Chapter Three8 Kingsway, 9:24 Dragon Age.
"Stop fidgeting."
"Do you even remember how to do this? I should call Harel back." Loghain was trying to reach behind his shoulder to tie the straps on his pauldron, but Maric unceremoniously pushed the hand away and continued on with the work himself.
When the lord of the house had not appeared at breakfast, the king came to find him pacing and growling orders at an elderly elven handservant who was laying out pieces of armor. An untouched breakfast tray sat cooling on the side table. Maric was himself dressed in dark green velvets, so he needed no squire, and mercifully dismissed the harried servant to take over his friend's wedding preparations himself.
"Not everyone in Thedas is squired by a king, you know," Maric protested.
"The kings would be better off if they switched places with their squires once in awhile. Look at you. Fat as a Satinalia ham and clumsy as the jelly dribbled on it."
"Psh. Big talk. You still owe me a sparring match when all this is done. If the new teyrna gives you permission." The chatter was, for once, relaxing for Loghain, though he still felt like he might be headed to a battle that day rather than a sedate Chantry affair. And then Maric had to ruin his tenuous mood altogether, adding, "Ser Cauthrien should be doing this. Never have I seen a longer face than hers when we parted with her at the gates. Why did you not bring her?"
"Someone must see to things in Denerim while you and I are flitting about."
Maric shook his head and moved to dress the other shoulder. "It was cruel. She would like nothing better in life than to be where I'm standing right now." He paused, then added, "Or to be where Elissa will stand shortly."
"Curb your tongue, Maric," Loghain snapped. "Cauthrien is a fine warrior and dutiful second. I'll not tolerate disrespect of her even from you."
The king raised a brow. "Disrespect? The matter is plain for any to see, Loghain. There is no shame in it."
"Nor is there any reason to discuss it. So enough!"
Maric whistled softly. "I hope Elissa wears armor to bed tonight. She'll need it to endure all the bristles."
Loghain scowled but said nothing as the king stepped back to examine his handiwork. The Armor of the River Dane, taken from the Orlesian commander at that great battle, was worn with age and showed evidence of repairs many times over, but it had been polished to a fine burnished gleam for the wedding. Maric crossed his arms and regarded his friend while Loghain also looked himself over, brushing at the finish with a cloth, though there wasn't even a dust speck to wipe off.
"You know, for all that you say you do not wish people to fawn over you as the Hero of River Dane, you wear this armor a great deal," the king pointed out mildly.
"It is a symbol, Maric. We must carry the burden of memory..."
"Like a heavy weight, I know." Maric considered, then asked, "So we've got the memory covered. And what about the future? That's what this day is about, isn't it?"
"So you came here to talk philosophy with me, did you," Loghain grumbled. The teyrn stepped a few paces to retrieve his greatcloak from where it was laid out. It was black, embroidered with the sigil of a golden wyvern. Later that morning he would put it around Elissa's shoulders, a symbol of taking her into his house. As the custom went, it also symbolized taking a woman under one's protection, but Loghain had seen enough of Lady Cousland to know that she could do that for herself very well. Wryly he thought that if she were marrying many a man other than him, including Cailan, by rights she would be draping her husband. At least House Mac Tir could stand on its own.
Maric was silent, waiting, and Loghain was buying time for himself to answer the king's question by fiddling with the cloak, trying to settle it around the pauldrons of his armor. As Maric approached to help him fix the clasps, he finally declared, "The future takes care of itself when one does what one must. I shall serve the kingdom, of course. And keep you out of trouble. Beyond that, what am I to say when I know so little of this girl?"
"You know you'll still be thinking that after years of marriage, so you might as well get used to it," Maric replied with a sad smile. "But I didn't ask about the kingdom or about what Elissa wanted. I would like to know what you hope for. I don't buy all these long faces for a minute. There must be something you want out of all this."
Loghain was silent, tapping his gloves on his hand, and after a long moment gave a reply that surprised even himself. Quietly he said, "I would like a son." Even as he spoke the words, their truth became plain to him, striking deep. Never consciously in all the wedding negotiations or preparations had he formed the thought, but in years past he had wished the same, while Celia still lived but their different spheres made it impossible. She told him that she did not want to raise another child on her own, and Loghain let the matter drop without another word. Perhaps the Maker had given him another chance, however unlikely. "Yes, I would like a son, "he repeated. "If Lady Cousland will suffer me that much."
Maric appeared startled, obviously not expecting that reply, or at least for it to be so plain-spoken. Loghain glanced at the king, uneasy with his admission. They had been joking about this very thing a few nights before, but at the time the idea had sounded far-fetched. It occurred to him that simply seeing Ellie the previous few days had called the idea forth again. It was a strange thought. Defensively he explained, "Gwaren needs an heir. Anora will be queen, so there is no one to inherit here. Ferelden is not exactly rife with noble stock and there are even fewer who are worthy of their titles, so who else would there be?" That was not the whole reason and he knew that Maric could see through it, but Loghain let the justification stand.
Maric gathered up his own cloak. Coming round to where Loghain stood, the king reached out to clasp his friend's metal-clad arm. Mac Tir regarded him evenly. No matter how many years passed, sometimes when he looked at Maric all he could see was the blonde-haired youth who stumbled out of a forest, mud- and blood-soaked, so many years before. He had been a terrified princeling then, fleeing the Fereldan lickspittles who had just put a sword through his mother. Everything had changed in that moment for both of them. Without Loghain, Maric would have been dead of cold or of the sword before that night was out. Without Maric, Loghain's father might have lived longer, but they both would likely have ended up hanging from a gallows eventually. Instead Loghain went on to fight in the rebel army that unseated the usurpers and sent them back to Orlais.
Much had changed, but in so many ways they were still the same boys. Except now Loghain noticed that there were dark shadows under Maric's eyes, and lines at their corners and on the king's forehead that were not just from smiling. He had been so wrapped up in his own predicament that he had not noticed before now. He opened his mouth to say something when Maric spoke again, cutting him off.
"Let's go get you started on that little project, eh?" The king then grinned and turned to leave.
Ellie and her family were waiting in the foyer when Loghain and the king came down. Other houseguests were mingling around, and Loghain felt eyes on him as he approached the Couslands and bowed. After that he stood stiffly before them, uncertain what to say.
Let's get this over with came to mind, but he held his tongue. It was Maric who came to the rescue, telling Ellie how lovely she looked. The teyrn supposed that she did. She was certainly cleaner than he had mostly seen her since their arrival from Highever. Lady Cousland's dress was a bright blue velvet, embroidered in gold, and around her shoulders she wore a white cloak emblazoned with the laurel wreath of Highever. Her hair was pulled up simply, fastened with a plain gold clasp. The young woman looked nervous, fingers working the edge of her cloak. Loghain wondered if she was wishing for a sword and something to hit, as he was.
The Chantry would have its due, however. Half an hour later, Loghain was standing in the candlelit chapel, head bowed, while Ellie knelt on one knee at his side, both making their formal prayers before the brazier. Gwaren's small Chantry was rustic, almost barbaric looking, compared to Denerim's cathedral. It was wooden, for one thing, which did not mix well with the sacred fires, but the people liked the style nonetheless and insisted on it. It had echoes of Chasind architecture and likely hearkened back to some memory the Gwaren folk had of the days before Andraste. The structure was also far too small to host the entire wedding entourage of the teyrn, so the Revered Mother had given special permission for the ceremonies to be held outside on the green. Most of the party was waiting outside for the wedding couple to make their pieties, sign the roll with
Maric Rex as witness, and discreetly slip the Revered Mother her Maker dowry.
Afterwards the procession continued on to the green, Ellie and Loghain walking side by side with Maric and Cailan just behind them, Anora and the Couslands coming along after. Townspeople were leaning out of windows and against garden fences watching the procession, calling out their well wishes. Later on there would be ale and cakes for anyone in the village who cared to have them, which would be every last one of them.
Before that there was more chanting, more incense, and more entreaties to upright living and faith in the Maker. Loghain found it curious that in the wedding chant, comparisons were drawn between the bridal couple and the Maker with his bride Andraste. It did not seem complimentary to be compared as husband to a distant and jealous god. Was that supposed to rate as a good example? He cast a sideways glance at Elissa. Her face looked white. Perhaps she was equally unimpressed with being compared to a woman who was betrayed by a jealous husband and sent to an execution pyre. Nearby sat Cutha the mabari, patiently watching the ceremonies with his tongue lolling. Someone had tied a white ribbon around the hound's neck as wedding decoration. Loghain made a note to draw up a statute declaring such an act a capital offense.
The bridal couple had not spoken a single word all day apart from a quick "good morning," though when it came time for him to remove Ellie's Cousland cloak and drape her with the crest of Mac Tir, she smiled at him. Loghain returned the smile, or at least tried to, his mouth half curling. They were expected now to make a chaste kiss. The teyrn leaned forward, recalling from his previous experience that slow was better for aim, and a steadying hand on the woman's waist helped, too. The touch of their lips was tentative but not unpleasant. He caught a whiff of sweet herb from her hair.
Finally the praying was done, the cheering commenced and then the mingling began, making Loghain wish that the prayers had lasted a little longer. He had been in official life for twenty some years, however, so he soon fell into pattern. It was the first chance he had had to observe Cailan, and the sight of the prince struck him dumb. The lad's eyes were reddened and his face looked haggard. He might have been hung over, but he looked too lucid for that, huddling with Fergus and a few others of their age, avoiding Anora, and casting longing glances toward the bride.
Andraste's blood. Loghain had always assumed that Cailan's interest in Elissa had been a dalliance, an infatuation, but the truth was written plainly on the boy's face. He
loved her.
Loghain turned his gaze once more towards Elissa. She was standing with some of the other ladies, arm resting on one hip as she balanced a cider mug in her hand. He saw her smile and laugh, though it was a polite sort of social laugh rather than true mirth. Mac Tir's mind raced back to their conversation in the forest, when she had told him that she didn't wish to renew intimacies with Cailan. She had seemed so sure of herself that Loghain assumed she was truly not interested. But what if she was? He tried to remind himself that it didn't matter. They were doing their duty, doing what was best. It had been more comforting to think of Elissa's affections being free, however.
As Loghain spied Maric in the crowd, it suddenly became clear why it mattered. They had done it again, involving a younger generation this time: Made war on affections because the kingdom demanded. Loghain had loved Rowan and she loved him, but he sent her to marry Maric anyway. He had hidden his anguish better than Cailan, but then the Theirins always wore their hearts out plain to see. Now it was he, Loghain, who was taking another man's beloved to wife-
Rowan's son- all so that that man could be compelled to marry a woman he didn't love. The ironies were so twisted that it hurt to follow them. Perhaps the comparison to Andraste, the Maker, and her spurned husband Maferath was apt after all.
Embroiled in these thoughts and feeling sick to his stomach, Loghain didn't notice the man at his elbow until he had likely been talking for some time. Finally the teyrn registered the presence of Rendon Howe of Amaranthine. The man was exceptionally ugly and seemed a small, mean sort, but not many who had cut teeth amidst the tortures and degradations of the occupation were jolly fellows. Maric always stood out as an exception in this.
"Yes, what is it, Howe?" he asked gruffly, only belatedly remembering that he was at a party and not a lord's council.
The arl stuttered. "Uh, yes. I merely came to express my best wishes on your nuptials, Teyrn Loghain. A great day for the honor of Gwaren and Highever both. As I was saying, you are a fortunate man, since I have been trying to convince Bryce these many years to give me Elissa for my eldest, Nathaniel. I had almost given up and tried the younger son, but alas..."
Loghain cut him off. "I'm sorry to hear it. Give Nathaniel my regrets."
The arl gave an oily smile and said, "I have sent him to the Free Marches, my lord. Perhaps the military life will be more suited to him than marriage."
"It would have continued to suit me, for certain," Loghain answered irritably, and walked off, leaving Howe sputtering behind him. Maric started toward him through the crowd but Loghain nimbly avoided him, withdrawing to the edge of the green and leaning against a tree, back turned to the assembly. After a time it was not Maric who found him, but Elissa. She still wore his cloak.
"My lord, you are unwell?"
Loghain turned and regarded her helplessly. Though he knew little of women, he knew enough to know that she would not want to hear that he was thinking of another woman, a woman long-dead and not even his former wife, on the day he had wed himself to her. "I am sorry, Ellie," he muttered. "I am not being a very good host." Nor a good husband, but he could not bring himself to say that. It seemed ludicrous that this woman was now his wife.
Elissa hesitated, then reached up to touch his cheek. Loghain flinched, startled by the gesture, but she did not seem to be offended at his reaction. Her hand lowered. "You worry too much." Unlike the tenderness of her fingertips, her voice was blunt.
Loghain pursed his lips. "Perhaps I do. Long habit, my lady. I have had a lot of things to worry about."
"Yes, I know. And you still do." Behind them there was the clanging of pots announcing the wedding supper. Ellie glanced over her shoulder and then back to him, saying, "Come eat something, Loghain. But let me help you get those gauntlets off first. Did you think we were being invaded today?" Without waiting for his permission, she reached for his arm and began undoing the straps on the armor. She was much more deft at it than Maric.
At another time, Loghain might feel annoyed by her impertinence. He was used to giving orders, not being ordered about. At that moment, however, the teyrn felt as meek as a child and made no protest.
"Thank you," he muttered softly, watching her intently as she worked the straps.
Modifié par Addai67, 23 septembre 2010 - 11:53 .
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