On his way out, Loghain nearly tripped on the maid from Highever. The middle aged woman, Anya by name, had been the cause of another nasty debate with Bryce and Eleanor. If Bryce was like a great shuffling bear, Eleanor was a polecat, and when Loghain met the idea of a mage attending Ellie with vociferous opposition, she had shown her claws. Obviously Bryce had wrested retainer rights from the Circle, and he wished the woman to stay on as his daughter's attendant.
Ellie actually sided with Loghain in opposing the idea. She had never had a lady maid and did not want one. Anya stood by watching the nobles bicker with a look of amusement. She had a broad, rather homely face, dark curly hair and a figure that could best be described as lumpy. Taken together with her common garb, she could have passed for any fishwife or tradeswoman. The mage was apparently a healer, however, and in the end they were won over by the argument that while Ellie needed no common bodyguard, one with Anya's special skills could be useful. The mage had concluded the discussion by proclaiming, "That's settled, then. What's for supper?" Eleanor, her claws retracted once again, had pulled Loghain aside and delicately confided that the woman was "a bit touched in the head." That had made Mac Tir feel so much better.
The mage was standing silently in the hallway, hands folded in front of her. Loghain got the impression she might have had her ear pressed to the door only moments before. Regarding her with a narrowed eye, he spoke gruffly. "Please see if her ladyship needs anything, then do not disturb her this afternoon unless she asks it, is that clear?" The woman made no reply, only gazed at him skeptically. Loghain gave a grunt of disgust, turned on his heel and left. No good would come from that woman, he knew it.
Maric hadn't given away half the treasury, but close enough. The men and women in the sweaty-smelling guild hall were all laughing at some joke of the king's when Mac Tir arrived. He went to Maric's side and they spent another hour hashing out the details of the proposed construction. The craftsmen pointed out, as Loghain and Maric had already gleaned, that ships would be easier to come by than sailors to man them. Fereldans did not take easily to the sea.
Afterwards Loghain and Maric took a walk along the quay, royal bodyguards trailing them at a distance.
"How fares Elissa?" the king asked as they strolled.
"She'll be alright."
Maric nodded, understanding. She
would be alright, but she wasn't then. "I saw Bryce and Eleanor off this morning here at the docks. They looked a little grey. I reminded them that you are an honorable man and Elissa could have done a great deal worse. I thought I even caught you two smiling at each other at dinner last night. Secrets, already?"
Loghain snorted and was about to make a sarcastic reply, but instead he paused. It was amazing that, as long as these two had known each other and as much as they depended on each other, how much could go unsaid. Loghain decided it was time to plunge into one of these unspoken areas. "How much do you know of Cailan's feelings for my new wife, Maric?"
The king looked surprised, but not overly so. "Oh, he is fond of her, I know, but he will get over it. An infatuation of youth."
"I am not so sure about that."
Maric shook his head. "No need to fret about it. Cailan knows what he is about and he will marry Anora just as we'd always planned. If there are some hurt feelings over Elissa, he'll bear up. You'll see."
Glancing sideways, Loghain could not help but think that Maric was being a bit too blithe about it. The king had had a youthful infatuation once, too, one that nearly cost them the rebellion, so he ought to know what sort of power such attachments could hold. Maric had always had blind spots about his son, however. Loghain decided to drop the subject, instead bringing up the letters from Eamon.
Maric laughed and shook his head when he heard. "Ah, Eamon. He thinks he's being clever but he ought to see he's not good at this sort of thing. His intrigues are as subtle as being hit in the face with a side of beef. The man was always upset we never offered him a place at court, so he tries to do his best from a distance. I probably would have given him what he wanted, if Teagan had been willing to take the arling, but Junior would rather sit on Lake Calenhad with his fishing pole. Not that I blame him, Maker knows." There was a heaviness to the king's voice when he said this, a longing, that was familiar to Loghain. Maric had never wanted the kingship; it was thrust upon him by his heritage. He had risen to the occasion, but once had confessed that so many pieces of him had shriveled in the process that he wondered that there was any left. On the worst days, he had mused how nice it would be simply to throw the signet ring in the ditch and walk away.
"Perhaps he should let his Orlesian wife handle the intrigues," Loghain observed drily.
"Yes, well. I was as upset as you and many others about him giving the usurper a place in our nobility, but apart from terrorizing her staff and browbeating her husband, Isolde hasn't shown any sign she intends to overthrow the country just yet." The king fell silent and his expression sobered. They walked silently a time before Loghain finally realized that something rare was happening: Silence. Maric not talking was never a good thing.
"What is it? Is there something about this Orlesian woman you aren't telling me?"
The king's mouth twisted thoughtfully. It was another full minute before he spoke again, but when he started, it was in a deliberate and steady stream. "My son's name is Alistair. He is in Tewellyn cloister north of Redcliffe, studying to be a templar, though I have taken measures to see that he doesn't have to take Chantry vows if he doesn't want to. When we return to the estate, I will give you a letter authorizing that if something should happen to me and to Cailan, he is to be put in the succession. But only then, and only if the country is in dire need of a king. Someone they will look to as they look to me, though by the Maker I will never understand why they do."
At first Loghain didn't think he had heard correctly, but when the words registered, he stopped and stared. Maric kept walking a few paces then he also stopped and turned, gazing out at the water lapping against the pilings. It took a while for Loghain to find his voice. He kept it low. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"I was going to do this later, but it is something I should have taken care of long ago." Finally Maric braved a glance at his friend, and Loghain thought the shadows under his eyes looked deeper. The king's voice turned earnest, almost pleading. "Promise me, Loghain. Promise me that you will not trouble him unless there is no other choice. I want him to be free of me. Free of my legacy. Promise me."
Mac Tir lifted his chin. It was time to separate his feelings about this from his duty and act as royal counselor. Besides, the past few days had taken the wind out of some of his ire over Maric's dalliance. He was thus able to broach something which only a week ago would have made his blood boil. "Why not just recognize him openly, Maric, and be done with it?"
A look of pain passed over the king's face. After a pause he replied, "I want to, but that would not be a good idea. For a number of reasons."
Loghain nodded. Apart from the fact that the people loved Rowan and wouldn't like a bastard suddenly appearing out of nowhere, having a second son available in the succession was dangerous. Primogeniture meant little in Ferelden, and Loghain would be the first to argue that Cailan needed all the help he could get if he was to follow in his father's footsteps. Those who wanted to undermine Cailan for their own ambitions would use a second heir as a pretext, whether the boy was any more fit for the job or not.
Still, if this was truly the king's son... "If the boy is yours, then he is in danger. I sincerely hope you aren't trusting in the Chantry to mind your interests, Maric. Need I remind you how fluid their loyalties can be?" Under the occupation, the Chantry had aided the usurpers, and it was only by the piety of the common people that they retained a place in Ferelden at all.
"It's taken care of, Loghain. He is better off where he is now than... well, he is better off. He'll be educated and trained in battle. He's good at that, I'm told." Maric smiled briefly, wistfully, before going on. "I do not only have the Chantry looking out for him. No need to remind me about them. The Grand Cleric would never let me forget that she answers to an authority higher than mine."
Loghain sighed heavily, almost a groan. "Maric, how am I to aid you in running this kingdom when you keep so many secrets from me? Who are these mysterious helpers? Who is this boy's mother, and is she going to show up someday demanding rights from you? I just want to know which parlor maid is really a maid and which is the royal mistress."
He had gone too far, he knew it, though the look in Maric's eye would have been warning if he hadn't. Firming his mouth, the king spoke slowly, emphatically. "That is not something you ever need concern yourself with. Loghain, I am counting on you. Do as I ask, and no more. Do I have your word?"
The two men regarded each other, continuing their struggle with their eyes as they had in words. Finally Loghain expelled a weary breath and replied, lifting his hands, "Of course, of course. I'll forget the boy exists unless you and Cailan are swallowed up by..." He stopped and tilted his head as something else occurred to him. Carefully he asked, "And what of Anora?"
Maric's expression remained sober, but the look he gave Loghain was a knowing one. Whatever else happened, Anora would do what she had to do. If it meant marrying a half dozen Theirin men in succession, that is what it would take. This recognition passed between Loghain and Maric without any words, as though it were already a deal done in stone. Nodding once, Loghain said heavily, "I understand. We will do what we must, all of us."
"Maker help us," Maric agreed softly.
A few days later there were more farewells, this time Maric, Cailan and Anora with a large entourage of royal guard and other hangers-on, including dwarven and human traders heading north to Denerim. Ringed as they were with royal guard, there was no safer caravan than this one. Still, parting from Maric made Loghain uneasy.
"You're sure?" he asked as the two of them approached the king's mount.
"Stay. You know as well as I do that it is the right thing to do. A teyrnir shouldn't be without its lord too long, and Elissa will have time to learn the land and the people. Cailan and I can manage that long. I promise not to give away the kingdom, even if I get very, very bored."
Loghain didn't smile, but his eyes softened a little. "Fine. Until spring then. Mind yourself, Maric."
"I almost always do, old friend. You mind that lovely wife of yours." Maric wagged an eyebrow, to which Loghain only shook his head and waved the king off dismissively.
As he turned, he came face to face with Cailan. The prince's demeanor was more subdued than his usual jaunty self, but he did not have the pathetic haunted look he had carried around on the wedding day and a few days after. He smiled at Loghain and they clasped gloved hands.
"Goodbye, Loghain. And congratulations. We will miss you around the palace."
The teyrn was surprised that Cailan was being so cordial, but perhaps Maric was right and the lad would take it all manfully. If he did, it would be a welcome sign that he was growing into his station. "You will. You'll be counting the days til I return, since I told Cauthrien to see to your practice schedule. Don't let your father go soft, either." He clasped Cailan's hand more firmly before letting him go with a tap on the shoulder. Though the prince frustrated and worried him, in many ways Loghain had been as much a father to him as Maric had over the years.
Cailan turned without another word to where his squire waited with his mount. The company then had only to wait for Anora. She emerged from the house moments later, hair pulled back in a bun and dressed in riding leathers. They suited her so much better than the finery she had taken to, though she would have grimaced to hear Loghain say so. She approached him and gave him a serene smile. "Goodbye, father." Leaning in, she added in a low voice, "Thank you for this." Her blue eyes flicked briefly, coolly, to where Elissa stood talking with Maric.
Loghain regarded her with a wry smile. She was obviously nonplussed with the idea that she had pulled the strings on two lives, two families, and two powerful political centers. It was what she was trained to do. The world moving for her purpose seemed like the natural order of things to her. "We all do what we must, Anora," he answered quietly. Few who overheard would hear fondness in his voice, but both father and daughter knew it was present. Anora smiled and nodded.
He stood back and watched as Cailan helped Anora into the saddle and the royal guard formed up their lines. Seeing the crown prince and Anora together, Loghain thought it was a mercy that at least the two were so keen on ruling. There were not half dozen people in all the land who understood what it really took to keep the realm together, and most of them were right there in the courtyard. The rest of the common folk need never know how the sausage was made, though they lived by its fat or its lean all the same. Loghain had once known what it was like to be free of such responsibility. Anora never had, not for a single day of her life, nor had Cailan. Their fathers would never be able to explain to them how they sometimes woke up wistful about nights spent under the stars fleeing for their lives from lickspittle bannorn, considering it preferable to a palace echoing with whispers. The teyrn's mind turned to the boy Maric had mentioned, the bastard son he had hidden away in some monastery. The boy did not know how fortunate he was.
Trumpets sounded and slowly the column began to move. It was a stirring sight, arms and armor gleaming, the hounds-rampant banner of Theirin at the head of the line. At towns and hamlets all along the route, people would run to catch a glimpse. The more civic-minded might even know why the king was abroad and mention that the Hero of River Dane had wed again. The main thing they would talk about around their cups, however, was having seen Maric the Savior and the good prince Cailan, Maker bless them both.
Maric turned in the saddle to lift his hand and shoot his friend one last grin before they departed. Loghain returned the wave, his mouth inching towards a smile. Meanwhile Ellie came to stand beside him. When the royal entourage had finally disappeared through the gates, Loghain turned to her, and the couple looked at each other silently. It was just the two of them now.
End chapter five.
Modifié par Addai67, 02 octobre 2010 - 02:06 .
Yay, thank you.
At least it gives my husband something to tease me about. In fact, the whole idea that I'm writing a Loghain story tickles him to no end. I think he's just relieved I'm talking about something other than Alistair. LOL
I'll see what I can do.
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