Chapter 17
I want to pause to offer continued thanks for all the wonderful reviews and commentary. I read each one and take them to heart. Thanks for sharing your time with me and I hope you're enjoying the ride. Also many continued thanks to my patient and helpful beta reader, SurelyForth. As always, Dragon Age and Loghain belong to BioWare. I should have warned readers about seventeen chapters ago that this story would contain spoilers for The Stolen Throne
. Oops! You have probably figured that out by now. If you haven't read the book, I highly recommend it. If you have read it, it should be obvious that this story leans heavily on it and that I'm a big fan. -A.***
3 Guardian, 9:28 Dragon Age.
"Anya, thank you for coming." Loghain glanced up at the mage as she entered his palace study, removing wraps as she did so. Despite several years of service to a noble lady and her clothing allowance, she still looked like a dock matron. Since she didn't attend on Ellie in public much, it didn't make a great deal of difference. To Loghain it meant none at all. The fashion-minded wags could hang for all he cared, and Gareth had a way of ruining clothing, his own and that of his caregivers. Anya had saved him money.
The mage stopped before his desk and stood, shuffling awkwardly on her feet. It wasn't every day that she was called to the teyrn's office, and her nervousness brought on an unusual spate of politeness. "I am at your service, your lordship."
Without preamble, Loghain got to it. "I am sorry to tell you that we'll have to be without your service as of today. It has nothing to do with you, but unfortunately it bears on you."
Anya's ruddy face went pale. "Wha..wha... I don't understand..."
"It seems the court mage at South Reach got into an argument with the arl's chamberlain and killed him in quite gruesome and public fashion, wounding several bystanders in the process. The man has been sent to your Aeonar for execution, but as a result the Chantry is revoking retainer contracts. All court mages are to be sent back to the Circle Tower immediately. That includes you, I'm afraid." Before he had even finished speaking, a little sob escaped Anya's throat. It surprised Loghain so much that he looked up from the templar notice on his desk. Ellie's attendant had always seemed like she was made of stone. Rather prickly stone, but impassive nonetheless.
She could barely speak, managing only a strained whisper. "Don't let them take me, milord. Please. I would never hurt her ladyship, nor the little master neither. I love them both like they're my own. I wouldn't hurt no one. Please don't let them take me away."
Loghain sat back, startled at the urgency in Anya's voice. It was piteous to see the proud attendant, who normally would rather grumble a curse as look at him, so desperate. He had known that the mage was fond of his family, but had not realized how much. Ellie would be upset when she heard, too, and he hated to think of how Gareth would react to losing his beloved Na-Na. For that reason Loghain had arranged the meeting at the palace, where they were less likely to be interrupted by either his wife or child. Like it or not, however, the matter was out of his hands. "I'm sorry, Anya. They have a report about you, about the men you killed on the street some time ago. The templars made special mention of it, so they aren't going to make an exception. Not even the crown is allowed to retain a court mage any longer."
"I was protecting her ladyship's life that night, Teyrn Loghain. I helped her again after the poppet was born. I never asked no thanks for it. You can't do this. It isn't right."
"Anya, I am grateful for what you did for Elissa. Of course I am. If it were in my power, I would keep you on, but it isn't. The templars are waiting for you downstairs now. I'll see if they won't take you by the residence to collect your things and say your farewells. That much ought to be..." Loghain stopped as he saw the mage getting down on her knees. She had difficulty doing it, her joints always sore from what Ellie had said was likely lyrium poisoning. Tears had begun to course down the woman's cheeks.
"Please, your grace. I'm begging you, and it isn't in me to do that for no one. If there's anyone in Ferelden who can make 'em listen, that man is you. Don't tell me it isn't so, 'cause that's bollocks. It's bollocks." Anya stopped, throat hitching with sobs.
Loghain expelled a breath. He held the woman's gaze for a long moment, and though her eyes were spilling with tears, she never wavered under his scrutiny. That in itself was unusual. Finally he leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Alright. Get up, would you? I'll talk to them, but that is all I can promise. I'm not the Grand Cleric's favorite person, either."
"Thank you, your grace. I thank you." Anya stood, tottering, but then folded her hands and stood rooted. "Go talk to 'em now. I'll wait here." As Loghain opened his mouth to object, she shook her head. "I'm not leaving this room, lordship. They'll take me if I do. You go talk to 'em and I'll be right here when you're done."
The audacity was impressive. Loghain stared at her, and realized that since she had more experience with templars, she might very well be right. With an exasperated sigh he stood, opened his study door and called in Alun Marwell. Loghain had transferred the stocky royal guardsmen to his own personal detail after Alun had stood watch for him at his father's grave. The teyrn gestured towards Anya. "Stay with her, please, Alun. She doesn't leave this room and no one else comes in until I return. Not the templars, not the bloody twice-plugged Maker himself, is that clear?" Alun nodded understanding, and Loghain glanced at Anya to see if she would approve. She bowed her head, stepped back and took a seat, still shaking visibly.
Loghain spent the entire afternoon chasing down one Chantry luminary after another. The templars were just footmen and could do nothing of their own accord. He was directed to the cathedral in the market district to meet with the Knight Commander, who also could do nothing and sent him on to him see the Grand Cleric. She was at her prayers, so her assistant told him, and those took a very long time. Loghain waited in the anteroom, grumbling to himself and trying to work out just what he was supposed to say. Groveling at the unpleasant woman's door was not his idea of a good day. There was no doubt in Loghain's mind that she was being especially pious in her devotions that afternoon because he had put her off so many times himself.
In the end it was Mother Ailis who secured Anya's place. The priestess had helped to raise Loghain after his mother's death, living with and ministering to the outcasts in Gareth Mac Tir's camp. After the war, Loghain found her again, and she served Maric in the palace until her death. In that capacity, Mother Ailis spoke on behalf of a number of Chantry sisters who otherwise would have been forced out of the country after the rebellion. Many clergy had gone along with the usurpers, whether out of obligation or willingly, and these were seen as collaborators. The woman who was later to become Grand Cleric of Ferelden was then known as Sister Sabine of the Gwaren Chantry, the daughter of an Orlesian nobleman and his Fereldan servant. Gwaren had suffered a great deal under the usurpers and was one of those areas of Ferelden most infected with revolutionary spirit, so the populace there did not take well to a sister with an Orlesian pedigree. With Mother Ailis' help, Sabine avoided being sent to Val Royeux or some obscure monastery, instead landing a coveted spot in the Denerim cathedral.
Loghain had had nothing to do with the move, but he hoped that the Maker might forgive a little truth-twisting along with his blasphemy earlier that afternoon. The Grand Cleric knew that he and Mother Ailis were close, and at the time the Gwaren sister was transferred, Loghain had just assumed the title of Teyrn there. It was easy to feed her a story that he had had a hand in her appointment and was now calling in a favor these many years later. Knowing that Anya would settle for no less, Loghain waited while the Grand Cleric drew up a letter rescinding the mage's recall to the Tower, and signed it in front of witnesses.
He had this letter in hand when he returned. It was past dark and the lamps were burning in his study, Anya pacing in a corner while Captain Marwell sat nearby with his sword on his knees. Loghain nodded to Alun, crossed over to the mage and handed her the letter. She held it in trembling hands, reading it over and over as though looking for the loophole.
After some minutes of this, Loghain spoke up, impatient to have the matter settled. "It's rather final. Keep it somewhere safe. You should go now, Anya, Gareth will be asking for you. Tell Ellie I will be along soon."
The mage looked up at him with reddened eyes. After a moment's silence she lifted two fingers and made a sign on her forehead. "I'll pay this back to you tenfold someday, your lordship. I'll pay back your kindness, you'll see."
He waved her off. "You already have done, you said so yourself. You saved my Ellie's life, didn't you? Off with you now, I have some things to do."
Anya made to leave, but at the door she turned back. "I'll pay you back, Teyrn Loghain, you'll see that I will. An Amell always keeps her promises." She smiled and nodded once, turning to go.
Loghain gave Alun his leave, as well, and took up his reports. The amount of paperwork on his desk should have slackened after he gave up the position of high councillor, but as fast as he delegated responsibilities to Anora, she created new bureaucratic mud for him to wade through. The crown's affairs were more organized, and they had increased efficiency and revenue as a result, but it meant there was no end to the paper that crossed his desk. If he was late with the reports, he would hear about it.
It was the dinner hour, but as neither Cailan nor Anora were in the main dining room, Loghain sought out his daughter in her chambers. Before he even saw her, he knew something was wrong. There was the smell of burnt fabric. Anora was in her private chamber, her elf attendant at her side. The remains of a dinner were strewn across the table and onto the floor. The burning smell was from a candle that had obviously caught the tablecloth and burned a spot before being doused.
"Anora? What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Loghain crossed to her, jostling Erlina aside as he took his daughter's arm, turning her. His breath caught as he saw her face. Anora's hair was disheveled and there were tears in her eyes, but what stunned him the most was the red welt across her cheek. "Andraste's blood," he gasped, reaching up brush the hair back from the mark.
Her voice sounded small, smaller than he had ever heard it. "Father. It's nothing. I'm fine."
"Cailan did this?" The realization dawned on him like a lightning strike, but even though he knew it was true, he still couldn't believe it. The elf maid stepped back, averting her eyes.
Anora didn't try to deny it, though her tone grew alarmed as she saw his face color purple with rage. "Father, no. Don't."
"I'll kill him. I swear, I'll tear the flesh from his bones."
She shook her head, tone desperate. "You mustn't. Ferelden is all that matters, you know that. No, listen to me." She grabbed for Loghain's arm as he was about to pace away. "All that matters is that he keeps letting me rule his kingdom. Let him rage at me if he likes, as long as at the end of the day I still rule. We argued and it got out of hand, that's all."
Loghain felt the dark closing in on him, as though the lamps were dimming. His own voice sounded far away. "Anora, does he force you? Does he ever hurt you?"
Shaking her head, the queen straightened and with an effort resumed some of her normal composure, resting a hand on her waist. "Nothing like that, no. This was the first time he's behaved like this." She tried to laugh, though it was bitter. "I didn't know he had it in him."
"I did." Loghain's head drooped, his eyes pressed closed. They were caught, all of them. The Landsmeet wouldn't unseat a king for doing something that the more caddish among them did regularly when they were in their cups. After the affair with the brothel, Cailan had even been more careful with his dalliances. His father-in-law he could ignore, but when Eamon or Bryce whispered something to him, the king listened, and Loghain guessed that one or both of them had reproved him in private. There were mistresses, but no one of any account and Cailan saw them only quietly in the palace. There had to be a real threat or negligence in his rule for there to be a case against him in the Landsmeet. So long as Anora had the reins, there wasn't likely to be either of those things.
His utter powerlessness lit a fury in Loghain that it took all of his self-mastery to control. That he had even come to the point of hoping to see Maric's son unseated felt like a knife at his own heart.
Keep him close and he will betray you... Desperately he pushed the witch's words back into the recess where he kept them. Only when Loghain felt Anora's hand on his arm did the blackness recede a little. Her voice was steady once again. "It's not your fault, Father. If you hadn't chosen this for me, I still would have wanted it. I still want it more than anything. It will all be alright, you'll see."
Loghain felt sadness weighing on him. It was a shame to him that his daughter thought she had to reassure him rather than the other way around. "Anora," he muttered helplessly, shaking his head. Somehow, he had to find something to say that it would make it all mean something, for both of them. Mastering himself, he met her gaze and spoke firmly. "Be the queen you were meant to be. That will be your revenge."
She nodded, understanding perfectly.
Cailan had obviously not warned his guard to prevent Loghain from entering. That was a mistake he recognized the minute he saw his father-in-law. The king jumped up from his chair but was off balance when the blow caught him across the chin. Stumbling backward, he had not yet found his balance when another snapped his head back again, sending a spray of blood across his the bed behind him. Cailan braced against the bedpost, holding out a defensive hand to ward off another.
Loghain spoke low, in an oath. "I swear by the Maker, that is the last time you raise a hand to my daughter."
Blood dripped from Cailan's nose and lip onto the carpet. Slowly he turned his head, fingering gently at his bloody nose and the gash at his cheek. His voice was thick. "I deserved that. But no more, Loghain, or I call my guard."
Loghain grasped the cuff of Cailan's tunic and hauled him up, shoving him against the wall and pinning him there. Glowering with contempt, he spat out, "Don't hide behind your guard, you arrogant little f*ck. Fight me yourself if you're so eager to hit someone."
Barely able to breathe, Cailan had to choke out his words. "This is treason."
"You'd have to be a king for that to be true, wouldn't you? You're not even a man." With a shove, Loghain let him go and Cailan slid out from his grasp, putting distance between them and finally slumping into a chair. Following his movement, the teyrn's voice seethed. "You're not your mother's son. Nor Maric's, either. I don't know what you are."
"Don't you talk about my mother. Not you." Cailan glowered at him, touching a hand to his nose to try to stop the flow of blood.
Loghain was about to say something about Rowan, about what the warrior queen would have done to a man who went whoring about or struck her, but a realization came and instead he pointed an accusing finger. "You're an Orlesian, that's what you are. You use women, you use power and title just like they did. If I didn't know better I'd swear you were that lying elven woman's son and not Rowan's."
Cailan did not meet his gaze for long, and he didn't object about his mother any longer. After a silence he asked softly, "How is Anora?"
"How do you think she is? Trying to forgive you, though only the Maker knows why." When Cailan only nodded, head bowed, Loghain turned and paced away, lifting a hand to the back of his head. After a moment he let it fall again and spoke over his shoulder. "Never again, Cailan. You are Maric's blood and I am sworn to serve you, but never again." When there was no answer, Loghain left without looking back.
He walked quickly, putting the palace behind him not returning any of the greetings of passers-by while he fought to calm himself. His anger still boiled, but his mind was also working. At home, Ellie met him at the door and embraced him, kissing his cheek fervently. "Anya told me everything. Loghain, I don't know how to thank you."
"It was nothing." His voice was ragged. He could protect a mage servant, but not his own daughter, so it truly did mean little to him. Yet if keeping Anya in their service had made Ellie and Gareth happy, he had at least been good for something that day.
"Loghain, are you alright?"
He hesitated before answering. "I have to go away for a while."
"Now? In winter?"
"Soon." Ellie regarded him curiously, however his wife had developed a sense for when he wasn't going to talk about something, and finally she nodded. With an effort Loghain smiled a little and leaned down to put an arm around her waist, kissing her lightly.
"Da-da!" Gareth's shout was followed by the boy himself, launching across the room towards his father.
Loghain broke off the kiss, grinned and caught his son up into his arms. "There's my little lieutenant. Were you good for your mother today?" The two year-old smiled impishly and nodded. He never answered that question any other way. "I am glad to hear it. And did you eat up all the dinner? Your old da is famished."
"Come late to supper then complain about the pot being dry." Anya appeared in the doorway and stood leaning against it, a little smile on her face.
The two exchanged a look, sizing things up, and then Loghain chuckled. "I am a humble beggar, ser mage. If you can scrape together a crust or two, I'll content myself with that."
He could feel Ellie's eyes on him that night while he ate and as they saw Gareth off to bed, but she did not press him further, not even while she helped to bandage his bruised hand. Nor did she make any objection when he bid her goodnight and went to his own chambers. Loghain lay awake late into the night, waiting for a knock on the door, for some of his own men with orders to take him to Fort Drakon. There was no visit by the royal guard, however, not on that night nor the next day or the following. Both Cailan and Anora cancelled their public engagements for the week, blaming the sniffles that were making the rounds of the court.
Cailan and Anora were troubled by other things, but there was indeed a cold passing around the palace and Gareth had his turn with it. For several days he coughed and slept poorly, and Loghain delayed his journey long enough to see him somewhat better. On the morning he was to leave, he and Ellie decided that the boy was still too ill for an outing, so they made their farewells at the residence. Loghain wore a black doublet, hose and boots, and had his cloak slung loosely over one shoulder. He would arm himself at the palace where he would have a squire to help him.
As the doorway Ellie kissed him, then prompted Gareth to tell his father goodbye. The toddler gazed up at Loghain but made no move to do so. He was used to his father's absences and normally took them in stride, nevertheless sleepy and sick as he was, this one apparently was a bridge too far. The two year-old's lip quivered. Finally he shouted in ever increasing volume, "No no no no no NO!" Ellie leaned down to calm him, but he batted her hand away, turned and ran further into the house.
Loghain exchanged a look with Ellie, drew a deep breath and followed. He found Gareth lying face-down and still on the carpet in Ellie's room, small arms flung up to cover his head. Kneeling down on one knee, Loghain laid a hand on the boy's back. He was silent some moments, trying to work out to say. Ellie had followed and stood in the doorway watching.
He spoke quietly. "I don't want to go away, my boy, but we can't always do what we like. Sometimes we have to do what we must. We have to do our duty, all of us. Your duty is to stay here and mind your mother and Anya and the other maids." When there was no reaction, Loghain went on, "I always miss you and your mother when I'm gone. I think about you all the time, every day. I try to get home as fast as I can."
After a moment the little figure under his hand stirred. One foot kicked. Finally Gareth sat up and turned, bracing on Loghain's knee and turning reddened eyes up to him. "Take me."
"No, I'm sorry, lad. I can't take you with me. We'll go on a trip together sometime, I promise."
Gareth sniffled, however the reality of the thing apparently had settled in and there was no more shouting. He frowned, looking much like his father as his brow knit. "You come home fast, da-da.
Fast." It was obviously an order.
Loghain laughed and reached up a hand to brush hair back from the boy's brow. "I'll do that. I promise."
Gareth considered this, then jumped up and ran to the toy box in the corner and began to root in it. Loghain glanced at Ellie. She shrugged, apparently as much in the dark on the ways of Gareth as he was. When the boy returned, he had a wooden horse in hand. He owned many of these, gifts from Bryce and Eleanor, finely carved and painted with knights and squires to ride them, with more figures of foot-soldiers and mabari besides. Some had the banner of Highever, others Gwaren, others plain. Father and son would play with them together on occasion, Loghain showing him how to line them up, Gareth always impatient to get to the part where he could crash the mabari into the nicely ordered ranks to break a cavalry charge. He had thoughtfully chosen a horse and rider with Gwaren crest to present to his father.
"Is this for me?" Loghain asked, surprised.
"This is me, da-da," he replied, pushing the toy into his father's hand and pointing at the figure on the horse with a pudgy finger. "You take it with you."
Loghain thought he understood then. He was to take the figure instead, since he could not take Gareth himself. There was a catch in his throat as he nodded. "Alright. I'll do that. I'll have this right in my pocket the whole time. Thank you, son."
Glancing at the Gwaren crest on the figure, Loghain made a decision on something that Ellie had suggested but he had waved off earlier. It had not really been fair of him not to consider it. In the course of his duties he came and went, but since their arrival Ellie had not left Denerim, and the court could be a confining place. It was also time that little Gareth got his first look at his future teyrnir. Loghain gestured with the wooden figure. "When I come back, Gareth, you and mamma and I will take a trip together, how does that sound? We'll go to Gwaren, all three of us. Would you like that?" He glanced at Ellie and she smiled, nodding her approval.
"Yes!" Gareth beamed, also in favor. After a moment he began to scale his father's knee, and Loghain sat back to take him into his lap. The boy kept climbing up his chest until he could put his arms around his father's neck and lay his head on one shoulder.
Loghain held his son, rubbing his back and bringing a hand up to stroke his hair. His eyes were wet. "You know I love you very much, don't you, my boy. I don't tell you often, but you know, don't you?" As he said this, Loghain looked past Gareth's shoulder to Ellie, gazing at her steadily, including her in the words.
Gareth's reply came in the form of a muffled giggle. He, too, was a man of few words.
27 Guardian, 9:28 Dragon Age. Tewellyn Cloister, near Redcliffe.
Loghain leaned against the edge of the gallery rail, looking out over into a practice yard filled with boys of different ages, all squawking and hollering. A few of them batted practice swords, but as the arms master had not yet arrived, most were simply loitering or crouched down tossing jacks on the snow.
"That's the one you asked after, your grace." The templar, Ser Leffert, pointed out a sandy-haired boy. "That's Alistair of Redcliffe."
The teyrn watched the young lad as he walked along the row of pillars, hands wrapped up in his tunic against the cold. Some of his fellows spoke to him as he passed, but mostly he kept apart from the others. Even from a distance, the boy's easy, laconic gate, the tilt of his head as he stopped to lean up against one of the pillars, were eerily familiar. "How does he fare? What sort of novice does he make?"
Leffert squinted, turning over the question. "Passing fair with the sword or with the sisters' lessons, though nothing to shout about. Got a smart mouth on him. The real problem with that one is that he won't really put his hand to anything. What did the Revered Mother call it... she said that he doesn't apply himself. But he will apply glue to the sister's chair on occasion."
Loghain shot the man a sideways glance. "A bit wild, eh? What about tantrums? Moody spells?"
"Oh yes, your grace, that to be sure," the man nodded. "Nothing too ill-natured I'd say, but some of the sisters do complain. Even his patron got sick of it. The arl hasn't been to see him in years." Pausing, the templar then went on, "I know others like him, Teyrn Loghain, and there's no remedy for it. He's just some nobleman's bastard who thinks he's too high and mighty to act decently and do what's expected of him. If you're looking for a squire, I'd look elsewhere, though I don't know why you want a templar acolyte anyway. The Revered Mother wouldn't like it."
"Nothing like that." Easing back from the railing, Loghain watched the boy silently. So this one had Maric's faults, too, and a good dose by the sounds. Far from being upset by this, he was relieved. He had no desire to put his daughter's status as queen in jeopardy and tarnish Rowan's legacy all in one stroke. If Cailan wasn't already on his way to doing just that, he would never have considered it. If by some turn of fate the bastard was of different mettle than Cailan, however, duty would demand that Loghain ponder the unthinkable. As Anora had said, Ferelden was all that mattered, though she would not approve of her father's visit if she knew. Nor would Maric. The late king had been adamant that the boy be left alone unless there was no other choice, and yet here Loghain was, doing exactly what he had promised not to do, and pondering Cailan's ruin besides.
Keep him close...
His thoughts were interrupted by the templar. "Shall I call Alistair in, your grace? Would you like to speak with him?"
Loghain regarded the boy again. He was tempted. If nothing else, this was a little bit of his friend, a friend that he sorely missed. Before he could answer, the boy moved from his pillar and turned, perhaps feeling eyes on him. He looked up at the two men, cocked his head and regarded Loghain curiously. He at first looked hopeful, as though the teyrn might be someone else. When Alistair saw that he didn't know the visitor after all, he quickly turned away again, moving off further into the yard. "No," Loghain answered, shaking his head. "No, that won't be necessary. I thank you for your information."
"No trouble at all, Teyrn Loghain. It's an honor to have a great man like yourself at our monastery. As for the bastard, he'll come around. Has no choice, really. A boy like that has got nowhere else to go if his noble father won't have him. The Maker wills it, as he does for all of us."
Loghain's only reply was grim silence. Apparently the Maker's will had included Rowan dying of a mysterious disease no one could cure, Maric vanishing into the sea, and their fool of a son growing more useless and headstrong by the day. The teyrn did not put too much store in the Maker's will. If you wanted something done, it was best to grasp the matter yourself and let the Maker try to keep up. He and Anora would have to continue managing as best they could, even if it felt like holding back the ocean tide.
He stirred, thoughts of Anora reminding him that perhaps it need not be a wasted trip. The monastery was remote and had been a chore to find, but it was reported to have a good library and scriptorium. He pulled a crumpled, worn sheet of paper from his cloak pocket and showed it to the templar. It was the broadsheet he had picked up in the Bannorn a year earlier, condemning the ascension of a "commoner" to role of queen. Though the Chantry controlled most of the printing and always had, no one had been able to reveal anything useful about its source. Loghain did not know if they really didn't know or if they were covering up. The Chantry was close about its secrets, even the dirty ones.
Especially the dirty ones. "Can you tell me anything about this, Ser Leffert? Perhaps something from the script?"
The templar unfolded the tract and read it quickly, snorting in disgust as he took in the subject matter. Loghain waited while Leffert squinted to examine the page more closely, turning towards the weak sunlight and lifting it up to see the script better. Finally he lowered the sheet and appeared to consider for a moment before answering. "I believe I can tell you something about this, your grace. But it would be better for me to show you."
Loghain's eyes lit up with the hard, expectant glint of a hunter on the trace. "Show me."
End chapter 17.
Modifié par Addai67, 10 décembre 2010 - 06:55 .
Obviously Anora and everyone else realize now that whatever else is going on in the match, Loghain and Ellie are doing it. But I figure Anora pictures it as once a month with the lights out. ("For Ferelden!") It's her dad, and there's some denial because of jealousy both for her own sake and on behalf of her mother. At least with Cailan + Ellie, it would help her manage the political situation. So she hopes.
. 
Retour en haut
