questions for me, I cannot understand why you asked them to summon Alistair.”
 
“He was the senior warden, after Riordan failed.”
 
“If Riordan failed.”
 
He ignored that. “It should have been Alistair’s honor to kill the Archdemon. Why was it not?”
 
I shrugged. “I was closer. I thought that ending the Blight was a bit more important than worrying who had a few months seniority. Commander, what is it exactly that you accuse me of doing? I really would like to know. Not that you have any authority over me, of course.”
 
He sighed, “No, I don’t and I have no clue what you did, though I am certain the mages in Weishaupt are trying to guess. And even if I did have such authority, I doubt my own men would obey me in this, such is your reputation,” he said wearily. “Nor will I besmirch your honor so much as to provoke a duel; I have no wish to challenge your prowess at arms—of that I have little doubt..”
 
“Very well. If you will not aid me in understanding what is happening to the Wardens in Orlais, take your damned shield and go. Let Weishaupt sort it out. Perhaps it will even be a benefit to have both of you. It was thought Alistair might be more tractable by himself, but it occurs to me that perhaps even he isn’t fully aware of what happened at the Battle of Fort Drakon.” He studied us, looking back and forth between us. “Safe travels, Wardens.”
 
 
 
 
 

[maxernst]

2. ORLAIS, IMPERIAL HIGHWAY: THE RULES OF THE GAME



Alistair and I left our little audience with Yves fuming, but at least we got Alistair’s shield back. It appeared Leliana had had a more pleasant time than us. We found her drinking a goblet of wine as she regaled a couple of the younger Wardens with tales of the last blight. Quickly noting that neither Alistair nor I appeared to be in a good mood, however, she quickly got ready to take leave of Coteaux du Roche.



The Imperial highway was just wide enough for Leliana and I to ride side by side on horseback with Alistair in his carriage to my right, so we were able to talk as we rode.



“A tense meeting, it seems,” Leliana remarked. “I suppose he’s jealous.”



“That might be a part of it…” But only part, and I knew it. The truth was—as much as the man’s attitude infuriated me—he was not in the wrong. I had done something…unconventional and possibly dangerous to end the Blight.



“I found it interesting that Yves pretended not to know me,” she remarked.



“Really? How do you know him?”



“We crossed…paths when I was working for Marjolaine. I didn’t know he was a Warden, though.”



I helped Alistair up into his carriage, then asked Leliana, “Are even the Wardens involved in the Game here?”



“Everyone of any consequence in Orlais is in the game. Even you and Alistair.”



“Me?” said Alistair.



“We did not come to play games.”



She shrugged. “Like it or not, you’re already a piece on the board. Anyone with contacts in Sybille’s household will know that you had dinner with her the other night. Those who have contacts in the Wardens will soon know that you and Alistair were here. And if you settle in for a while at the Palais de Montfleury, it will be very good for Sybille. I am certain many will wish to visit and see you—you’re quite famous, you know, even in Orlais.”



I didn’t think I liked the sound of this. “Maker, this sounds worse than Anora’s state dinners in Denerim. Am I to be hounded by a series of unwanted guests all the time? Perhaps we could just find a room at an inn somewhere, instead.”



“Oh, I don’t know, I’m rather looking forward to Leliana having you dressed like a prize peacock so you can strut your stuff,” put in Alistair.



“No, no, no, no,” said Leliana. “If she invites everybody in, your cachet will diminish rapidly. A better strategy is to only invite people she particularly wants to curry favor with. It’s far better if it appears that you don’t want your presence in the city to be widely known.”



“Well, I don’t, though it seems it will be anyway,” I said, exasperated. “But what’s the value in that?”



“It will encourage people to speculate on why you’re here. Perhaps there will be rumors that Sybille is having an affair with one or both of you.”



“What?” exclaimed Alistair.



“Oh, of course, she doesn’t plan to seduce you.”



“Good thing, unless she’s prepared for a very prolonged siege.” I remarked. “Did I ever tell you how many months it took me just to get a kiss?”



“Ah, but that was before you corrupted me, Aedan.” Alistair winked at me.



“Still, a rumor of it would be highly advantageous. Certainly few would dare insult her, if they thought they might be challenged by Alistair. And it would entice other suitors, who might be useful.”



Her enthusiasm was beginning to alarm me. “Sorry…did you just say that if Alistair were rumored to be bedding Sybille that would entice other suitors? In the maker’s name, why?”



She shook her head. “You really don’t understand how things work here, do you? Oh well, you’re a smart fellow, you’ll figure things out.” Seeing the expression on my face, she changed tack. “Sorry, Aedan, I did not mean to give the impression that Sybille only had you over for dinner to use you. She really did want to meet you. She is my friend, as are you both. It’s just that you need to realize that in Orlais, everything relates to the game, whether we intend it or not. Simply by being here, you make ripples in the pond.”



Later, as we ate dinner at an inn, Leliana remarked, ““Aedan—I’ve been thinking about writing a song about the Blight”



“I suppose it will add to the prestige of the Montfleury househld,” I said sourly. “Besides, I thought you told Morrigan at Redcliffe you didn’t want to write songs about suffering and death…”



“Well…maybe Morrigan was right It was a great victory in the end, and there are lessons to be learned from how it was achieved. And it’s really not about the Game, at least, no more than anything else is.”



“So go to it. You certainly have more material to work with than any of the other bards in Orlais. You were there for the whole thing.” At least I would probably be able to recognize myself in her epic, unlike so many versions I have heard.



“I wasn’t there for everything” she said with a sidelong glance at Alistair. “Some things I can only guess at from the sounds emerging from your tent.” Alistair turned the color of the rose he had given me at the campfire, all those nights ago.



I laughed. “Well, songs about my nightly exploits with Alistair will certainly be a novel approach to the material. I look forward to hearing them.”



“But really—what struck me as I began to write is that I feel I do not know the hero of my tale as well as I should. We all shared our stories with you, but I never really learned much about your past. I understand why it was hard for you to talk about at the time, but…I was hoping that now…you’ve had some time to heal...”



“There’s no great mystery about my past. I was the second son of one of the most powerful men in Ferelden and lived at the castle in Highever for my first twenty years and then…well, you know what happened.” I shrugged. “Besides, as much as I hated the man, Loghain was not wrong when he said that he had forged me. The man you know was made by Howe, and Loghain, and the Blight…and Alistair.” I said my voice, softening at the end. “Bryce Cousland’s son…is gone.”



She shook her head vigorously. “The past is never gone, it stays with us always. The great heroes of history are still with us, even if we have forgotten them. They made our world and their echoes are everywhere. How was Bryce Couslands strong enough to be forged instead of broken? Most people would have broken. I would have broken.”



“You misjudge yourself, Leli,” I murmured.



She wagged her finger at me. “Oh, no, we’re not going to have another conversation about me.”



“I didn’t break because of you and Alistair and the rest of our companions. I had something that had to be done and other people to push me into doing it. Anyone would have done the same in my position.”



“I don’t believe that and even if it were true, I still want to know…how you came to be who you are.”



I raised my hands in surrender and sighed. “Very well. But I don’t know how to begin to answer such a question. Perhaps could ask something specific?”



“You could begin by telling me how you learned to fight. I was surprised by your…style when I first fought at your side in Lothering.” Her brow furrowed. “Perhaps Ferelden is different but in Orlais, noblemen don’t…”



“Fight like thieves from the back alleys of Denerim?” I suggested.



“Or Antiva…” put in Alistair.



“I was trying to put it more tactfully, but, yes.”



“Well, I suppose I could tell you a little about my early training.” And so it began, the first of many nights of storytelling….

[maxernst]

3. MEMORIES: CHILDHOOD
 
“I was a timid child. No, really…stop laughing! I told you who I am now has little to do with Bryce Cousland’s son. Maker, why did I agree to this.
 
The thing is, I was always small for my age. Even now, I am not tall and while I filled out as an adult, I am still far nearer Leli in size and strength than Alistair. And as a child, I was thin. Like many small boys, I was picked on and bullied by the others. It’s a familiar enough story.
 
Yes, I can see why you would be surprised that bullying of the Teryn’s son would be allowed. To understand that, you need to understand Bryce Cousland’s mindset. He did not want to raise his children to be the sort of awful spoiled brats so many noble sons are, their heads swollen with the knowledge of their grand heritage. And so, I was trained and educated with the other boys of the castle, the sons of the guards and squires. I was not to be shown any special favor. It’s not that I wasn’t to believe I was better than them—oh, you have to know I was told over and over that I was a Cousland. But my innate superiority should show itself through my behavior; I was not to expect anyone to defer to me, just because of who I was. I can’t say that I really disagree with this philosophy, but—boys will be boys, as they say—it did meant that I had a rough time of it sometimes.
 
For the most part, I dealt with this by running away and hiding. I was small, but I was always fast. I could usually outrun the boys two or three years older than me, let alone the ones my own age. And hiding—oh, I was good at hiding. I knew every inch of Castle Cousland, every nook and cranny that a child—and remember that I was a small child—could squeeze into, I had investigated. Some of them were deliberately designed as secret passages, others were weaknesses in the old masonry where water had got in and enlarged cracks. 
 
Fergus? Oh, I can see why you would think that. No, Fergus did not bully me…most of the time, because Father wouldn’t allow that. Other boys my age, yes, that would toughen me up, get me to prove myself. But neither was Fergus my protector, as is sometimes the case with older brothers. And for that, I fear, I had only myself to blame.
 
You see, I had a mischievous side as a child…and a clever tongue that enabled me to get myself out of trouble. Which meant that poor Fergus was constantly getting blamed for my pranks. Who fed the new batch of ale to the mabari hounds, getting them all drunk the day of the annual great hunt? Fergus. Who spiked the soup with madder root dyeing it a glorious shade of rose pink when the royal family was visiting for dinner? Fergus. How he must have hated me—it’s a wonder he’s forgiven me now.
 
Meanwhile, I was thought to be a quiet child, shy, timid, studious. Much of the time that I was supposedly in my room reading, I was not even in the castle, having found a passage within the walls that could get me as far as the entrance hall from my bedroom. From there, it was easy enough to distract the guards with something—toss a coin in the opposite direction that would get the hounds yelping, for example—long enough for me to scurry out into the courtyard. I could creep through the hedges—remember I was small—and I had found a place where I could scale the outer wall while remaining concealed by a gnarled old tree. 
 
It was fortunate that I retained enough of what I read when I actually did study that I was able to sustain the reputation for being a student of history. In reality, I did enjoy the tales of exotic places and the more romanticized historical accounts, but the Chant of Light bored me, as did the drier (and likely more accurate) histories of Andraste’s life. I suppose I was fortunate that my father did not take my supposed scholarly bent as a sign that I should be given to the Chantry. It’s a common enough pattern after all—first son inherits the family titles, second son to the Templars. What a catastrophe that would have been! Fortunately, Father had enough lands that he was not overly worried about dividing the family inheritance. When I was deemed old and responsible enough to manage my own lands, I would receive a fief and be a vassal of Fergus.
 
Of course, as a Bann, I would be required to fight to protect the citizens of my village from bandits.  So it was necessary for me—as it is for every noble’s son—to learn to fight. And here Bryce Cousland’s designs went terribly awry. Noting that I was small and weak, he was determined that I grow stronger. I was outfitted in the heaviest of chainmail, so heavy I could scarcely move, let alone fight. And I was trained in the use of two-handed weapons—can you imagine me fighting with a claymore? Well, until I was sixteen years old, that was my weapon of choice. 
 
In all fairness, I’m sure I did grow stronger as a result of lumbering around in heavy armor and flailing about with that claymore. But struggling with the weight prevented me from really ever learning good technique. And I was not accustomed to failure—I was a skilled rider, a strong swimmer, a clever (if less dedicated than supposed) student of languages and history. But I was a poor fighter, and because I was poor at it, I hated it.    Honestly, though I rather obviously gained a bit of skill in fighting since then, it’s still not something that gives me any real pleasure. I’m not just talking about not enjoying fighting for my life. I don’t even like sparring very much; it’s just something I do because my life has given me little choice but to maintain those skills. It’s been a very strange path through life, certainly nothing like what I envisioned as a child or what my father had in mind.
 
How did I imagine my future life? Well, to be honest, I supposed I would be stuck doing my duty, like a proper Cousland. Which likely meant living in a castle in some dreary village in northern Ferelden, marrying the daughter of some Arl or other, and raising children to do their duty in their turn.
 
I wanted to travel, a desire that grew stronger still when Fergus married Oriana, who told me many tales of far away, exotic Antiva. Marriage and raising children did not attract me. I had little interest in girls—not so unusual at 12, but more surprising by 14 or 15—though I had no understanding of why that might be, not yet.
 
Whenever I could, I slipped out of the castle into town. I could not really wander freely without being recognized of course, even though I would uh…borrow clothing from the servant’s children. I was fascinated by the glimpses of town life that I managed, however, and sometimes dreamed of running away—although I certainly knew that my life was privileged beyond belief. Still, something that you cannot have is always enticing, even when you know you would be a fool to trade what you have to get it.
 
 It became harder to slip away after a little adventure I had where I encountered a traveling group of players rehearsing a show.   Since they were from out of town, they had no notion of who I was, and I managed to persuade them to let me watch and even participate in the rehearsal to a degree. It was enchanting…imagine being able to spend life pretending to be other people, dressing up in strange costumes, doing new roles all the time! In another life, I might well have become a performer.   They actually told me I could appear in a small role on stage, though I suspect they were merely humoring me. I did get dressed up along with some of the other children in the cast, however, and learned a few lines.
 
Unfortunately, guests had arrived at Castle Cousland in the meantime and the fact I was not—as had been supposed—quietly reading in my room. At first my poor mother feared I had been somehow kidnapped, but they soon determined that I must have used the passage to escape the castle and soon the castle guards were all over the town looking for me.
 
They eventually found me at the players’ camp just outside the town gates, dressed as a little girl—players often use boys for female roles—and spouting some nonsensical lines from an Orlesian drama. Needless to say, Father was furious on a number of counts. The poor players had to leave Highever without even getting to perform, though it was hardly their fault, my parents and Nan kept a rather closer watch on me than before, and the passage from my bedroom to the entrance hall was sealed.  A pity that last, as it would have been useful when Howe attacked.
 
And so my life went for its first sixteen years…a quiet boy, clever, perhaps more adventurous and less dutiful than he appeared, without much aptitude or inclination for the martial skills that define the pecking order for young men. Then one day, as I was making another desultory pass at practicing my swordsmanship with my claymore, a young mercenary named Iain was watching me. He had been hired by my father to act as a scout, and something of a spy. Although Ferelden is nowhere near as riddled with intrigue as Orlais, Father did need to keep an eye on what was going on in Highever. 
 
Iain was clearly entertained by what he was seeing…in fact, I daresay he was near breaking up with laugher. Needless to say, when I became aware of his amusement, I was furious. Iain explained that his mirth was not because I was inept, but because my training had been so misguided. The heavy armor and weapons had succeeded in completely neutralizing my natural talents: speed and coordination. He told me to shuck the armor and told me he could teach me techniques that would enable to easily best my bigger and stronger opponents.
 
Iain taught me for a few other things as well, but it grows late, and I think we shall have to save that part of the story for another day.

[maxernst]

4. A ROADSIDE INN: DREAMS AND REVELATIONS
 
That night, I dreamed that I was a small boy again, running through Castle Cousland with a bigger boy chasing me. I was faster than him and I reached the library well ahead, touched the panel that swung the bookcase away from the wall, crept into the passage behind it and pulled it back concealing me. I could hear the thundering footsteps of the other boy now, his panting as he looked around for me. He ran on and I waited in the darkness of the narrow, cobweb-filled passage between the walls.
 
I felt someone tap my shoulder and I turned around, nearly shrieking in surprise. Before me was a small, dark-haired girl…the girl I had seen in my dream before. A beautiful child, it suddenly occurred to me, almost luminous. She placed a finger to her lips to hush me and beckoned me to follow her. I walked down passages I had never seen before   Then she stood at the end of the passage waiting for me. I walked past her and pushed open the panel, and emerged into the pantry the night of Howe’s attack. My father dying in my mothers arms…
 
I woke with a spasm and a small cry. Alistair stirred beside me and turned, putting his strong arms around me. “Hey…it’s okay.” He held me for a moment until my breathing had returned to normal. I fumbled for the tinderbox on the nightstand and lit a candle. We would always lie awake together for a while at such times; I honestly don’t know how Grey Wardens without companions cope with the nightmares. I lay back, admiring the shadows moving over the hard muscles of his torso in the flickering candlelight. 
 
“I should put another poultice on those bruises,” I said, noting the angry colors where his ribs were healing. He lay there as I worked the soothing medicine into his flesh.
 
After I finished, he asked, “Did you dream of her, this time?”
 
“Yes…I lied to Yves. I dreamed of her the first night I was in Val Royeaux. This is my second time.” 
 
“You lied?” He inclined his head and gave me a curious look.
 
“I think you’ve heard me lie before.”
 
“Yes, but…does this have something to do with…what he thought it did? Are you ever going to tell me about how Morrigan saved you from the Archdemon?”
 
I swallowed. I had been dreading this question for five years. I had always felt that Alistair’s love for me was based in no small measure hero worship and that if he learned I was not the hero he saw me as…I knew that it was time to explain, but I couldn’t resist stalling. “What makes you so suddenly curious after all these years?”
 
“Well, I know you told me that I didn’t want to know, but something about being called off to Weisshaupt…and the Warden Commander of Orlais practically accusing you of being a traitor to the Wardens--I wanted to kill him, you know—and you lying to him, it’s made me…curious”
 
“I know….I should have told you a long time ago, should have told you before I agreed to Morrigan’s plan but…I was afraid. You know, when we first fell in love, Wynne counseled me that it was a bad idea for Wardens to love, that love was selfish and might get in the way of my duty as a Warden. I was angry with her, then…”
 
“Morrigan said much the same to me once. Not as nicely, of course.”
 
“Did she? That’s ironic.”
 
“Why ironic?’
 
“If I hadn’t been in love, she would never have gotten what she asked for. I didn’t have much to live for, other than you…losing my life to stop the Blight would have seemed like no large thing. Or maybe you would have persuaded me to let you die. But I wanted to live because of you, and I couldn’t face the thought of living without you…and so…I may have done a terrible thing.”
 
“Are you saying you regret…what you did?”
 
I shook my head. “No…no…Maker forgive me but even if I’ve damned Thedas to destruction, it was worth it for these precious years with you.” I stroked his cheek. I murmured, “Wynne was right. You see, the child you’re seeing in the dreams since we’ve come to Orlais…it’s Morrigan’s child. My daughter.”
 
He laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one. Serves me right, deflecting questions with jokes all these years. You are joking, right…” A pause. “You’re not joking.” I shook my head. “A child? With Morrigan. How…?”
 
“I thought you told Wynne you understood where babies came from. It wasn’t that difficult, I put my.,.”
 
He colored. “That’s not what I meant! I never knew that you and Morrigan…was this before you and I…?”
 
“No. It was the last night in Redcliffe, before the army marched, that Morrigan came to me. I guess technically, I was unfaithful—the one and only time—but I was thinking of you the whole time. I did it for us, though I should have told you…”
 
“But why did Morrigan want your child? She never struck me as the motherly type. And what does this have to do with the Archdemon?”
 
I sighed. “Everything. Everything. Morrigan performed a magical ritual so that when the Archdemon died and it found a new host, instead of finding me or a Darkspawn, the Old God would find her unborn child instead. Somehow, the ritual was supposed to pass on the part of the old god’s soul that we carry with us, without passing on the taint. To free it of the taint, as it were.”
 
He pulled away, suddenly shocked. “You made a child to be possessed by the Archdemon? Wouldn’t it die, like us?”
 
I shook my head vigorously. “Not the archdemon, the old god. Morrigan says that if the child is young enough, its soul could merge with the old god. Anyway, it didn’t die. You’ve seen it in your dreams, and it doesn’t feel like the Archdemon, does it?”
 
“No, you’re right…it feels…different. It’s not the same as during the Blight. But why would Morrigan want such a thing? What will it be?”
 
I shrugged. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me, or doesn’t fully know herself. If the chantry is to be believed, letting loose an old god into the world is a dreadful thing. Morrigan sees it differently.”
               
“Do you trust her?”
               
“I—well, she would not want another Blight. And I do think that she was traveling with us, that she learned to care about other people, at least a little. But I—I really don’t know. I probably should have just…died like the other Grey Wardens. Can you forgive me?” I looked into his eyes, pleading for his understanding. “I just couldn’t give you up.”
           
He was silent for a time. “Aedan, I have followed you for six years and you have never failed me. I have to trust your heart. If I can’t trust that, I have nothing. But if this…old god child becomes a danger, we’ll have to deal with it. I wouldn’t normally recommend killing a child, but…”
 
His words startled me out of my thoughts. “You’ve said those words before, you know. And we found another way, then…but anyway, it—she—doesn’t seem to be doing any harm, at least not that we know of, not yet.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, “If it comes to pass that she is an evil that must be stopped, then it is mine to do. I let her into the world and, if necessary, I will see her out…and die a true Grey Warden’s death. If that’s the only way.”
 
“Aedan, “ he said softly, gathering me into his arms. “There can be no truer Grey Warden than you, no truer man.” I knew it wasn’t true but it felt good to hear him say it anyway. “Never doubt it, my love. And I would gladly die in your stead…but you know that. But when we go to Weisshaupt, when we tell them this…you think they will want to kill her?”
 
I nodded slowly. “I think so, yes. Even though there’s no blight, I think they will see her as a threat. They ordered you to come to Weisshaupt rather than simply send messengers to ask questions of us in Amaranthine, which means—I think—that they are prepared to take action. This is not a friendly inquiry, if we go to Weisshaupt we will be facing an interrogation. And I—she’s just a little girl, Alistair. More, she’s my child, the only one I will ever have…”
 
“What I don’t understand is why it’s only here in Orlais that the Wardens are dreaming of this child. I had some strange dreams in Ferelden but nothing like this. Why here? What do the dreams mean? Alistair, I think we should not go on to Weisshaupt, not until we understand what’s happening here. I want to know more about what this little girl might be. I would try to find Morrigan, but I have no idea how to even begin looking.” I shook my head. “Let’s talk about his more, tomorrow. We need to plan…maybe we can learn something from the dreams.”

[maxernst]

5. THE PALAIS DE MONTFLEURIE: A FINE MEAL

We returned to Val Royeaux a few days later in the early evening. Sybille greeted us warmly, "I see you successfully found the other Warden."

It had always irritated me that Alistair seemed permanently cast in my shadow as the other Warden, as though an appendage of me. However, he seemed not to mind, so I did not make an issue of it. "My lady, may I introduce my dearest companion, Alistair. Alistair, may I present the Comtesse Sybille de Montfleurie"

"Forgive me if I do not bow deeply, my lady, I met up with some bandits on the road and some of my ribs were broken."

Leliana added, "My friends are planning to stay in Val Royeaux until Alistair is fully healed. I hope I have not overstepped my bounds by offering to host them here."

"Not at all, my dear," replied Sybille. "Stay as long as you like. I can easily accommodate two honored guests."

"I am not really so badly hurt as all that, but Aedan believes me to be a fragile and delicate flower."

I laughed at that. "Hardly. I well know how nearly indestructible you are. However, we have many weeks of riding ahead of us and I see no reason for you to suffer pain all the way that could be alleviated by a short rest. And after speaking with the Warden Commander of Orlais, I feel that I would like to spend some time…investigating what we discussed."

"You will need only one room, yes? " We both nodded in unison. Sybille signaled to her elven servant, "Elionore, please show Aedan and Alistair to the guest room on the ground floor and draw a bath for them, as well." She returned her attention to us, "It is a smaller guest room, but I thought it would be better if Alistair did not need to climb the stairs. When you have made yourselves comfortable, please join me and Leliana in the dining room."

Sometime later, cleaned and refreshed, Alistair and I entered the dining room where Leliana and Sybille were seated at a long polished wooden table. As we entered, Sybille was saying, "Oh—while you were away, Yolande intercepted a message between the Marquis de Nimieres and the Duc de Val Foret."

Leliana nodded. "I do hope she made certain it reached the Duc."

"Of course. She made a copy then resealed it with the fake seal…it should pass, if not inspected too closely. You have trained her well. The message appears harmless, but there might be something hidden in it that I do not see…"

"I will have a look at it later this evening."

Sybille looked up at Alistair and me. "Please sit down and have a goblet of wine with us."

I picked up the glass and was surprised to see that the wine was foaming.

Sybille laughed. "Vin mousseux," she explained. "It's a specialty of my estates in Montfleurie. I'm not quite sure why, but the wines there always do this after a winter in the cellars. We actually had the Templars sniffing about, thinking that we had some apostate mages casting spells on our wine." She laughed.

"Do you always live here in Val Royeaux? Do you not have to look after your people in Montfleurie?" While the great houses in Ferelden all maintained a residence in Denerim, they spent most of their time at their castles.

She shrugged. "I have a steward who looks after the estates for me. Perhaps things are different in wild Ferelden, but here in Orlais, the greater dangers to guard against lie at court."

A servant brought out a basket of steaming fresh bread, soft, mild cheese, and an onion soup while we enjoyed our wine. Sybille turned to Alistair, "Is it true that you are Maric's son?"

"Yes—though I renounced any claim to the throne before the Landsmeet when Anora was chosen to rule."
Sybille continued to probe. "From what I have heard, Aedan held the Landsmeet in his hand. Yet he chose not to put you on the throne?"

"I was selfish," I said. "I did not want to share him with the rest of Ferelden."

A slight smile from Alistair. "More likely, he just recognized what a dreadful king I would be."

I shook my head. "Alistair, I truly believe that you would have been a fine king, given the opportunity. You misjudge your own abilities."

"You know what I said in Lothering about putting me in charge of things and winding up stranded somewhere without any pants."

"But I like you without pants." Everyone laughed. "Seriously, though, it really wasn't because I doubted Alistair's ability to do the job. I just felt that it would look like too much of an interference in Ferelden's politics to put a Warden on the throne, and that placing Anora there might mollify some of Loghain's supporters."

Sybille nodded. "Ah, so a calculated move then." She studied me for a moment. "You might do well here in Orlais."
I shrugged. "I even thought of convincing you to marry Anora."

Alistair made a face. "Maker, I'm glad you did not push that idea."

"Well, I do feel your basic generosity and sense of justice might counter some of Anora's more ruthless ways…but I suppose she's done well enough. But in the end, I placed her on the throne, for better or for worse…and I kept Alistair by my side with the Wardens. For which I am forever grateful"

The servants brought out a roasted pheasant on a bed of garlic-flavored vegetables. Alistair asked, "Speaking of the Wardens,…do the Grey Wardens have a liaison at the imperial court?" Alistair and I had discussed our need to understand the dreams better and had decided that we might need to seek help from an Orlesian warden who had been experiencing them for longer.

Sybille's brow furrowed. "Yes, I believe there is, a Nevarran. Do you remember his name, Leliana?"

"Enrique de Alianca," she replied and considered for a moment. "I think he bleaches his hair."

"Is that common here?" I asked.

"Among men, no." Leliana put one finger to a chin. "I wonder if he has some reason to hide from his past."

"It would not be so unusual among Wardens." I glanced at Alistair. "If you have a chance, perhaps you could learn a bit more about him. At the very least, I would like to know how loyal he is to Yves and if we can learn something…compromising about him, as well, that's all to the good." Alistair frowned slightly at my last comment, but said nothing.

"I will see what I can do. But you didn't quite complete your story the other night. You started to tell us about this Iain, who taught you to fight."

I laughed. "Ah, so that's the price of learning more about Enrique de Alianca, is it? Very well then." The servants came in once again, this time carrying a plate of pastries and a flask of sweet golden wine, and I resumed my story.

Modifié par maxernst, 18 août 2010 - 12:38 .

[maxernst]

MEMORIES: THE NOBLE ROGUE
 
“As I hinted the other day, it was Iain who taught me to fight as I do. At first, because he was effectively usurping the Cousland Armsmaster’s role, he taught me in secret. We would meet late at night and fight in odd places in the castle that were off the guard’s patrols. I was still spending far more time flailing about with my claymore each morning, but I worked far harder in my nightly sparring with Iain, and learned far more.
 
The first thing I learned—the first thing anybody learns when fighting without armor—was how to avoid being hit. Iain started fighting me with ironwood sticks intended to be the same weight and length as daggers, but when you’re wearing only ordinary clothing, being poked by a stick with a man’s weight behind it is a painful lesson. It did not take long for me to learn to elude the obvious thrusts very quickly, for though he was bigger and stronger than me, I was faster from the start. After that, he began to show me variations and how to use my sticks to parry. Once he found a trick that I did not have a counter for, he would keep doing it until I learned to avoid it, repeatedly bruising me in the same places in the process. Fortunately, I was a swift learner.
 
I also learned that fighting with daggers forces you to move much closer to your opponent. While this can be seen as a disadvantage, it is easier to strike very precisely at the weak points in armor, and the blades are not the only things with which you can attack. I learned to make weapons of my elbows, knees, feet, and even my head. At first, I was reluctant to master such techniques, thinking them base and dishonorable. But Iain laughed at my scruples, telling me to leave honor for tournaments. Real warriors, he said, did whatever was needed to win, or they died. He encouraged me to learn to fight like a survivor.
 
Soon I had progressed to blunted steel weapons and begun to learn to attack with two daggers as well as defend. It did not take me long to realize that I was becoming good at this style of fighting. In fact, after four or five months I was more effective with daggers than with the claymore that I had been struggling to master for years. Sometimes Iain would bring one of his friends to fight as well, to demonstrate ways of dealing with two opponents at once, sometimes even tricking them into hitting one another.
 
It was inevitable that we would be discovered, and one evening Fergus came upon us. I suppose he must have heard the clatter of steel from a distance and come to investigate. He scoffed at the way I was learning to fight and challenged me with the blunted training steel. Fergus picked up the longsword Iain had been using to teach me how to deal with opponents wielding longer weapons; he had his shield and mail.  
 
He must have expected a quick, easy, and humiliating victory, for I had been strikingly inept whenever he had seen me fight before. We had never actually crossed swords, because his skill had always been far greater than mine. At first, I simply concentrated on eluding his blows, parrying, dodging, bobbing and weaving. His frustration grew, which gave me great pleasure. Iain had taught me that one could often defeat a more heavily armored opponent by retreating from his every blow until he tired.
 
But Fergus was at the peak of his youthful strength and stamina then, and he would not tire, though he did grow frustrated. Still, he very nearly had me when I struck out with my left hand dagger, thinking to parry a feint, exposing my right side to his shield. Fergus was angry now and determined to teach his little brother a lesson, even at the cost of breaking a bone or two with the heavy shield. I reacted in the only way I could, bringing my right knee hard up under his hauberk into his groin. He doubled over in pain and his shield failed to connect with my shoulder. I had beaten him.
 
The next day, Fergus told my father about my new style of fighting. I defied Father, saying that I had no intention of giving up fighting the only way I could win. At first, he was skeptical, thinking that I had been lucky to have defeated Fergus with a trick, but I demonstrated my skill against some of the other boys who routinely beat me when I was fighting with a claymore. At last, Father relented. If he was to have a son who would be an embarrassment in combat, at least I would be an embarrassment that could defend myself and my lands. I still suspect that Bryce Cousland rolled over in his grave when I applied poison to my weapons in a duel before the Landsmeet.
 
Oriana helped to patch things over—or tried to, at least—by pointing out that it was very fashionable in Antiva for gentlemen to fight with a rapier in their right hand and a dagger in their left. She bought me an elegant dagger with a special hand guard, designed for parrying. They call it a main-gauche in Orlais. A rapier is light enough that, while longer than a dagger, it was still easy for me to handle, and I fought in the Antivan style for some time. If I could find a rapier and main-gauche of comparable quality to my daggers, I might fight that way again. I still have a tendency to block more often than strike with my left hand. It’s a slight stylistic flaw, but fortunately my opponents rarely live long enough to learn to exploit it.
 
Iain received scant thanks for teaching me to fight. His contract was not renewed the following year, so I trained with him for only a year and a half, by which time I was seventeen. Father never explained why he no longer employed Iain. Perhaps he still boiled over his teaching me to fight so ignobly, perhaps it had nothing to do with me…or perhaps he had learned that Iain had taught me other things than how to use daggers.
 
For Iain was my first lamppost…”
 
“Lamppost?” asked Leliana as Alistair began to laugh. She raised an eyebrow and turned to look at him. Sybille looked equally baffled.
 
“A private joke. I think it was when we were in Redcliffe or perhaps on our way to the Circle Tower. At any rate, it was when I was just beginning to get to know Alistair and it occurred to me that since he was just six months out of the chantry, he might have had little or no experience. When I began to ask, have you never…?”
 
Alistair chimed in, “I replied ‘Never what? Had a good pair of shoes? Seen a basilisk? Eaten jellied ham? Licked a lamppost in winter?’”
 
I smiled at the memory. “I must say, I wondered at your choice of image on the last one. It made me suspect were less innocent than you appeared. After all, despite their vows, I would guess that relationships between templars are not so uncommon, given that they live exclusively with other men.”
 
“That was so not what I was thinking. I really had not given much thought to how men might…pleasure each other.”
 
“No? Well, when I replied that I had ‘licked my quota of lampposts and then some’, licking my lips emphasis--though it was really an exaggeration--you certainly became flustered enough.” Leliana and Sybille giggled.
 
“Yes, well, I guess I was struck by the…oddity of the image at that point.”
 
“Be that as it may, even though it was not winter when I finally licked this particular lamppost, I seem to have become stuck to it.” I leaned over and kissed Alistair lightly on the cheek.
 
“But to return to my tale, Iain was, in fact, my first. As I commented before, I had never felt a strong interest in girls, but when I began working closely with Iain every night, desire stirred in me. I did not know exactly what it meant, but I wanted to be…close to him. And one evening, we went for a swim and it happened.
 
Was it love? No, Leli, I would not have called it that. We weren’t planning a life together; how could we? I was a Cousland, my destiny was set in stone like the castes in Orzammar and living with a male commoner could not be part of it. And while Iain was my mentor and not unkind to me, he was a hard man, embittered by experience. It seems funny to talk of another man being hard now, given the things that I have done, but I was a very young man who had lived a sheltered life. Iain was the son of a Ferelden lord who had fought for the Orlesians; his father had been killed when he was a baby and his family stripped of its title. His mother had changed the family name and sold what little jewelery she had to get weapons and a modicum of training for her young son, but Iain still felt cheated. Although he was fond of me, there was an undercurrent of resentment because he felt that he, too, should have been entitled to the privileges I enjoyed.
 
Looking back, I think I used him, though I did not think of it that way at the time.   I knew he was furious with himself for getting involved with his lord’s son, fearing Bryce Cousland’s anger. But at the same time, he must have been conscious of the fact that I could probably have him dismissed if I chose. So when I wheedled him for more—young men at that age think of little else—no doubt he felt pressured to continue, even though I never threatened him. I don’t even know if Father ever knew or suspected, but I think Fergus did.
 
The reason I say that is that it was around this time that Fergus seemed to push me into the company of some of the young gentry of Highever who were particularly fond of “wenching” expeditions in town. Not that Fergus himself participated; he was married to Oriana by this time and would not dishonor her. But he certainly encouraged me to go to town and “sow my oats”. And so I went to the ****houses with the others, chose my girls and did my best with them. I was able to perform adequately in a physical sense, I suppose, but somehow none of them excited me in the same way as Iain’s firm lean body and hairy chest.
 
And then, at the end of the year, without any explanation from Father, Iain was released from service. I am not sure where he went after that. Perhaps it is just as well, as he would likely have been killed with the rest when Howe attacked. I suppose he might well have died anyway that year, as so many did at Ostagar or in defense of Denerim, though I never saw him in either place. I have not sought him out. It would be…awkward. Besides, if he had felt a need to see me, he could easily have found me.
 
Still, it is Iain who trained me, and who I have to thank for the fact that I survived Howe’s attack and had sufficient skill to attract Duncan’s notice. But it grows late and I do not have the stomach to talk about that tonight.”

[DreGregoire]

*claps*

[Maria13]

Particularly liked Chap 4, Alistair holding your hero in his arms and discussing the DR... Guess, I'm an old softie after all. And your response to our latest troll was literate ace...

[maxernst]

Thanks. I'm glad you're both enjoying it. And thanks for the compliments on Ch4--I'm always nervous about writing those sorts of scenes that they'll come out too mushy/maudlin, but I wanted to establish a physical intimacy and tenderness between the characters.

[maxernst]

THE PALAIS DE MONTFLEURIE: MADE TO MEASURE

"So…what was your dream about…my daughter like? You've still only had the one?"

I was relaxing with Alistair in Sybille's guest room. I wondered how long it had been since we had been able to simply spend a day together without any duties to deal with. It reminded me of the months after the Blight, before we went to Amaranthine to work on rebuilding the Ferelden Wardens.

Alistair nodded. "So far. It was when I stayed the night at an inn in Val Foret. In the dream, I saw a cute little dark-haired girl walking along a stream that ran through the dense shade of willow trees. Every so often she would bend down and pick something up; at first, I thought she was gathering wildflowers. But as I got nearer—and I felt drawn to her, like I had to come nearer—I saw that she was gathering magic herbs, elfroot, deathroot…and then she looked up and saw me…"

I watched him closely as he paused "Yes, and did she say anything?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, first she smiled and I thought…I thought my heart would melt."

"You've always adored children, Alistair." I murmured.

"Not like this…maybe it was because…it didn't occur to me at the time, but her smile is much like yours. She has Morrigan's hair and eyes, but she smiles like you. Anyway, then she pointed at me and gave a little giggle and lifted a finger to her lips, as if telling me to be quiet. And then," he shrugged, "I woke up. And I felt so tense, almost like I had dreamed of the Archdemon and I could not understand why…I'm used to people pointing and laughing at me in real life, why should it bother me in a dream?"

I chuckled. "Hmm. So in both of our first dreams, we came upon her doing something related to magic…reading some kind of tome in mine, gathering herbs in yours, and then she noticed us. Was it daylight when you had this dream?"

"No, it was the middle of the night, why?"

"Well, I thought maybe in my dream I was having a vision of what she was really doing. But maybe we're sleepwalking into her dreams. I wonder if she knows." I frowned. "Mages…Wynne told me their dreams are not like ours, that they are awake in their dreams." I sighed. "It's a pity Anders or Meghann aren't here, maybe if they dreamed of her they could talk to her."

"There must be some mages at Coteaux du Roche."

I shook my head. "I couldn't trust them with this…"

There was a sharp rap at the door. "I'll see what it's about," I grumbled to Alistair, and got out of bed. I put on a robe, while he covered himself with the bedclothes. "Coming!" I called out.

Leliana was waiting outside. She glanced at my attire and Alistair in the bed. "You've gone back to bed? An exhausting night?" She arched an eyebrow and laughed.

"Alistair is supposed to be resting and I'm…keeping him company." I smiled.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but Sybille's tailor is here to measure you and Alistair."

"Measure us…oh, right." She had mentioned that we needed to get a formal suit of clothes made, but I did not realize that the tailor would be over immediately. "Oh, very well. Give us a few minutes to get dressed."

"Oh…" Leliana remarked as she led us out to the courtyard, "I found out that Enrique, Yves' liaison at court, is from Rivain, not Nevarra. We were confused because he learned Orlesian in Nevarra, so his accent…" She broke off and smiled at Sybille, who was looking at a cart, across which were spread out a number of different garments and scraps of cloth.

She turned to us, "Ah, there you are. This is my tailor, Gorlois—he does all my work for me. He's brought us samples of material he can get from one of the silk merchants in town—all you need do is pick out the materials and pattern of garment, and he will make it to measure.

"Guiraud uses only the best dyes on his silks, none of those that fade in sunlight or wash out in water." Gorlois informed us.

"Can you have clothes made for both of them in four days? I am planning a dinner…"

"For you, Madame Comtesse, I and apprentices will work day and night to make it so."

"You'll want the tunic to be silk at this time of year," remarked Leliana to me, indicating a style she favored for me. "Why not like this, in this shade of blue, to bring out your eyes. Blue is the warden color, yes? And you can have it embroidered with a silver gryphon." She clapped her hands and tilted her head to one side. "The belt should be silver, too…perhaps a cape in the deeper blue…"

"Is the tunic not rather short? Unless it is worn with breeches…" I asked.

"You will be wearing linen hose on your legs of course…that's the fashion now. You surely don't want to wear those leather or wool breeches the men wear in Ferelden; that's far too warm for the summer here."

Meanwhile, Gorlois was advising Alistair.."I think an open collared tunic for monsieur…and perhaps a sleeveless surcoat?" He studied Alistair for a moment, stroking his beard. "We will need to taper it a great deal for your broad shoulders and chest…"

"Yes, said Leliana, "A crimson surcoat and hose for Alistair, with a bright yellow tunic underneath…and gold stitching on the surcoat"

"But Alistair is a Warden, too," I pointed out, recalling her suggestion of blue for me.

"But the red will bring out his color and his hair,"

"It's easy to bring out Alistair's color," I said with a smile.

In part because I wanted to get the process over with quickly, I allowed Leliana to advise us on the selection of our fancy clothes, then we went inside to disrobe to our undergarments so that the tailor could measure us. The fashions in Orlais were much tighter fitting than in Ferelden, and required more precise tailoring. The tailor was painstaking in his measurements, but I supposed that he took pride in his work. Certainly, Sybille seemed to hold him in high regard and she appeared elegantly dressed herself, not that I have much of an eye for such things. While measuring Alistair for hose, Gorlois remarked that "Some men like a padded codpiece but I don't think that will be necessary for you, Monsieur." I chuckled as this comment brought Alistair's color out far more than any clothes ever would.

The measuring done, Gorlois departed, promising to return in four days with our new clothes. "Tomorrow, we'll get some proper shoes for both of you," remarked Leliana. She studied my closely cropped hair. "Have you ever considered growing your hair longer?"

I shrugged. "It's practical and requires no fuss. And I'm afraid I can't grow my hair to my shoulders in four days."
She shook her head. "Only servants in Orlais wear their hair so short." Her eyes lit up. "We could get wigs for you!"

"What?" exclaimed Alistair. "I like my hair."

I held up my hand. "I draw the line at wigs."

"Let them be, Leli. They are foreigners here…and it is hardly likely that anyone will think that I have servants of such build and bearing, or who wear such clothes," said Sybille.

Leliana gave a long sigh. "Very well…but we do need to get new shoes for you…and now that I think of it, I could use a new hat…perhaps with green feathers…"

Noting that Leliana was now distracted by thoughts of her own wardrobe, I hurriedly took my leave of her and Sybille. I did not want to give her an opportunity to think of any more improvements to my appearance or Alistair's.

Modifié par maxernst, 09 septembre 2010 - 01:39 .

[maxernst]

8. THE PALAIS DE MONTFLEURIE: AN OLD SCANDAL

The next few days passed pleasantly and uneventfully as Alistair recovered from his injuries and Leliana fussed over finding the perfect shoes for us. On the morning of Sybille's dinner, Gorlois appeared as promised with the two new silk outfits for the Ferelden wardens. Alistair and I went into our room to help each other into the clothes—the tunics had some complicated lacing—and then returned so that Gorlois could inspect them and Leliana admire them. The clothes were soft, cool, and well-tailored, though they fit more snugly than my tunics at home. Gorlois studied us and nodded, pleased.

Leliana clapped her hands. "Perfect! Now, you look like dashing and handsome young chevaliers. Though I still think the short hair spoils the effect." She sighed at our stubbornly unfashionable Ferelden ways.

I looked Alistair over. Though finely dressed and certainly dramatic, I thought the crimson and gold a bit gaudy and was glad my own clothes were more restrained. "I like the open collar," I said to Alistair, leaning forward and fingering a golden chest hair.

Sybille came in to inspect us and appeared pleased by what she saw. "And how are you feeling Alistair? You look much better than you did a few days ago." This was true—the dark rings around his eyes had faded and he was walking fully erect without wincing.

"I am quite well, after all of Aedan's ministrations. But I fear if I spend any more time lying in bed and eating at your table, madame, that I will be unable to fit in my armor.

I studied him carefully. "Well, if you're sure, you could start training again…you really are fine? No more headaches or dizzy spells?"

"Aedan, I'm fine. Really."

The servants were making elaborate preparations for the dinner. Though I thought Sybille's regular table service elegant, they were busily polishing a set of silver plates, goblets and bowls with delicate gilt decorations. The tapestries had been carefully dusted and rehung. Friends of Lelianas had been hired to provide music and comic entertainment before dinner.

Although the number of guests at the dinner was not that large, the numbers visiting the palace were swelled by their attendants. Many were preceded by heralds, even Sybille's brother Henri, the Comte de Chateau Blanc, and her liege lord, Gaubert, Duc de Val Foret. In case she forgot who they were, I supposed. I noticed that Gaubert's wife Huguette appeared not overly fond of Leliana, and suspected that the feeling was mutual, though Leliana was a better actress. I recalled that one of Leliana's assistants had intercepted a message intended for the Duc and wondered if Sybille was planning to betray her liege. Not really my business, I suppose.

There were about twenty guests at the actual dinner; the various hangers on would eat elsewhere in the palace. Most of them were Sybille's approximate peers at court and their spouses, aside from the Duc de Val Foret and the Duc de Val Royeaux, a cousin of Celene. The guests seemed friendly to one another, though I had a sense that there was some friction or at least competition that was being hidden behind polite smiles and small talk. Standing out from the crowd rather in their flowing silk robes and headscarves were the leader of a trade delegation from Rivain and his wife. They seemed slightly bemused to have been given an opportunity to meet privately with so many nobles, but lost no time in touting the exotic dried fruits and fine steel weapons for which Rivain was known, and inquiring about the merchandise produced on the estates of the various guests.

Sybille and her son, who had obviously been carefully coached for the occasion, sat on opposite sides of the table. He said little during the dinner, but formally greated all the guests and answered questions politely when spoken to. Having sat through formal dinners as a child myself, I felt a pang of sympathy. I was seated across from Leliana, and between Alistair and Hermenionne, the daughter of a Viscomtesse who was one of Sybille's vassals. She was an attractive young girl with wavy brown hair and green eyes and a nervous giggle. I supposed that her mother was hoping to find a husband for her.

Although I had thought the daily evening meal at Sybille's table elaborate, it was nothing compared to what was laid before us. I lost count of how many courses were provided around twelve, and there were a variety of wines to match the courses….there were soups and salads, breads and cheeses, roasts and shellfish. It would have been impossible to complete every course laid before me. I hoped the servants who had been working long hours for days would be given the leftovers. The final course was a custard mixed with snow and flavored with orange—perhaps a nod to the Riveni- and served with a sweet deep golden wine. Where does one get snow at this time of year? Magic? Or had it been shipped from the Frostback Mountains.

Much of the conversation was difficult for me to follow. The two dukes and their wives had recently attended a state dinner that Celene had thrown for the Ambassador from Nevarra. I had thought that they would be probed for information about the mealtime conversation but either that was trivial or no one expected such knowledge to be passed on openly. Instead, the conversation focused on the guest list, the seating arrangement and what Celene had worn. Great significance seemed to be attached to the fact that Celene had worn an ultramarine gown. Its importance lay not in the Empress as a cue for fashion trends—though she certainly was—but in some implied underlying meaning about her intentions toward Nevarra.

Also of great interest was the presence of the Marquis des Marecages, who had been seated opposite the chancellor. While some posited this as an indication that he had been returned to Celene's graces following some scandal or other, Sybille had another explanation. She suggested that the Empress wished to keep a close on him, 'if only for his entertainment value.' An appreciative laugh went around the table.

Eventually, conversation turned to me. Having determined that I was not married—apparently my relationship with Alistair was not known or understood by everyone present—the Viscomtesse inquired as to the Orlesian equivalent of an Arl. Silently cursing Sybille for introducing me as Arl of Armaranthine, as well as Warden commander, I explained it was probably similar to a Comte or perhaps a Marquis, but that it would pass to the next Warden Commander not to my heir. Fortunately, she was insufficiently aware of Ferelden to recognize my family name and know that my brother was a Teyrn.

The Riveni had not heard much about the blight, so I gave a short explanation of the events in Ferelden.

"And were you never frightened?" asked Hermenionne, her green eyes going wide with admiration.

I had had this question before and launched into my usual response. "Do you think I'm a madman? Of course, I was frightened. Two inexperienced wardens and a handful of companions trying to fight off a blight while being hunted down by Ferelden's self-proclaimed regent. The whole year was an exercise in sheer terror. It seemed so unlikely that we would defeat the Archdemon, much less all survive. I think I woke up every morning expecting that this would be the day that our luck ran out and we all got ourselves killed." I had not had Leliana around on the occasions when this question had come up, however.

She was shaking her head. "I do not believe you. You must have had faith that we would succeed somehow. How else could you have kept going, kept us all going, if you had despaired?"

I shrugged. "Desperation. I had no other choice. And you all trusted me—Maker knows why!—so I had to try my best to pretend it was not hopeless. But there were so many times when our journey nearly ended…how could I not doubt?"

Leliana looked puzzled. "All those narrow escapes from death were what persuaded me that we would succeed, however difficult the road would be. It was fated, we were meant to succeed, or we would have fallen in the defense of Redcliffe, or against Branka, or at the gates of Denerim. It was the Maker's plan."

"The Chantry tells us the maker has turned away from Thedas," I murmured.

"Well…call it fate or destiny then. It was meant to be. It was like living a great epic story; I simply knew that we could not fail."

I turned back to Hermenionne. "Well, I was frightened, but apparently Leliana was not." Leliana laughed.

Gaubert de Val Foret asked whether I had come to Orlais for the midsummer tournament.

I blinked. "Not at all. Merely to visit an old friend."

"Ah, but you and Ser Alistair should compete and show your mettle for us."

I chuckled. "Jousting is not widely practiced in Ferelden; we do not fight on horseback nearly so much as here."

"Even by gentlemen such as yourselves?"

"No. Besides, as a Warden, I no longer view myself as a nobleman."

Alistair grinned and looked over at Leliana, "I know someone who might clean up in the archery competitions, however."

Leliana shook her head. "I am quite out of practice. I have hardly picked up my bow other than for the occasional hunt in the past few years," she lied, blithely. The men she killed a few days ago might beg to disagree.

"Ah, well," said the Duke, "If any of you change your mind, I am coordinating the entries. It will be a splendid occasion." I shot Alistair a warning glance—don't even think about it.

The conversation turned back to various court scandals, causing my mind and Alistiar's to wander. And after all the wine, I was feeling sleepy. Perhaps concerned that the Riveni were feeling adrift in the sea of gossip about people who were no more than names to them, Sybille started to ask about the court news there, though it was obvious that most present had little knowledge of the Riveni courtiers.

After a few stories were related, Leliana asked, "Wasn't there something about a young girl named Riquilda a few years back?"

Gerolamo, the trade delegate, gave her a surprised look. "Did that old story about the Villa Alta girl reach Orlais? Rather a sordid tale—must be ten years back now. She was married to the Principe de Llomerryn—that's what the most powerful of the pirate lords call themselves there—and her parents had promised him a maiden. He was so enraged when he found out she had lain with her brother's squire, he beat her to death with his fists."
His wife Sancha added, "Her family put out the story that she had been raped to protect her reputation and were determined to execute the squire. But I don't think anybody really believed it—he was a beautiful young man…Fadrique de Bosquenorte, was that it? Very fair for a Riveni, probably Antivan ancestry. That would account for his dishonorable behavior." Leliana kicked me under the table. Why did she want me to listen to this awful story, I wondered.

Alistair looked shocked. "What about the Principe? Wasn't he punished for this?"

Sancha sniffed. "By who? It was a bit extreme, but Llomerryn's a wild place." She shrugged.

Leliana prodded them a little further. She's really interested in this story. "You said they were determined to execute the squire. Didn't they?"

"Well, that's the odd thing," Gerolamo replied, "He vanished from his cell the night before he was supposed to be hanged. Riquilda's family hunted him, but they never found him. I think they still have a substantial bounty on his head, not that there's much chance of finding him now, I suppose."

Sancha remarked, "I heard that he was tracked to Nevarra a few years later, but he disappeared again, after someone failed to kill him…" With no further kicking from across the table, my attention began to drift off again as the conversation returned to the latest love affairs of the notorious Marquesa de la Marche d'Est.

After the guests had departed and we were preparing to go to bed, Leliana appeared at our doorway. "Enrique de Alianca is the squire from Rivain that disappeared. I am certain of it." Seeing Alistair's puzzlement, she explained, "The liaison from the Wardens to the Orlesian court."

"How can you be sure?"

"I have a contact in a brothel that he visits regularly. He always asks for the same girl—quite a dark girl, maybe Riveni or part-Riveni—and he always calls her Riquilda. Also he obviously learned Orlesian in Nevarra, and is about the right age. It cannot be a coincidence."

I nodded. "Thank you, Leliana. That is very helpful to know."

Alistair wrinkled his nose and gave me a hard look. "You can't be thinking of using this against him, somehow? The poor man."

"Alistair, I don't like doing it, but we need an Orlesian Warden that we can trust. We don't have time to make real friends, and I'm going to have to share a secret with him that we can't have repeated." Leliana arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. "This gives me some leverage."

Alistair frowned, but said nothing.

"Thank you again, Leli."

"Always willing to help…but maybe you could continue telling your story. I've never heard about Howe's attack from you, and I was not at Ostagar, so…"

I took a deep breath. This would be a very hard recounting. "Very well. But it's too late now, and it's…a story I'd rather deal with in daylight, in any case. We'll talk tomorrow."

Modifié par maxernst, 12 octobre 2010 - 12:49 .

[maxernst]

9. MEMORIES: BETRAYALS

"I wasn't even supposed to be at Ostagar. Father had tasked me with keeping the peace in Highever while our troops were south with the King. I was a little surprised he trusted me with that, to be honest, but I suppose that if the unthinkable happened in the south, he needed someone to safeguard Oren and the family line. Mother was very capable, but an older woman running a teyrn in the name of her grandson in a time of chaos might have appeared vulnerable.

I had become something of a warrior by then, if still an untested one. While I no longer had Iain to train me, I had already been taught most of the moves I use now, though it would take far more experience before I dared to attempt the most complex ones in real battle. .

Things had not gone quite according to plan—well, not Father's plan, at least. Father and Fergus had intended to go south with all our forces, but Howe was late and informed us the bulk of his troops would be later still. And so Fergus and the forces already gathered made their way south while father waited behind with Rendan Howe. Howe had not known Duncan would be there, of course…and in retrospect, he reacted oddly to his presence. He tried to cover up his discomfort with Duncan's presence with some prattle about special protocols, as if Wardens cared for such things.  Would that I had been foresighted enough to guess the real reason Duncan's presence disturbed him.

The only reason I am here to tell you this is Conal, the faithful hound that had come into my life around the time that Iain left it. Without him, I suppose I would have been murdered in my sleep as poor Oriana and Oren were in the room across the hall. But Conal got me out of bed with his barking, though not quite early enough to make a difference…

There is not much to say, really, or at least not in any words that I know. It is to Iain's credit that I remembered what I had been taught instead of freezing in fear when forced to fight for my life. I killed my first man in the hall outside my bedroom, fighting my way to Mother's room. A couple dozen more would taste my blades before the night was through. Mother took up a weapon herself for the first time in years and joined me as we searched for Father.

We were lucky, I suppose, that Howe's best troops were still outside the gates and that we never ran into Howe himself. I have no illusions about how easily he would have defeated me had we met that night. There was no escape out the main gate where the bulk of Howe's army was massing, so the three of us made our way to the servant's entrance, praying that we would find Father there. Which we did…but he was already mortally wounded. Duncan turned up there, as well. Father begged Duncan to take Mother and I to safety, but Mother refused to leave him and he exacted a price to help me escape. The price was me. And so I fled into the night with Duncan, leaving my parents to die.

It seems strange to say, but I think it might have been easier to part with them if we had had  a happier relationship. I was young, had chafed at duty all my life, and felt that I was not the child they desired, a disappointment, unlike Fergus. Oh, you're right, and I think I knew that my parents loved me, but I was full of…petty resentment, sensitive to every slight. I never had the opportunity to tell them that I understood that they were trying their best for me and…I don't know. Maybe you never have the time to say the things to people love that you need to. I don't know.

Proud of me? I suppose. My father's dying wish was that I do my best for Ferelden; he placed that above seeking revenge for Howe's treachery. They would have been proud of me for my role in ending the blight, I'm sure. But it would have been hard, I think, if Fergus had not lived. I don't know if he could have accepted Alistair if I were the last of the line. Even as things stand, I don't know if they would have welcomed Alistair into our family as Fergus has. No way I will ever know now.

And so, there I was stealing away from my own home like a fugitive in the company of a man I had just met. We did not say much on the way to Ostagar. I wasn't really in the mood for conversation and the Wardens tell recruits very little until they've passed the Joining. Duncan seemed weary and preoccupied, in any case. I suspect he sensed that he did not have much more time…

And, of course, it was at Ostagar that a certain handsome young Grey Warden entered my life. Not that there's anything grey about Alistair, I've always thought of him as my golden Warden.

Love at first sight, Leli? Hardly. I mean, of course, I saw that he was handsome and had a certain curiously appealing awkwardness, and the thought of what his body might look like under all that armor did cross my mind. But I was a wreck at Ostagar, not able to feel much of anything, much less fall in love. I was in such a fog of grief that I apparently met Wynne there, and have no recollection of it, none at all. And besides, it was obvious that Alistair only had eyes for Duncan."

"What? No! I was not in love with Duncan," Alistair protested. "I respected him. He was my mentor…"

I rolled my eyes. "Alistair, you worshipped him. I understand completely. He rescued you from the Chantry's scrap heap, chose you, valued you, gave you purpose. Giving meaning to someone's life is a powerful inducement to love. I should know." I touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Besides," I added to Leliana, "Duncan was a very attractive man. I had impure thoughts about him myself."

"It wasn't like that. I never imagined…that, with Duncan. Anyway, I thought you were too much of a wreck at Ostagar to be thinking of such things"

"My dear, I know you were still a maid when I met you," I sighed, as Leliana giggled. "And as for me, I wasn't in any state to fall in love. That doesn't mean I could not feel desire. I had not spent a lifetime learning to ignore my body as you had. I'll grant that that particular discipline has its uses—it's one of the things that makes you so tough in battle—but I think you were in such a habit of repressing your desires, that you couldn't even recognize them for what it were. It's okay." I patted him on the back. "I don't mind not being your first love."

Leaving Alistair spluttering, I elected to continue my story.

"Before I undertook my Joining, I and the other recruits had a task to accomplish first, a sort of proving you might say. You recall those treaties that I used to gain the help of the Dalish, Dwarves and Circle, Leli? Those were actually in an old ruin in the Korcari Wilds near Ostagar, and we went out to retrieve them. Inexplicably, Alistair chose me to lead our troop. I can't imagine what you were thinking, my love. Was it because I was a Cousland?
Fearless? I was just too numb to react to much of anything. At any rate, we went into the wilds, and I had my first encounters with Darkspawn. My first sight of what they did to their victims.

I also met Morrigan there, though she didn't join us then. What Duncan didn't know—or at least didn't tell us—was that those old treaties had been removed from the ruins by Flemeth. I rather suspect that Flemeth knew the Wardens would be looking for them soon, and that's why Morrigan was watching the ruins for signs of us.
Yes, Leli, I really do think Flemeth is who she claims to me. I could be wrong, of course, but she certainly is a being of great power and knowledge, not some egotistical hedge witch. Morrigan knew things about the Grey Wardens that even Alistair didn't know. Speaking of which, Alistair and Morrigan hit it off right from the beginning. Alistair was convinced she was going to lead us into a Chansind ambush.

Well, you're right that we had little reason to trust her, but she knew what we were and what we came for. I couldn't see that she had much to gain from killing us; we weren't exactly dripping with diamonds and gold. And all we wanted from her was something that was of no use to her. And so I allowed her to lead us to Flemeth and she gave us the treaties, along with a few vague hints of things to come. She knew that we were Wardens without being told, she warned us that this blight was more dangerous than we knew, told us that Daveth was of no consequence in the greater scheme of things. Of me, she said 'So much about you is uncertain and yet I believe…'. It stuck with me, even though she never completed the thought. We headed back to Ostagar, bringing the treaties with us.

The other recruits? No, they did not die at Ostagar. They…failed the final test to become a Warden. I felt bad about Daveth; I liked him. He was the kind of man I like to recruit myself, the kind of man who deserves a second chance. But sadly, he failed, even as Flemeth seemingly foresaw. I felt bad about Ser Jory, too, but it was a tragic mistake for Duncan to recruit him. A tournament is a poor way to try and recruit wardens. Skill is needed, but a Warden must be prepared to leave his old life behind. For you, Alistair, that was easy; you never wanted to be a Templar. My life had been blown apart; there was nothing to leave. It seems that this Enrique de Alianca is another Warden who began his new life when his old one was shattered; from what you said, I expect it was the Wardens who spirited him out of his cell in Rivain. Ser Jory was not prepared for such a commitment and Duncan should have known.

So I was the only one of the recruits that passed. I was given little time to recover before Alistair and I were called to join the King and Teyrn Loghain at their Council. Bad form as it is to speak ill of the dead, I cannot say that I was very impressed with King Cailan. He was wildly overconfident, barely seeming to take battle seriously. He brushed off Duncan's foreboding and Loghain's warnings. Eamon's forces were said to be only a week away from joining us, and Duncan had been promised still more reinforced from Orlais. But Cailan was impatient to enter battle now.

Perhaps I judge him too harshly. At dinner last night when I talked about my fears during the blight, I was thinking about Cailan. Could he have been a projecting confidence he didn't feel, to inspire his men? But to me it seemed that what Cailan was projecting was not confidence but a foolish sense of invulnerability. It's one thing to believe you can succeed, quite another to believe you can't fail.

As to Loghain…damn him, I didn't trust him from the beginning. I knew he was hiding something. But I told myself I was jumping at shadows because of what had happened to my Father. He had little respect for Cailan, obviously, but neither did I. He wasn't impressed by the Wardens either, but he was a great legendary hero, the architect of Ferelden's freedom. How could I doubt that he was honorable? And yet, I did. Something felt…wrong. I wish I had trusted my own instincts, tried to warn Duncan, but I'm not sure what good it would have done.

The plan was simple enough. The King was to lead his forces into the valley and engage the Darkspawn, while Loghain's forces remained concealed. Then, after Alistair and I lit the beacon at the top of the tower of Ishual, Loghain was to charge into the flank of the darkspawn horde, surprising them and scattering their forces.

I've often wondered why Cailan chose us to light the beacon, though the rest of the plan was Loghain's. It has occurred to me that maybe he intended Alistair as his successor, should he die in battle, though why would he expect Alistair to be crowned when he had never been publicly acknowledged? In any event, as for my Father in Highever, things did not go according to Cailan's plans."

Modifié par maxernst, 18 octobre 2010 - 03:16 .

[DreGregoire]

I liked the way you presented the last (9) chapter. I'm looking forward to reading more.

[maxernst]

DreGregoire wrote...

I liked the way you presented the last (9) chapter. I'm looking forward to reading more.

Thanks.  I'm glad you're still following along and enjoying it.

[maxernst]

10. LA DAME VERNIE: AN UNWILLING ASSISTANT
Leliana met us in the courtyard at midnight. Sybille's guards said nothing as we went out the gate; apparently, there was nothing remarkable about Leliana leaving the palace late at night. "You will find Enrique at a place called La Dame Vernie near the west docks. He should done with the girl soon."

"A rough place?"

"Not really," she replied as we walked down the Holy Hill, toward the water. "It caters more to merchants and travelers of means, especially those with exotic tastes. They have many foreign girls, and elves."

"Couldn't we meet him somewhere else?" Alistair asked.

"You could," allowed Leliana. "But Yves would almost certainly hear about it, which you do not want, yes?"

I shook my head. Despite the late hour, the streets of the lower city were still busy; if anything it was noisier than during the day, with the drunken revelers emerging from the taverns. "You are sure we won't be noticed, here?"

"Not sure, no. It's quite possible, even likely that you will be seen going in, but two men going to a brothel is hardly worthy of note. Once within, well, the girls are paid to be discreet, of course, but every man or woman has a price."

He frowned. "Do you really think so? Everyone?"

She shrugged and said, lightly, "Some, like you and Aedan have prices too high for anyone to meet, I think."

"Prices are not always in money, my dear. We sold ourselves in return for help against the blight on a number of occasions." And Morrigan bought me too.

"I would not worry overmuch. If one of the girls or bouncers notices you talking to Enrique, they may think little of it. It could be a chance meeting, and it would be normal enough for Wardens to speak to one another."

"I suppose." I sighed. "It will have to do."

At last we came to a large woodframe building with a crudely exaggerated painting of a voluptuous woman on a sign over the door. "I will leave you here. They do not cater to women here, and I might be mistaken for competition." She laughed. "Good luck, my friends."

"You will be all right returning alone?" Alistair asked.

"You worry that someone will take advantage of a lone, defenseless woman? Fear not. No one will even notice my passing. And I have other business to attend to tonight." With a little giggle, she disappeared into the shadow of a nearby doorway..

We walked into the common room where customers sat at tables, while most of the women posed on a raised dais, awaiting a call. Other women mingled or danced with the clients. Food and drink were served by brawny men; I expected they also dealt with unruly customers. I wondered if they were available for hire, as well.

One of the burly men approached the table. "Which ones do you fancy, fellas? Or would you like a drink?"
"Just some wine for now, thanks, while we make up our minds." He shrugged and returned with a flask of wine and two cups, which we sat and drank in silence. We were not there long before a man who had to be Enrique de Alianca descended the stairs.

He was tall and lean, with long hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His hair and beard were the color of straw, and seemed slightly out of keeping with his brown eyes. Although handsome in a hard sort of way, I would not have described him as a beautiful man, but perhaps he had been ten years ago. I judged him to be no more than thirty, but the lines around his mouth suggested a face that scowled often. I rose to my feet and approached him.

"Enrique de Alianca?" I asked.

"Yes…", he gave me a guarded look.

"I am Aedan Cousland and this is Alistair. I must speak with you."

"An honor to meet you, Commander." He said, shaking my hand, though his manner remained suspicious.

"We must go somewhere private, perhaps we can get a room here…?"

He raised an eyebrow, "They aren't ordinarily used for conversation, but I'm sure I can persuade Petruche to rent us one. I am known here…as I gather you must know."

We obtained our room, after declining several offers of additional company and the three of us sat down on the bed, as there was no other furniture but a bedside table.

Enrique said, "It is late and I am tired, so please get to the point quickly. Why do you want to talk to me."

"I have something to say that is for your ears only, and I did not want anyone else to know that we were in communication, most particularly not Yves de Chambrais…Fadrique de Bosquenorte."

He inhaled sharply, though his features betrayed little. "Why do you call me by that name?"

"Because it is yours, though long hidden."

His mouth tightened. "I suppose there is little point in denying it, but when a man joins the Wardens, his past no longer matters, as you know."

"Not to us, no, but there are others back in Llomerryn that I doubt would see it that way. I believe there is still a fair price on your head." I caught Alistair's look of nausea out of the corner of my eye.

"So the legendary hero has sunk to blackmail? What is it you want from me?" He snarled and leaped to his feet. "Money? I do not think I could match Sancho's offer. You would have done better to jump me in the alley and get your damned price from him!"

Before he could draw his weapon, I held out my hand urgently. "I have no need of gold, nor do I wish to fight you. I need your help."

"And you ask it by threatening me, brother?"

I sighed. "I do, only because you can only help me if I tell you everything. And I cannot afford to have my story repeated. The…blackmail," the word tasted foul, but I could not deny its accuracy, "is to ensure your silence."

"And you could not trust my honor?"

"Not in this. Please sit down again."

Reluctantly, he sat back on the bed beside me. "This is about the Fifth Blight, isn't it? Yves was right about you."

I swallowed. "I suppose he was. Shortly before the siege of Denerim, one of my companions, a mage, came to me with an offer. She had found a way to slay the Archdemon and end the Blight, without the need for a Warden to die."

"How did she even know about that? Had you been telling your companions all the secrets of the Wardens?"
I shook my head. "No…I had only just learned why a Warden was needed to kill the Archdemon myself. As to how she knew…" I shrugged. "I can't say. She knew many things. But the core of her offer was this: if I could impregnate her, she could ensure that the Archdemon would seek the soul of the unborn child, not that of a Warden."

"So I take it you accepted this offer. But if this child died with the Archdemon…"

"It did not. The archdemon and the Warden die because two souls cannot occupy one body. But the witch said that a recently conceived child would not have a fully formed soul, and could absorb the 'untainted soul of the old god' and live."

His jaw dropped. "You let an old god back in the world to save your miserable life? What…" He shook his head in disbelief. "So the so-called Hero of Ferelden is not only a blackmailer, but a coward in the end."

It was Alistair's turn to rise to his feet in anger. "How dare you? Aedan risked his life for Ferelden, for Thedas every day for months and months. We were alone against the Blight."

"Yes, yes, I know the story. All very commendable, but he failed to do his duty in the end. Your loyalty is impressive, but then…it should have been you who died, shouldn't it?"

"Alistair had nothing to do with it; he didn't even know. I made the decision alone." Softly, I added, "Enrique…if there had been a way for you to save her, to make a life with her, how far would you have been willing to go?"

He stared at the wall for a few moments, then looked at both of us. "I see. Love is a poison that makes a greater fool of a man than wine ever could…but what's done is done. I take it that this girl that we have seen in our dreams is your daughter, then?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Well, it seems that you can deal with the problem easily enough by killing her. Unless…I suppose her soul might jump, like the Archdemon's." His eyes narrowed, "Andraste's blood, you don't expect me to do your dirty work do you? Were I eager for an end, I could always return to Llomerryn."

I shook my head vigorously "No, No, I would not ask that of anyone else." I felt Alistair's eyes upon me. Especially not you, my love. Please let me at least spare you, if it must come to that. "But is murdering children something that comes so easily to you? It does not to me. I can't, not without knowing what she is. I know what the Chantry says about the old gods, but that was many centuries ago. I can't murder a child just because she has power and might be a danger. And besides, I have no idea where she is."

"If you don't expect me to go after her, I fail to see how I fit into your plans."

"The dreams. Alistair and I have only started dreaming of her since coming to Orlais. You've likely had many more dreams, and can talk to other Wardens about their dreams. I hope to learn what she is, perhaps where she is, maybe even communicate with her, through the dreams. But I need more dreamers than just us two."

"To learn about my dreams, you have dredged up old demons to threaten my life." He snorted. "Very well. It seems I have little choice. But I have an appointment with someone early tomorrow morning and I will be short enough of sleep as it is. We will need to find a place where we can meet…discreetly to talk more."

"I look forward to it. Enrique," I added as he rose to leave. "I am truly sorry that I have put you in this position. I know—well, I can only imagine really—your pain…"

"Spare me your pity, Commander. We make choices and we live with the consequences." He strode out.

Modifié par maxernst, 25 octobre 2010 - 03:44 .

[Maria13]

Glad I caught up a riveting read. This is tightly plotted, you have a good facility for creating names and getting them right. Have you studied languages at any point? Hope Enrique turns out to be a goodie.

Liked the chapter about the clothes, I myself am no Leli (you've really developed her well, BTW) but I find myself paying more attention to clothes in my own fic, it's important to create picture of your characters in your own and your readers' heads.

Modifié par Maria13, 26 octobre 2010 - 10:45 .

[maxernst]

Thanks. I'm glad you're enjoying it. As far as languages, I did take a number of years of French in school (like all Canadians) and I've had a little bit of spanish as well. The names I've used have pretty much been a mixture of translations of english words (I have dictionaries of both languages handy), names from the Crusader Kings game database, and random selections from a list of names found in the Paris census of 1292 that I found online.



I'm glad you're enjoying my Leliana...she's taken a much more prominent role in the story than I originally envisioned. I'm not very strong on visual descriptions in general, and I think the first person presentation exaggerates that because Aedan doesn't think very much about his own appearance or that of people he knows well.

[maxernst]

11. LE CHEVAL BLANC: A SECRET MEETING

The next morning Leliana looked weary and a little tense. I wondered where she had gone after leaving us the night before. "Good morning, Aedan. Did things go as planned with Enrique last night?"

I nodded. "He was not…happy, but he will help us. But we need to meet him again, as soon as possible. It was too late to discuss what we needed fully. It will probably require several meetings; we may be working together for a while. Should we keep meeting at La Dame Vernie, do you think?"

"No. A chance meeting there once or perhaps twice is fine, but if you need to meet regularly, it will surely be noticed. I cannot believe that Yves will not have people in the city watching you." She smiled. "I have a better idea. Sybille and I are going to Le Cheval Blanc tonight; perhaps you and Alistair would care to join us?"

"Why not?. It's a lively place; I can see why you like it. And I think Alistair has had enough of sitting around the palace."

I looked out into the courtyard where Alistair was sparring playfully with Sybille's son using wooden swords. Rogier de Montfleurie was trained in swordsmanship by one of his mother's knights, but an opportunity to learn from a warrior of Alistair's class was a rare treat. I had been a little worried that Alistair might not recognize his own strength, as he was not used to training children, but it seemed my concerns were misplaced. I watched as he parried one of the boy's slashes and feigned being knocked off balance by the force of the blow.

As I walked out to the courtyard, Alistair complimented the boy on the attack. "Well done, monsieur, I was barely able to block that thrust."

Rogier noticed me coming out of the palace. "How come you never spar with me?" he asked.

"Rogier—" his mother said sharply, "The Commander is our guest here."

"It's all right. I doubt that your mother would approve of you learning to fight as I do. It would not be considered honorable here in Orlais.."

"He's a bad, bad man." Alistair informed him, smiling. "It's probably why we get along so well."

"Well, it seems you are fully recovered, my dear. Would you like to go out for a night on the town? I'm told all the fashionable people will be at Le Cheval Blanc tonight."

Sybille chuckled. "Well, some of them."

Alistair agreed that we would escort the ladies to the inn that evening, then returned to his sparring. I watched them for a little while, thinking—not for the first time—that it was a shame that Alistair would never have children of his own.

We went out in the evening, again dressed in our fine silks. Alistair would have preferred to be armored, but was persuaded that his swordsmanship would certainly be more than a match for common thugs, even without his full battle dress. I had my usual daggers and poisons concealed on my person, and imagined Leliana did as well, so I expected we had little to fear. It was a pleasant evening, warm and fragrant with blossoms, the buildings casting long shadows in the setting sun. Farther down the hill, we walked past many street performers singing, dancing, playing flutes and lutes in the hopes that passersby would toss a few coins their way.

Le Cheval Blanc was quite busy that evening, but the innkeeper came over to greet us immediately upon arrival. Leliana turned to me, "I would like you to meet Thierry, one of my oldest friends. Thierry, these are my friends Alistair and Aedan, from Ferelden."

"Ah, the mysterious Monsieur A.," chuckled Thierry, recalling the note and flower I had asked him to send Leliana on my last visit. "I see Madame Leliana remembered you after all."

Thierry ushered us to a table near the bar. I noticed many eyes in the place following us-not that this was a completely unfamiliar experience. Certainly, on the rare occasions when Alistair and I went out to an inn in Amaranthine, we were treated with similar solicitude by the staff and the focus of much attention. But what was unusual for me was that here, it was clearly Sybille and Leliana who were the people of interest. There was curiosity about us, too, but only because we had come as their guests. When I had been here on my own, the first night Val Royeaux, I had drawn little more attention than any other unfamiliar face.

As on the previous evening, it was not long before impromptu musical performances began. The intense dark-haired woman I had seen the other night—Mascarose?—was singing a sorrowful ballad about some doomed love as a younger man strummed a lute. To my surprise, Leliana stood up to join her, singing a high harmony line to the other woman's husky contralto. After finishing the song, she bowed to applause then went to the bar to chat with Thierry.

After a few minutes she returned to our table, saying "Thierry has a new vintage in the cellar you must try."
Sybille nodded, "Oh yes…you must accompany us, of course. Thierry always chooses excellent vintages for us. I am sure you will enjoy it."

Alistair and I shrugged and followed them down the steps to the cellar. Thierry pushed an oak cask aside and Leliana pressed a spot on the wall—and it opened, revealing a dark passageway behind it. "Come with me," she said, as Thierry handed her a lantern. Alistair and I followed her, while Sybille remained behind.

The passage was dank, the stonework very old and crumbling and it was lined with columns and arches in a style that reminded me of old Tevinter ruins. "What is this place?" I asked.

"Part of the old city from the times of the Tevinter Imperium. Val Royeaux has a long history and there have been many floods and fires over the centuries. The new is built on top of the wreckage of the old, and such hidden vestiges of the past are not uncommon. Come.'

Water dripped from the ceiling and the smell grew increasingly foul as we continued. "There is a sewer entrance near here," she explained. "I am sorry for the unpleasant smell, but there is no better place to meet away from prying eyes. When Marjolaine…betrayed me, Thierry helped me use these tunnels to escape. You will, of course, keep this place a secret." She led us to a small chamber, illuminated by two torches along the walls. The floor had a ceramic tile mosaic depicting some ancient military triumph. Enrique sat waiting for us on a bench by the far wall.

"How did you get here? I didn't see you in the—" I began, but Leliana silenced me with a motion of her hand.

"He came in another way. You are not to discuss your entry points. I will leave you now, but you should not stay too long—your absence will be noted if it drags on all night."

"We will try not to take too long, then." We watched her disappear back down the hall.

Alistair and I sat down on another bench opposite Enrique. "Your friend has a certain flair for this sort of thing, it seems," he remarked.

"Yes…I suppose she must have more frequent need for secret meetings than the average Grey Warden. Well, since it seems we are not to be too long, let us get started. When did Wardens start dreaming of this girl?"

"I had my first dream sometime in the spring of last year. Some may have started to get them earlier. It's hard to say exactly because Wardens don't usually talk much about taint dreams. They're an unpleasant reminder our mortality, so most of us try to forget them the next morning. At the time, I didn't think much about it, just passed it off as a freakish dream. I wasn't even sure that it was related to being a Warden; the feeling was…somehow similar but not quite the same. And the content of dream was totally unlike any taint dream I had ever had."

"What was your first dream?"

"I dreamed of the girl sitting beside a dark-haired woman that I assumed was her mother. They were both looking at a book as if she were being taught to read, and speaking in some foreign language. The mother stood up and left the room momentarily and then the girl looked at me and tilted her head to one side. She looked puzzled and blinked several times."

"Did the mother see you?"

He shook his head. "No, the dream ended before she returned. I had almost forgotten about it when I dreamed of her again a few weeks later. And then, later that summer, Yves started asking Wardens about their dreams…"
Alistair commented, "The first dream that Aedan and I had was similar in a way, with the girl seeing us."
"Everyone's first dream seems to involve some sort of eye contact or other communication. But the later dreams…most seem to be about the Warden's past. Quite a few have been nightmares, really."

I nodded. "My second dream was about the night my parent's died."

"Are there any Darkspawn in these dreams?" asked Alistair.

"Not that I've heard, but I haven't talked to that many people about them. I'm not at Coteaux du Roche regularly, so I don't have a lot of time to chitchat with my fellow Wardens."

"What about dragons?"

He shook his head.

"These nightmares—how does the little girl figure in them? How does she react? Is she…part of what makes them frightening?" I asked.

"No, she just seems to look at them. Most of the time she looks confused. Sometimes she looks frightened."
"Hmm…It doesn't sound as though she's trying to scare us then. Just digging through our past. I suppose a lot of wardens have nightmares in their past." I sighed.

"Perhaps. It's not really the past sometimes, though—I had a dream about when Riquilda was…killed and I was never there, so…"

"Maybe she just gets drawn into particularly intense and vivid dreams that you would have had anyway, then? Now that I think about it, I had been talking about the night of Howe's attack, so I might well have had that dream anyway. How often do these dreams come?"

"It seems to vary. Some people get them every week or two, others only had the one dream."

"Any pattern?"

"Not that I know. It doesn't seem to have anything to do with how long you've been a Warden, unlike the…other dreams. Maybe she just likes some of us more than others. But as I said, it hasn't been high on my list of concerns," He added impatiently.

"What about that first dream you had? Could you tell where they were?"

"It seemed a pretty humble dwelling, like a peasant's hut. I remember thinking it oddly rustic, since most peasants can't read. And the woman was wearing a lot of gold jewelry."

I smiled at that. Morrigan had always liked her pretty baubles. "You said earlier that most of the Wardens at Coteaux du Roche had had the dreams. Is this where it started then?"

"I think so, though they seem to have been reported elsewhere in Orlais now. None at all in Ferelden?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I did start having more frequent dreams and dreams that felt…different, then, but none with the girl."

"So what do you plan to do now?"

"I need to think. It seems like we appear first in her dream and then she either starts wandering into ours or she's sifting through our past in some way. I wonder if she has any idea…I think I need to talk to a mage. There might be a way to find out more."

He raised an eyebrow. "A warden mage? There are none here in Val Royeaux that I know of."

"We could make one," I mused.

"Aedan, you're not serious!" Alistair interjected.

"I'm not thinking of forcing anyone, but if there's a mage in trouble with the Chantry…well, maybe there's another way. Do you know of any…independent mages in Val Royeaux?"

"Apostates, you mean?"

"Alistair, the Templar in you is coming out. You do realize that all the mages in the Wardens are technically apostates."

He sighed, "You're right of course. It's just…I never really liked dealing with the Mages Collective in Ferelden. I didn't trust them."

Turning back to Enrique I asked, "Is there something like the Collective here? They're a shadowy group that claims to represent and regulate mages outside the Chantry's control."

"There is. We have some traffic with them. I can give you a name—in confidence, of course. I'm not sure how they can help you, though"

"I'm not either, but let's just say I want to explore all possible choices.  In the meantime—do you travel to Coteaux du Roche regularly?"

"Often enough. I suppose you want me to make up an excuse to go there and sniff around? I can do that if I must, but I can't promise that Yves won't get suspicious."

I frowned. "Hold off on that then, but I'll be back in touch. Soon. Thanks for your help. We should be going."
We returned to the common room at Le Cheval Blanc. "Ah, what did you think of the new vintage?" asked Sybille as we sat down.

"Very…complex," I remarked.

"Well, in return for arranging for a taste of such a sophisticated wine, I do hope that you'll continue your story, Aedan.," said Leliana. "You were just about to tell me about going to light a…beacon?"

Modifié par maxernst, 16 novembre 2010 - 03:01 .

[maxernst]

12. MEMORIES: A DISASTER AND ITS AFTERMATH

"Perhaps the inauspicious beginning should have warned us that Cailan's plans would fail. It was supposed to be a trivial task: simply cross the bridge, climb the stairs to the top of the tower, and light the beacon at the appointed time. Alistair was quite annoyed not to be fighting in the battle, but…I suppose that Ferelden might well have fallen had we not been sent to the tower, as things turned out.

As soon as we made our way there, we encountered guards fleeing the tower, saying that it had been overrun by Darkspawn. I imagine they must have tunneled in from below. So it was left for the two new Wardens, my faithful hound, and a circle mage we found at the gate—I can't recall the poor fellow's name? Do you remember, Alistair? No? I'm a little ashamed to have forgotten. He was a great help. We would never have reached the top of the tower without his magical aid, imbuing our weapons with cold, paralyzing the dangerous emissaries…he deserved to be honored, not forgotten.

Making our way through the tower was no small challenge, as all three of the lower floors were filled with darkspawn—there must have been several dozen, including a number of spellcasters. And we were in a hurry, as well. There was no time for cautious games, advancing from behind cover, using ranged weapons as we so often did elsewhere. We were forced to take them on head on. Desperate to make our way to the top in time, we fought without the slightest break. I don't think I've ever been more tired in my life.

Finally, we managed to emerge on to the top of the tower only to find the beacon guarded by a huge ogre, which was like nothing we had ever fought before. At least I hadn't. No, you hadn't either? I didn't think so. It is fortunate that—thus far—ogres are relatively uncommon. An army of them would be well nigh unstoppable. I coated my weapons with poison, tried running around the back of him, ran away when he reared back for his devastating attacks. It was terrifying. Since then, of course, I have fought many ogres, some greater ones, but the first one was the most memorable. I believe I came close to losing Alistair right there when it picked him up and grabbed him. But it was badly wounded by then, and I was able to deliver the coup de grace from behind. It then dropped him and collapsed on top of him. I think that was the first sign I had of how durable he is—I am sure I would have been crushed had it been me.

The ogre conquered, I ran to light the beacon in triumph with the last of my energy. But then more darkspawn came up the stairs, many more. Blackness came in a hail of arrows and my last thought was that at least we had succeeded in our task, though we lost our lives. Surely, Loghain's charge would win the day and destroy the Darkspawn horde.

When I finally awoke, days—weeks?—later, it was Morrigan of all people, at my bedside. It took me a while to realize where I had met her before. I was somewhat disoriented. And then, I learned the awful truth. It had all been for naught. Loghain had ignored our hard-won signal and retreated, leaving the King's army—and all the rest of the Grey Wardens—to perish.

Ser Cauthrien assured me, much later, that he did see the signal, but told her the battle was already lost. I don't know if she really believes that or not. I really don't think we were too late, do you, my love? I know we only had an hour, but we had moved as quickly as humanly possible. Maybe there were just too many Darkspawn and Ferelden's forces too few, though I would have thought the narrow valley an ideal site to fight a superior force. It's unknowable now.

Morrigan told me that Flemeth had changed into a giant bird and plucked us from the top of the tower. Why wouldn't I believe it? Honestly, I'd believe almost anything when it comes to Flemeth. That old woman—or whatever she is…well, she rescued and healed us.

Why? That's a good question, and one that even Morrigan seemed not to have a ready answer for. What she told us was that she couldn't allow all the Grey Wardens to perish, that they were needed to fight the Blight. Even she would be ultimately be overcome, if the Archdemon won, or so she said.

Whatever her reasons, she had saved both of us and nursed us back to health. Sadly, the Circle Mage who had helped us reach the beacon had not been saved. I don't know if he was already dead when Flemeth arrived or whether she simply had no interest in him because he was not a Warden.

No, she didn't rescue Conal. I haven't the faintest notion of how Conal managed to escape the tower when we were overwhelmed by Darkspawn, nor how he succeeded in finding his way to Flemeth's hut. What can I say? Mabari hounds are smart. Sometimes I think the only reason they don't talk is that they are too intelligent to be bothered with such a trivial accomplishment.

Alistair was rather distraught and Morrigan's attitude did not help matters. My poor dear had lost…well…the closest thing he had ever really had to a family and a sense of belonging when all the other Wardens were slain at Ostagar. It was not so different, in a way, from what had befallen me. But Morrigan could not understand that, owing to her peculiar upbringing. If the only family—practically the only person—you had ever known were Flemeth, you might not have been able to understand grief either.

Yes, I do defend her. Of course she kept herself apart, setting up camp as far from the rest of us as possible. Can you imagine what a noisy, teeming crowd we must have seemed to her? She was used to living in a forest with only one other person. And yes, she was often rude and insensitive, but where would she have learned manners and sensitivity? From Flemeth?

And it wasn't like the rest of you made any great attempt at understanding. Leli, I know you meant well, but trying to draw her into discussions of religion was not very tactful on your part. Think about what it would be like to grow up as an apostate mage, with the Templars hunting you and your mother…it's hardly surprising that talk of the Maker wasn't exactly endearing. And my dear, there was hardly a time when you managed a civil exchange with her—and while she was certainly partly to blame for that, you were no better. I know Morrigan was difficult, and I often—perhaps even usually—disagreed with her, but I do think that the rest of us could have worked harder at trying to be understanding. Her lack of experience with people made it hard for her to even attempt to comprehend us, though I think she came to respect me eventually, after a fashion.

Sorry, I wandered off the trail there…as I was saying, Alistair was—understandably-having a hard time reconciling himself to the fact that we were the Wardens left in Ferelden, and Morrigan and Flemeth were notably unsympathetic. In fact, Flemeth insisted on pushing us out into the world to stop the Blight pretty much as soon as I was able to walk. Us, including Morrigan, of course, much to Alistair's dismay. But the way I saw it, whatever her motives, Flemeth had saved our lives and while Morrigan might not have been the most affable of companions, she was undeniably a useful one.

And so, off we went, three people and a dog bound for Lothering to get some supplies in preparation for our quest to save the world, with Alistair and Morrigan bickering all the way. Upon arriving in Lothering, we found that things were even worse than we thought. But then, Lothering is also where we met a certain Orlesian bard, so the rest of the story is familiar to you."

Modifié par maxernst, 19 novembre 2010 - 05:23 .

[maxernst]

13. VAL ROYEAUX: A HIDDEN MAGE

"Duncan, no!" Alistair cried out as I woke up with a jolt. He was thrashing about, entangling himself in the bedclothes which he had mostly pulled off of me.

I turned over and reached out my arms to hold him. "It's alright, love." He was awake now, his skin moist with sweat, and breathing hard. "I suppose it's my fault for talking about Ostagar, yesterday. You dreamed of the battle?"

I felt the pounding of his heart slow as he relaxed in my embrace. He nodded. "I was at the battle with Cailan—and Duncan. There were only a few of his honor guard and the Wardens left; the Darkspawn had overrun us. A huge ogre held Cailan in his grasp and Duncan was trying to save him. He was badly wounded but he summoned the strength to leap up to the ogre, but…" He closed his eyes. "It was horrible…and she was there."

"And what was she doing?"

"She was trying to hide behind me; I only saw her when she tugged at my arm and I turned around. She looked so small in the middle of the horde; I think she was frightened and wanted to run away but there was nowhere to go."
"Maybe I should stop talking about the Blight, if it's going to stir up these memories…"

"No—it's been interesting hearing your account of everything. I can handle a few nightmares, it's…just part of being a Warden."

I considered. "If she gets drawn into intense vivid dreams, maybe recounting the year of the Blight will give us more chances to see her, learn about her."

He rolled me onto my back and I felt the familiar warmth and weight of his body on mine. It was good not to have to worry about his broken ribs any more. "Besides…waking up in the middle of the night with you isn't all bad." I felt him stiffen against me and my own desire rising in answer.

I chuckled. "Had I known you found nightmares so stimulating, I would have tried to induce them more often."

The following day we set out to find the herbalist that Enrique had identified as a contact with the organization of mages. I did not bother to arrange a secret meeting; I felt a visit to an herbalist would not look suspicious for two wardens planning a long journey. He had a small shop in the bottom floor of an old, somewhat rundown house south of the Grand Market.

I swung open the door to the shop and looked around. A variety of dried herbs were hung on hooks along the wall behind a counter and there were a number of flasks filled with prepared potions arranged on shelves. The man behind the counter looked up as we entered.

"Welcome to my humble shop, mes sieurs," said the slim, grey-haired man. "How may I help you today?"
"I am looking for a man named Odouart. Are you he?"

He nodded, and glanced toward the door. "It appears you know of me, yet I do not know you. May I ask your name, monsieur."

"I am Aedan Cousland." I saw his eyes widen. "While Alistair and I may have need of some of your merchandise, I need to talk to you about more…specialty services than common herbs.

He took a deep breath. "I see. I had heard you were in town, but I had not expected the honor of meeting you." Was everyone in Orlais spying on me? " I am reluctant to speak with people I do not know about such things, even Wardens, but…I have heard that you dealt fairly with our brethren in Ferelden." He went to the windows to close the shutters, then took a key out of his robe to lock the door. "Please come to my store room; it is less likely that we can be overheard there than out here," he said, indicating a door behind the counter.

He led us into a room where there was a work bench with a mortar and pestle, a rack of flaks, and a number of pots of strange-smelling bubbling liquids on a stove. He indicated for us to sit with him near the workbench.

"I am no maleficarum, no matter what you may have heard. But it is not safe to practice magic openly, especially here in Val Royeaux. What is it that you wish of me, Commander?

"I have a particular problem that a mage may be able to help with. It has to do with dreams, and though I am not versed in magic myself, I understand that mages have a special connection with the fade."

"You have nightmares, Commander? I have an herb that can deliver dreamless and sound sleep, but I do not recommend using it regularly."

"No, I don't have nightmares…well, I do, but that's not why I'm here, exactly." He nodded, slightly. I wondered if he had heard about Warden's dreams. "I have been encountering a recurring…entity in my dreams."

"An entity? Like a demon? It is possible, but they rarely trouble a non-mage repeatedly. You do not draw their interest as we do. And they cannot follow you back to our world from the Fade, so you have nothing to fear."

"Not a demon, I think. Perhaps a spirit of some kind? Or perhaps…a mage? Is such a thing possible?"

"A mage? You think a mage haunts your dreams. Impossible." He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "No one has such power."

"Are you certain? Some years ago, there was a boy who was an abomination, possessed by a pride demon. A..friend of mine, a mage, went into the fade, into the boy's dream, to confront the demon…"

"How was this done? That takes a great deal of energy unless…"

"She did not do it alone. She was aided by several mages in a ritual. It took a lot of lyrium."

He nodded. "Ah, yes—I have read of such a ritual. It must have been very exciting! Such a display of arcane power! But you had the boy nearby, correct? I cannot imagine that this mage you suspect has such access to you, or access to a circle and inexhaustible lyrium to trouble your dreams repeatedly. Does she resemble a mage you know? It could be a spirit, seeking to trick you with a familiar guise, though why you would attract such a thing, I cannot say."

"No one I know, no. But…is physical closeness the only thing that could work? What about…" I would not mention that it related to being a Warden, I decided. "…a relative? There is magic in my family background, on my mother's side," I lied.

"I…well, it might be easier then, but still, the need for power—and other mages to help—no single mage could possibly do it. No." He shook his head. "What makes you think it is a mage, rather than something native to the fade?"

"I—can't explain, just—well, let's suppose it is a spirit of some kind. Is there any way that I could talk to it? Is being awake in the fade something that can be taught?"

He frowned. "If that could be taught, the talent for magic could be taught. They are inextricably bound together. But what is it that you would ask it?"

"I don't even know properly. Who she is, what she wants from me, I suppose. But a mage could follow me into my dream, using the same ritual we spoke of earlier?"

"It could be done, but—does this spirit visit you every night? It would have to be in your dream when the ritual is performed."

I sighed. "No…it's hard to predict."

"Then there is no way it could be done. And even if you knew when such a dream would occur, I do not have access to the amount of lyrium that would be needed."

"Perhaps if we went to the Grand Cathedral and asked the Knight Commander of the Templars if he would be a good fellow and lend us some lyrium?" suggested Alistair. "Aedan, this sounds impossible."

"So there's no way it can be done, unless I can induce the dream at will? That is…disappointing, but thank you for your time." I offered him a small fee for his advice and we haggled a little over some herbs—one could never have enough elfroot handy.

Before I left he added, "I am sorry I could not be of more assistance. But Commander, if this entity wishes to communicate with you, it will."

I nodded and left the shop. "Well, it was worth a try," I said to Alistair after we left. "I suppose I will have to ask Enrique to go to Coteaux du Roche and ask among the wardens there. There has to be some way to find her…maybe if we can assemble enough dreams, get enough clues to where she might be…"

Modifié par maxernst, 01 décembre 2010 - 02:25 .

[DreGregoire]

Two thumbs ups, I'm still enjoying reading your story. MMmmm a little love scene tease. Heh, all the books I use to read growing up would lead up to a kiss or it and then it was like lala on to the next chapter. At least you gave us a bit more than that. *winks*. Looking forward to more.

[maxernst]

14. VAL ROYEAUX: A CHANCE MEETING

We were walking back to the Palais, when a vaguely familiar voice spoke clearly above the hubbub of the market, "Why, what a surprise to see the Ferelden wardens again!"

I spun around to see Yves leaning against the chanter's board in front of one of the city's many Chantries. I was annoyed with myself for having been too preoccupied to notice his taint approaching. He was dressed all in blue and grey silks with a grey hat with blue feathers to match; even the scabbard of his rapier was encrusted with silver and sapphires.

I very much doubted that he was surprised to see us. "Good afternoon, Commander. It is most unexpected to see you, as well."

"Indeed? I come into the city regularly enough, but I had thought that you and Alistair would be long gone by now on your way to Weisshaupt. Perhaps you could not bear to leave the companionship of that ravishing friend of yours and the dowager Comtesse?" Despite his 'surprise' at seeing us, he seemed well-informed of our doings.

"You may recall that Alistair was rather seriously injured. I thought it best for him to have some time to rest and recuperate before we make a long journey."

"Oh?" He looked Alistair over critically. "He looks well enough to me now."

Alistair shrugged. "I feel well enough, but Aedan—"

"Is of no mind to rush. You had a head injury my dear; they can be deceptive."

"I am so surprised that you would wish to delay your mission, but I suppose many find it hard to leave the delights of Val Royeaux. Still, you should keep in mind that the high passes into Anderfels become impassable before the end of Harvestmere, if you still plan to make the journey by land."

"I thank you for that advice, but we shall proceed when we are ready. And what brings you into town?"

"The Midsummer festival is nigh. I always come to scout out the available talent."

"Ah, I see. In peace, vigilance. Well, we should not keep you from you from your business. Happy hunting, Commander."

He gave us a graceful bow and a tip of the feathered hat, then walked away. I kept an eye on him for some time after he had left to ensure that he had not doubled back to follow us. No need to do that himself, of course.

"He chanced upon us in much the way that we bumped into Branka in the Deep Roads, don't you think?" observed Alistair.

"Mmmm…I believe I am going to have to start behaving more aggressively toward those who watch us." Alistair gave me a searching look. "Oh, don't worry, I won't use lethal means of persuasion, unless they prove particularly persistent. But it's that or leave you behind, my dear. You know I adore your company but…I would be much more difficult to follow without you." I made a point of scanning the people around us as we walked back to Sybille's, looking for recurring faces. No reason to do anything about it now—there was no point in trying to hide the fact that we were staying at the Palais de Montfleurie—but for future reference.

The following evening Leliana had again arranged for me to meet Enrique, so Alistair and I headed down the hill toward Le Cheval Blanc. As we walked past a butcher's shop, and then a second time near some street performers, I noticed the shadow in a nearby alley once, and then again near the butcher's shop. A rookie. No experienced tail would try to hide in the alleys leading west from the road the target was traveling, unless they believed him completely oblivious. I felt almost insulted, unless they were following someone else. "Wait here a moment and pretend to listen to the musicians—toss a few coins at them, if you will."

I stepped over to the deeply shadowed western side of the road and searched for a side street that would connect me up to the alley where I had seen our follower's silhouette. Sure enough, when I looked down the alley I saw the back of a woman wearing a leather cap. I crept up on her, noting with satisfaction that in addition to being fashionable, the shoes that Leliana had selected for me had soft soles that made little noise even on the hard cobblestone. My daggers were in hand with a flick of my wrists. As I stood directly behind her the woman peered around the corner into the street. "Looking for someone?" I inquired.

She gasped and turned around, a cheap grey iron dagger appearing in her own hand as well. She was a young woman with pockmarks on her forehead and wispy brown hair. I had seen her before, in the market near the herbalist's shop and again on the way back from Sybille's. Her face was pale with fear.

"I wouldn't try to use that, if I were you. Do not continue to follow us, if you wish to live."

"I wasn't—"

I snorted. "Yes you were, and you are working way out of your class, girl. Did whoever hired you even tell you who I am? Go home. Tell them you lost us or tell them the truth. I don't care, so long as I don't see you again."

Having scared one of our would-be pursuers off, I rejoined Alistair. "Just had to deal with a spy in the alleyway, my dear," I said quietly. "There are likely to be informers at the inn, too, and there's little I can do about that, but at least we should be rid of one." Alistair looked over my clothes; I supposed he was looking for blood. I laughed. "No need for any trouble just a little conversation was required."

Thierry opened up the passage for us into the ancient subterranean city where Enrique was waiting for us.

"What do you want from me now? I've told you everything I know about the dreams."

"If I'm to find the girl, I need to learn more and you're the best lead I can think of. I spoke to Odouart, but he could offer no aid. I'm going to have to ask you to go to Coteaux du Roche and learn as much as you can from the other Wardens. Anything they remember from the dreams, especially the first one since it seems like it comes from her own life rather than ours. Details about the kinds of trees, any buildings they remember, bodies of water, anything that might be a clue to where she is."

"No need for the politeness, you know you're ordering me not asking. But you do understand that people will be curious why I've become so interested in these dreams."

"Tell them you've been asked to gather data for Weisshaupt. As luck would have it, Yves won't be at Coteaux du Roche, so by the time he learns of it, I hope I will have left Val Royeaux and be on my way to find her. Did you know Yves was coming here, by the way?"

He nodded. "I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow. I'll have to put off going to Coteaux du Roche until the following day."

"Do you think he's really just here for the Midsummer Tournament. That's still almost a fortnight away, isn't it?"

"That's when the most popular events are held, on the final day, but the beginning of the festival starts in five days. Perhaps he wants to learn a little bit about who is participating beforehand, perhaps he has court business which he wishes to attend to. Perhaps he wants to keep an eye on you," he said, fixing me with a baleful look. "By the way, what do you expect me to tell me about you, if he asks?"

I frowned. "Do you think he will? You can tell him that you met me—just in case our meeting at La Dame Vernie reached his ears. But deny any specific knowledge of my doings, other than where I'm staying. And tell him that you plan to leave town for a few days, visit friends—you do have some among the Wardens, yes? With him here, it seems as though there's less need for a court liaison for the Wardens, so say you think it's a good time for a break."

He agreed and we parted ways again. Alistair and I needed to keep from appearing to be away from the common room at the inn for too long. If he could not uncover any useful information, I was not sure what my next move would be. I could try looking for Morrigan, but I had no idea even where to begin to search.

Modifié par maxernst, 06 décembre 2010 - 03:53 .

[maxernst]

@DreGregoire, sorry to be a tease on the love scene, but I'm trying to maintain my "T" rating--aside from the fact that I don't have much confidence in my ability to write good love scenes. Perhaps I'll try it seriously at some point. I have to include a little bit simply because the dreams are important to the plot of the story, so I can't avoid having a few scenes with them in bed.

[Maria13]

I too am enjoying following this. Love scenes can be difficult but sometimes you can reduce them to one line: "Then I showed him just how passionate I felt..." ridiculous I know, but hey...

[DreGregoire]

maxernst wrote...

@DreGregoire, sorry to be a tease on the love scene, but I'm trying to maintain my "T" rating--aside from the fact that I don't have much confidence in my ability to write good love scenes. Perhaps I'll try it seriously at some point. I have to include a little bit simply because the dreams are important to the plot of the story, so I can't avoid having a few scenes with them in bed.

Heh, I wasn't really asking for more on the love scene front.  I like imagining it all in my head anyways. LMAO. I haven't written any steamy bits for my stories other than little kissing scenes. I do plan on writing some but it won't be in the actual story. Like you I'm keeping my actual story to a low rating.