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[Addai]

Sooo, reading friends... usually I update around this time of week, but as I started this chapter I realized it could benefit from some more background work. So please bear with me, but it may be into next week before I can publish. Hoping for sooner.

You are all so sweet for even caring. I cannot even begin to say. 

Modifié par Addai67, 21 novembre 2010 - 01:26 .

[Esbatty]

*big teary eyes* I- I can be p-p-patient. *sniffle*

[alschemid]

but.... but..... oh, no!
We can wait, I suppose... *rereads all over again to appease the addiction to TA*

Modifié par alschemid, 21 novembre 2010 - 12:38 .

[kyles3]

i read grrm; i know patience.

[Addai]

kyles3 wrote...

i read grrm; i know patience.

Ha, well I won't make you wait four years.

Not that we're counting, Mr. Martin!!!!

Chapter 14 is in beta. 

[Addai]

Chapter 14

18 Drakonis, 9:26 Dragon Age.

His men were hiding something, though doing so badly. Loghain knew when to turn a blind eye and when not. He charged into their middle. "What is it?"

They were standing on the small green of a village in the northeastern Bannorn. The tiny courtyard was so muddy that it really ought to have been called a "brown" rather than a green, and most of the townspeople had retreated indoors to get out of the mixture of rain and snow that was falling. At his commander's question, a sergeant from Gwaren reluctantly produced what he had been hiding behind his back. It was a crumpled piece of paper. Loghain took it, shook it smooth, and read it with no change in expression while the men suddenly found better things to do.

The Maker will judge this land for this transgression against the divine order. Not even Andraste presumed to rule the country when elevated from her low station, but went meekly to the Maker's side where she makes intercession for us all. She is the icon of true womanhood, not this harlot from Gwaren who does not know her place. Mark my words, brothers and sisters. There will be judgment. If those who mean to rule us do not respect the natural order, a plague will rise up from the very land to curse you and your children!

It was not the first of these broadsheets they had found, hung on posts and on trees outside inns along the side roads, the more frequently as they got deeper into the Bannorn. All of them had obviously come from the same press, an older-looking script printed with crude metallic block. Loghain was about to crumple the sheet and toss it into the mud, but on a second thought he folded it and shoved it into his cloak pocket. There were few printing presses in Ferelden, most of them Chantry-operated. Someone with more experience in these things might be able to tell where the tract had come from.

Loghain looked around at the sodden village. Though he and his men were the only ones on the green, he could feel eyes on them. An oilcloth window flap moved, confirming this intuition. The Bannorn were as welcoming as a bear woken from hibernation, but there were good memories for him here, too. During the rebellion, he and Rowan had been sent out to criss-cross these remote territories alone, trying to winkle support for the rebellion out of the stubborn minor lords. It was dangerous, frustrating work. He had potent memories of nights spent watching Rowan with firelight on her face, standing sentry over her as she slept, of watching her talk to smallfolk and banns alike, showing herself to be the queen she really was. As his admiration for her had grown, so had the recognition that that very quality meant she could never be his. These were still some of his best memories of the war.

Nevertheless, he certainly had no desire to linger. In this part of Ferelden, there were few knights but every peasant was a warrior, so counting forces was next to impossible. He would have to rely on the estimates by the neighboring arls. His goal here had been less to survey the military situation than to get a sense of the political one. The Landsmeet had been tumultuous, there had been a great deal of uneasiness after Maric's death, and Loghain would not sit easy while Anora's throne was not secure. What he saw thus far had been mixed. Dragon's Peak had been welcoming as always, but in the Bannorn the picture was much less clear.

"Let's move out," he called to the men loitering huddled against the fat, cold rain.

The road passed through field after field, some of them already being prepared for tilling by farming families who were seemingly oblivious of the rain and mud. Some of these were the broad fields of major landowners, and near villages there were strip farms marked out by stone boundaries, likely the small plots of leaseholders. In these, they saw men, women and children picking rocks out of the tilled land and using them to fortify the strip markers. The children most often dropped what they were doing and ran to look at the passing soldiers. It was a welcome sight. He had had a much different reaction when Orlesian soldiers passed by while he helped or played in his father's fields.

Towards afternoon the temperature dropped and the sky filled with broad, clumping snowflakes. Loghain's party got some shelter as the road turned into a forest. A few of the men lit torches for extra light. At one point along the road, they passed stone posts on either side, crudely carved with the faces of Alamarri warlords. These seemed to be grinning at them in the flickering light of the torches. The stones were no doubt a boundary marker. Boundaries were taken very seriously in the Bannorn, and wars could begin over inches this way or that. The lords were no doubt grinning at the prospect of a good fight.

By the time the party emerged onto a snowy meadow, the sun was low in the sky and set a dull golden light on the crown of a low tower straight ahead of them. It was set on a small hill, prodding up through more trees. Loghain had been here before. This was the Stedburg, the remnants of an ancient stronghold and currently the seat of Bann Cormac ap Feil. Most of the old keep had long since tumbled into ruin, its dark stone still visible only on the tower and in the odd section where the ancient blocks were salvaged. Outbuildings of both stone and wood had grown up around.

Loghain did not expect a warm welcome at the keep, and in this he was not disappointed. They were made to wait an hour and a half in the courtyard. Finally he and his lieutenants were disarmed and bid to enter the main hall. The hall was in the newer portion, oak raftered and hung with faded tapestries. Skeptical eyes watched their approach from the trestle tables were set out in a U pattern on the rush-covered floor. The bann's family and retainers looked to still be hastily finishing their evening meal. Loghain supposed that they had been delayed outside so that the household did not have to share its table with outsiders.

Ap Feil was working on a swan leg and didn't look up from his plate for some time. He was dressed plainly, more like a gentleman farmer than a noble lord. Next to him sat his wife, a handsome woman with blonde hair bound in a thick braid. Loghain waited, wise to such games and not about to fall into the trap of demanding attention. Finally the bann dropped the bone, took up his grease-smeared wine cup and put back a long draught before wiping his mouth and finally lifting his eyes to the dripping-wet men standing before him.

"Loghain Mac Tir. What do you want? I've paid my taxes, and if you've come to announce an increase, I'll advise you to leave the way you came, and do so like the floor is on fire."

"That was last week, when the arl came to visit," one of the men at the table piped up, causing the room to echo with laughter.

"So it was," the bann went on merrily. "But we've set out dry rushes just for you, Hero of River Dane, and can arrange another flame dance. Now speak your business."

Loghain let them have their mocking chatter, and noticed that the bann avoided his gaze. Coolly he replied, "I was hoping to see Arl Percy myself. I heard he was headed this way. Obviously I missed him."

"Moved on north. Hobnobbing with Cousland, no doubt, and likely you'll still find him there. Arse-licking takes so very much time, you see. Which is why you won't get any from me. Bread and salt I must give you, but that is all. You and your men can sleep in my stables, if you can find the room. And don't trouble my horses, either."

"Your hospitality is as warm as your father's was," Loghain observed.

"Yes, yes, I know it was you who got my father wrapped up in that business with the Orlesians. Got him killed, too, and my mother not long after."

If the bann hoped for sympathy, he was barking at the wrong tree. "If he and his men had joined us when we called, we'd have won all the sooner and the outcome might have been different. Instead he turned me away, then came with his tail between his legs after his neighbors all joined the rebels."

Ap Feil was unruffled. "We're not cowards, Mac Tir. We just want to be left alone, and out here you greedy c*cksuckers from Denerim are no different than the painted lords were. Those who paid tribute kept their lands, kept their independence. It was the troublemakers who got the heel of the boot. Troublemakers like your father. So yes, what is it to us who sits in Denerim? Theirin sounds pretty Orlesian to me."

"So does Cousland." Loghain was testing him. Cormac had been one of those who spoke up with Bann Edmun at the Landsmeet in favor of making Bryce king. It made sense geographically, as they were not far from the inner coastlands where Cousland was liege, but not according to the bann's own philosophy. Bryce Cousland would have been a harder king than Cailan was likely to make.

The bann shrugged. "It does. We did you a favor, Mac Tir. That green boy on the throne now knows he can't just strut and make a pretty speech and expect everyone to kiss his feet. You're here now, so that was a lesson learned. For that matter, the green girl in your bed got the same lesson and will be better off. You should be thanking me."

His blood boiled at that, but Loghain worked not to show it. Ellie still grumbled about the broken promise the banns made her after seeking her support to make Bryce king. Cormac was right that she had learned a hard lesson in it, namely that the Bannorn would always go their own way and that their promises meant less than nothing.

Removing the tract from his cloak pocket, Loghain held it out. "Do you know anything about this?"

Ap Feil glanced at the sheet. It was apparent that he recognized it even at a distance. "Don't know anything about those. I don't have any quarrel with your daughter. Damn fools think they need say-so from a noble just to wipe their arses. ****** on that! If she can make her way, Queen Anora will have as much support from us as anyone on the throne would." He said this with a grin, and there was muted laughter in the hall. The joke was that no monarch would have unqualified support from them.

Loghain put the tract away again and regarded Cormac silently a few moments more. The man would not meet his eyes, but he had noticed that all while they were talking, the bann's wife had watched him steadily. Briefly Loghain turned his own gaze to meet hers, his expression as stony as ever. Nothing would be gained by remaining. "We would be grateful for a meal and then we'll be on our way."

Before the bann could speak, his wife stood. "You will have it, you and all your men." She waved a hand at the servers standing against the walls, setting them into motion clearing away the leavings. "You will excuse me and my ladies, Teyrn Loghain. We will retire now, so that there is room at table for your men. My husband and sons will stay and act as proper hosts." Her husband grunted at this but did not interfere.

"Thank you, my lady."

There was little banter at supper, both because his men were as tired and hungry and because the tension remained in the room after the bann's wife departed. Bann Cormac sat slurping loudly from his cup, proving that he could stare well enough as long as Loghain's gaze did not meet his. Loghain was reluctant to spend the night even under the bann's stable roof, but for his men's sake he allowed it. They would have plenty of sleeping on the muddy ground before they were done. He and his lieutenants waited until the men were finished and had filed out before they themselves retreated. As he was walking through the foyer, a hand reached out from a side alcove and caught Loghain's arm. It was a woman's hand, and he thought he recognized it. Gesturing with his head, he bid the other officers to wait for him at the door, and stepped into the alcove.

The bann's wife stood under a window in a pool of weak moonlight. Her hand remained on his arm. "My husband is unwise," she said, voice low.

"I know."

"I am Regan."

Loghain regarded her curiously, and she studied him, as well. When she didn't speak, he prompted, "My lady, is there something I can do for you?"

"I was in Denerim for the Landsmeet," she replied finally. "I saw your wife at the coronation." Loghain nodded, and the woman continued, "I know Lady Cousland a bit, have known her since she was a little maid. I never saw her touch you once, but she stands close to you. When you move away, her eyes follow you. She is proud to be at your side. Do you know that?"

This was a surprise, and his throat caught. "I... I suppose..."

Regan ap Feil didn't wait for him to form a reply. "I believe you are a good man, a man who can be trusted. You should know that some of the bannorn would like to see a new alliance with the Orlesians. They are petitioning Cousland to broker it. He is listening to them."

Loghain's jaw worked silently. Finally he answered in growling tone, "That is nonsense. Why would they do such a thing?"

"You don't believe it. In your world, such a thing is not even possible, is it? Things look different out here, your grace, if you have not yet noticed. Were you not listening to my husband? He was telling you without telling you. To them, it matters not who thinks himself a great lord or a king. As long as they have markets for their grain, as long as they're left alone, that is all they care about."

"Then why look to Orlais of all places?" The idea was ludicrous, yet even the possibility set off the outrage in Loghain's voice. "I take it they do not remember the Orlesian idea of 'leaving Fereldans alone'?"

She motioned for him to keep his voice down, then turned so that she was mostly covered in darkness, speaking over her shoulder. "They see Orlais' return as inevitable. Teyrn Loghain, you may not realize how fragile is your legacy. Many here did not expect Maric to last. Now that he has passed, they expect little good from his son. If the Orlesians are to work with Ferelden, even sit astride her once again, then they want to be at the front of the line. If it doesn't work out that way, they lose nothing. Our new king is weak and is hardly going to come marching in here to beat them down for trying. Some think he might even join them."

It made an atrocious kind of sense. The Bannorn already had a trade pipeline with the Orlesians, and much of it already went through Highever. If there was one thing they did bow to, it was the sovereign. Maric had always had to work to keep them from exporting too much food. Loghain thought the Orlesians paid top price for Fereldan grain simply out of spite, since they had enough of their own in most years. Leeching off Ferelden's supply drove up the price domestically and made it difficult for the crown to establish a reserve for lean years. They had been forced to institute a duty tax, something both Bryce and Eamon had both opposed since it cut into their revenues as well.

His fists clenched. "Why are you telling me this? Is this not disloyal to your husband?"

The lady stepped back into the light, gazing up at him with those peculiar grey eyes, wide-set and angled at the corners. They reminded him of elven eyes. Her voice was solemn. "My husband remembers the Orlesians one way, and I remember them another. Have you ever seen a mother animal protecting her den, my lord? Have you ever seen a woman when all defenses have fallen and she is the last thing standing between her children and the enemy? If she has only her own nails and teeth to use as weapons, her hands will grapple even with swords, and her mouth will run with blood. You know, do you not?"

Loghain felt coldness creep up his back. The woman perhaps had heard of his mother, but what came to his mind was not her.  He thought foremost of Ellie and his son. Setting his chin, he replied, "A mother need only do that if the defenses fail, my lady. I swear to you that they will not."

Regan had turned her head aside slightly, watching him. She gave him a spare smile and they regarded each other some moments. Loghain realized that it was not really the elves the lady reminded him of, but of the Avvar mountain folk he had encountered when the rebel army was hiding in the Frostbacks. They had the same distant, enigmatic air as she, the kind that made you never sure if they were about to attack you or clasp your arm. Finally she spoke again. "You need not sleep in the stables. I will open a guest room for you. Just you."

It was Loghain's turn to tilt his head. He recalled a story he had heard of the women of the mountain people, that they did not keep to only one husband, but stayed a few years with one and then moved on to another man if they liked. She stood close, closer than necessary. Though he was not the most adept in such things, he knew that if he accepted the offer of a guest room, that she would visit it during the night. It was not an unusual circumstance for a man in his position, though Maric had encountered it more often, and neither of them ever got used to it. The bann's wife was also a very different sort than those court hangers-on. His body stirred. It would be no ill thing to have a few moments of welcome, of relief, of something other than the unrelenting practicality and responsibility of the daytime. Yet Loghain also knew it was not really ap Feil's wife that he wanted.

He took a step back. "The stables will suffice. Good night, my lady. Thank you for the information." She did not reply, but he could still feel her eyes on him as he turned to depart.

Sleep did not come quickly, though it was not due to sleeping in a stable. All in all, stable bedding was not the worst. The animals provided warmth, straw was soft, and the gentle sounds created a pleasant lull. Loghain had much on his mind, however, so it was well into the night before he drifted off. As he lay awake, he decided that in the morning they would abandon plans to ride deeper into the Bannorn and turn north instead. Time to pay a visit to his father-in-law.

20 Drakonis, 9:26 Dragon Age.

Highever Castle was even older than the Stedburg, but in much better repair despite its vastness. Some suggested that magic had been used to make its turrets stand so long and with such seeming impregnability. The witch Flemeth had once been its lady, the wife of Lord Conobar Elstan, though if the witch had made any magical improvements to the holding, it must have been before she slaughtered her husband and every member of the family.  The massacre had made room for the Couslands to take over the title. The castle sat on a slight hill overlooking the town and the alienage which was marked out even from a distance by its stone walls. Beyond that lay the sea.

Loghain and his men had put in late so there was no formal reception, but the welcome they found was night and day to that of the ap Feils. His officers had been put up in guest quarters near the family rooms, and none of his men had been sent to the stables. Restless, Loghain had set out for a walk through the castle, finally ending up in a tower guardroom looking out towards the sea.

That is where Bryce found him as the Highever chapel bell tolled eleven o'clock. "Can't sleep, Mac Tir?" he asked, coming up behind. "Nor I. Can't ever sleep well when Eleanor is away." Bryce followed his eyes out towards the sea. "Maric," he guessed, judging why the other man was so quiet.

Loghain lifted his brows, confirming. "He put in here before sailing northward."

"Yes," Bryce acknowledged, sighing. "We were the last to see the king alive, so far as anyone knows. As I told your emissaries back then, I could see nothing amiss either with the ships or the crew. The king himself was in high spirits. Like a kid setting out on his first horseback ride."

"Did he... tell you anything? What he was thinking?" It pained Loghain to ask the questions, both because he suspected Maric might confide in someone else other than him, and because he feared what the answers might be. In Maric's last months he had begun to talk about strange things, about his regrets, about the son he had hidden away, and, most alarmingly to Loghain, about the witch and her damnable prophecies of Blight and betrayal.

"The king did not confide in me like that. If he had, I probably could not have told you anyway. Be assured, though, that if I knew anything that could help find out what happened to him, I would offer it up. I loved Maric, too."

Loghain glanced at the other teyrn. He knew that what Bryce said was true. Not all who had come through the rebellion loved Maric, especially with what had come afterward in the reconstruction.  But Cousland had always been loyal. He had nearly lost his life, not only in the disastrous Battle of White Hill, but in the stealth missions which Loghain himself had sent him out to perform. Missions made possible because the young Cousland had been made to learn perfect Orlesian by his scholarly father. Loghain's eyes narrowed at the recollection. He did not really want to discuss Maric, neither did he want to beat around the bush. "Tell me about this arrangement with the Orlesians you and some of the bannorn are cooking up."

Bryce looked surprised, but not overly so. "So you've heard about that. And no doubt it has you concerned." He took a few steps, his demeanor thoughtful, then gestured at the town that lay beneath their feet. "Highever prospers not because I look back, but because I look ahead. International trade not only means my people have work, it means that Orlesians and Free Marchers pay the taxes they would otherwise have to. Ferelden will not survive if we are insulated. King Maric thought as much, or he wouldn't have risked his life for that voyage."

"I didn't ask for a lesson on the philosophy of ruling. Who exactly are you talking to? What are the terms? Does this go beyond trade agreements?"

"Of course it does," Bryce replied, matching him for bluntness. "Everything is tied up with politics, especially in Orlais. The shipping guilds are held tightly in the grip of various noble families, and all of these are beholden in one way or another to the Empress. I have good relations with certain ones, Eamon with others, thanks in part to his contacts through Isolde."

"You and Eamon." Loghain gave a bitter laugh. "A very cozy arrangement."

Bryce turned and gave him a pointed look. "We would have asked you to become involved, too, if I felt it would have done any good. Tell me, would you like to cement relations with some Orlesian noble families? Shall I arrange introductions for you?" Loghain's face burned with anger but he said nothing, and Bryce went on in a milder tone. "So there you see. I know how you feel about it, and I respect that. However, this is for the good of all Ferelden and not just Highever. Let us take care of it, Eamon and I. It need not trouble you at all."

Loghain approached, holding a finger to Bryce's chest. "I want to see the notes on these meetings. All of them. And you will give me access to all the duty houses to see what you are bringing in here and what you are sending out and where it is going. I will not have you selling Ferelden off piece by piece, letting the Orlesians buy what they could not keep by force."

Bryce paused, smiled, and reached up to move Loghain's finger aside. "I had understood your authority here to extend only to counting our troop levels. But I am King Cailan's subject and you are his representative. I will do what you ask." He stepped away, putting distance between the two men. "You will thank me for this work someday, Loghain. Or else my new grandson will. I don't have any fondness for the Orlesians, but we must work with them. It is inevitable. If we don't do so through peaceful means, there will be war again someday. Maybe not in our day, but in our children's or their children's. I would like to be remembered as laying a foundation for something better."

"I recall a lot of nobles saying the same thing in the rebellion, and using such talk as justification for selling out their neighbors."

Cousland gave a small laugh, ironic and sad. "I figured you would see it that way, or I'd have brought it up with you earlier. But let us not argue. You will have what you need and can satisfy yourself." He paused, then went on more quietly. "Elissa is well? The birth? I get the feeling there is something Eleanor is not telling me."

A shadow crossed Loghain's expression. "It was a difficult birth. Ellie bled a great deal, but they were able to stop it." He hesitated, adding, "The mage helped, I think."

Bryce sucked in a ragged breath, then nodded once. "Good. Good. My congratulations, Loghain. A son. It is a great thing for you. I cannot wait to meet him."

Loghain nodded, turning to leave with a brisk good night. He did not want these familiarities with Bryce, nor did he care for the sense of indebtedness he was tempted to feel towards the man who had raised Ellie, who had consented to their marriage. Loghain owed his current happiness partly to Bryce, a happiness he had once considered beyond reach for himself. He had no interest in awkward familial moments, however, certainly not after their earlier discussion.

Returning to his room, Loghain met with another kind of awkwardness, this one more pleasant. He had been given Elissa's old room. Some of his wife's clothing still hung in the cupboards, her scent still lingering on them. An old training harness of Cutha's hung on the wall. He had glanced over the books on her shelves, left behind and yet more books than most people owned at all. On one wall hung a tapestry of what looked like the battle of River Dane. That gave Loghain pause. Leaning forward to examine the tapestry, he found a scene at the center which he guessed depicted himself standing above a chevalier in gleaming armor, holding a sword to the chevalier's neck and demanding surrender. Ellie had never mentioned that she had a wall hanging of the battle.

The tapestry made him smile, though after a moment it occurred to him that there was no blood anywhere on the field in this depiction. The hero with his sword was clean. He stared thoughtfully at the picture of himself until weariness finally drew him away. It was just as well that there was no blood in Ellie's conception of his heroic deeds. She had seen enough blood already, in her own birth bed. As Loghain had told Regan ap Feil, he would see to it that she never had to see more, even if he was the only man in the country who did.  Even if it meant opposing her own father to do it.

In the morning he woke early to get in some sword practice before breakfast. As he was coming out of his room, Loghain ran into a disheveled looking Fergus. The younger Cousland took one look at his armor and sword and brightened. "Are you going to spar, Teyrn Loghain? Take me with you. I want you to teach me."

Loghain hesitated. He had a great deal to do that day and little time for junior weapons training. The lad was so eager, however, and his face so like Ellie's- minus the little bit of scruff that was trying to eke an existence on the boy's cheeks- that he gave in. At Loghain's nod, Fergus uttered a "whoop" and ran back into his room to retrieve his arms. In the end it proved not a bad way to start a day, for either of them.

End chapter 14.

Modifié par Addai67, 22 novembre 2010 - 03:41 .

[Esbatty]

Family bonding, I Fergus so much. I've done the damn HN origin so many times that I never tire of spending time with him. He is just a fount of brotherly awesome. So reading about a younger version is great!



And it still freaks me out that Flemeth was quite probably the Teryna of Highever. Tsk, and people wonder where Morrigan picked up her manner and ways. heh.



Good read, research was totally worth it!

[Addai]

Thanks guys! Highever was actually a bann in Flemeth's day, but yeah, crazy, isn't it? 

Modifié par Addai67, 22 novembre 2010 - 07:30 .

[CalJones]

I like the way you're lining up all the dominos so that you can knock them down. You have the intrigues down very well.

[Esbatty]

Oh and I almost forgot... smallclothes-melting Loghain strikes again!



Why do I get the feeling if DAO was in a modern setting he'd be that crusty general with 'Nam flashbacks who just can't let it go.



...



Wait - NOES, stop it fanfic part of my brain. Stop doing that thing with the reimaginings. I can't do Chaplain Alistair... NO - I refuse. Dammit, Addai and your inspiring AU.

[Addai]

I've seen Gaider compare him to a Cold War general in the 50's.  Though I'm beginning to feel Loghain's pain that, as it seems to him, everyone around him has gone stark raving mad and developed an incredibly selective memory.

As for smallclothes-melting, maybe when Lady Regan was in Denerim she picked up a copy of the Moira Tattler, Hero of River Dane edition, with the headline screaming "LIKE A BULL!"

Rawr! 

@CalJones, thank you!  It's a bit different building tension when people already know what's supposed to happen.  An interesting challenge.

Modifié par Addai67, 22 novembre 2010 - 03:40 .

[Siduri]

Just wanted to tell you I'm still enjoying this. Thanks for posting!

[Addai]

I'm glad! 

Modifié par Addai67, 24 novembre 2010 - 02:45 .

[Addai]

Chapter 15

7 Justinian. Calenhad Crossing.
Ellie,
We are on the northern shores of the lake, about to take the south road towards Redcliffe passing by Kinloch Hold. I have no plans to go to the tower but will re-supply at an inn near there. Was delayed a while at Highever to translate some documents, etc. Your father and brother send greetings. All is going as orderly as can be expected. I hope you and little Gareth are well. We should think about who might be a good tutor for him. There is time for that, of course. From Redcliffe we will take the west road towards Lothering and then on to Gwaren. If you send a letter by ship to Gwaren, it should reach me. However, you have much to do in caring for the baby so do not trouble yourself. I send you fond greetings.
L.M.T.

"Not even out of swaddling and your father would have you learning your sums already." Ellie looked up from the letter, laughing and reaching over to rub her son's belly. She had spread her cloak out under a tree in the palace gardens and lain Gareth on his back, unbinding his limbs so that he could get some freedom in the warm summer air. This he took with abandon, kicking and waving his arms and occasionally stopping to stare up at the dappled light coming through the tree branches.

Meanwhile Ellie went back to reading her letter for the second time. There was a blotted ink splotch just below her name. Loghain had written her name and then paused. He didn't know what to write, she guessed, smiling to herself. Her husband often had to write letters in his official capacity, and this read almost like such a report, yet he had lingered over his words. There was another ink splotch towards the end.

"Come, Baby of River Dane," Ellie said cheerfully, folding the letter and turning to gather up Gareth once more. "Let us go write your da a letter." As mother and child passed under some palace windows on their way home, she glanced up and noticed Cailan's figure framed in one of them, looking down at them. Quickly Ellie turned her eyes away and pretended that she hadn't seen the king at all.

***
7 Justinian, 9:26 Dragon Age. Calenhad Crossing.

Loghain stirred on his bedroll and his eyes half-opened. He scowled at the figure crouched next to him. "Let me sleep, Maric, damn you. I had the watch."

A moment later his eyes opened and Loghain started up as he realized what he had just mumbled. The figure was not his friend, of course, not the crown prince of the rebellion come to wake him for an early scouting trip. Disappointment cut him as he realized that it had been but a trick of memory in his half-awake state. The figure shaking him was Alun Marwell, once Maric's bodyguard, left behind to guard Cailan when the king had sailed and later demoted by Cailan to a regular captain of the royal guard.

The guardsman was looking at him strangely, sadly. However, he spoke only plain business. "There's men in camp, Teyrn. They're asking after you."

Loghain ran a hand across his face. His voice was husky with sleep. "Alright. Thank you." Marwell stood and Loghain followed, dressing hastily. There were dark circles under his eyes when he emerged from his tent, waving off a cup of tea that one of the men held out towards him.

Three men stood with Marwell near the fire, and when they turned, Loghain grimaced. He did not try to hide his displeasure as he approached the center one, the Grey Warden named Duncan. "What do you want? Following us, or just happened along?"

The Warden replied calmly, "We are returning to Denerim from Orzammar, your grace, and saw your banners. I thought we might be of service to you somehow. You must have messages to send back to the king."

"Thank you but I shall not trust my letters to anyone but my own messengers." Loghain's tone was curt. "I have enough men to do the job. Was there anything else?"

"No. No, I suppose not. King Endrin sends his greetings. He mentioned you in particular. The dwarves are always interested in great warriors."

Loghain made a noncommittal noise, judging Duncan's words to be flattery. In any case, he was not about to discuss the crown's diplomatic affairs with a Grey Warden. He gave the men a dismissive farewell and was about to leave when he paused. Turning back, Loghain spoke in more measured tone. "There is one letter you might take. To my wife. I was going to post one from Redcliffe, but..."

"I would be happy to take it," Duncan replied, bowing his head.

Regarding the Warden Commander warily, Loghain waffled. He did not want to give the man more excuse to be filling Ellie's head with their secretive order's peculiar ideas, yet it might be a week or more until he got the opportunity to post the letter otherwise. Bryce had offered to send one, but it had felt too awkward to write to Ellie from Highever. Matters with her father were tense. Though he had found nothing untoward in Cousland's documents, the fact that there were so many of them detailing the other teyrn's contacts in Orlais had kept Loghain up more than one night during the week and a half the party remained in Highever. They had then returned to the Bannorn for a time, where all his energy was taken up in trying not to start any fights.

Nearly three months already, and he had not written one line. He had promised to do better than he had with Celia, but old patterns died hard. Still, Loghain realized with a dagger twist of guilt, he hadn't tried very hard to kill this one. "I'll be but a few minutes," he agreed brusquely. "There should be breakfast soon." With a wave at the fire as an implied invitation for the Wardens to eat, Loghain retreated back to his tent to write his letter.

The camp was well on its way to being packed up by the time Loghain emerged. He handed Duncan the letter with a mumbled "thank you" and turned to take his own hasty breakfast. As he stood near the fire with tin mug of tea in hand, a messenger who had come in late the night before reported that he had sent word on to Redcliffe of their arrival.

"And I learned of that abbey you asked after, Teyrn Loghain," the rider added. "Tewellyn. It's on t'other side of the lake, hidden up in the mountains and no one knows rightly where, but they said the sisters at the Chantry in Redcliffe would know more."

"Thank you, Cerwin." When Loghain turned, he noticed the Warden Commander's eyes resting on him, but he had no further time for the man. He called for the march and the survey party moved out towards the south road, leaving the Wardens behind them.

***
2 Solace, 9:26 Dragon Age. Southron Hills.

The party made a camp because they knew the general would be a while. As he headed off on foot, Loghain heard an argument break out behind him between Alun Marwell and some of the Gwaren men. The royal guardsman insisted that he should not go off alone, that no man should when they were so close to the Korcari Wilds, whereas a Gwaren lieutenant reminded him that this was Loghain they were talking about and that sometimes a man needed to be alone. Loghain himself did not interfere, nor did he object when he heard Marwell telling them all to sod off because he was going with the teyrn whether anyone liked it or not. It was that sort of bullishness and loyalty that had earned him a trusted place in Maric's entourage. Loghain also did not mind the company, though what he had to do was his task and he would not have asked for it otherwise.

By afternoon they had reached the well-known spot. Marwell helped him clear away the brush that had overgrown it, then sat at a distance while Loghain stood over the simple stone post he had erected some twenty-two years earlier. Leaning over, he rubbed with a gloved hand at the lichen that obscured the lettering in the stone, revealing it once more: GARETH MAC TIR. Then he turned towards the other and did the same, exposing the letters EILED MAC TIR. His father's bones had been laid here by Mother Ailis after the attack, but the post bearing his mother's name was merely symbolic. Loghain had searched for the spot above their old house where he had once buried her, but someone had knocked down his marker and the brush was so thick that he had never found her body again.

He was not the type to speak to the dead. If the dead could hear the words of the living, then they could see their actions as well, and that was all that mattered. He had kept his promise to his father to protect Maric, at least until the damnable ships, and he had beaten the Orlesians that ravaged his mother, though the usurpers always sought inroads back in. Their granddaughter was now queen of Ferelden. Loghain had thought that the best tribute he could have offered, but maybe the old man would have been even more pleased to hold his namesake in his arms. He could not really guess. There was no one alive who knew his mother but him, and the one who had understood his father best, Mother Ailis, was long dead and buried in Denerim. Loghain stood a while, remembering all of them, before he turned back and walked with Marwell back to camp, neither man saying a word.

That evening, Loghain had the men break camp and move into the nearby village, where he stood everyone a hot meal and took all the rooms available to let anywhere in town. It was a considerable expense and Loghain's purse had thinned as he had made his way through Ferelden, but it was not only for his men's sake that he did it. After the attack on his father's camp during which Gareth Mac Tir fought his last, this village had sheltered what was left over of the group of cast-offs that had looked to his father for leadership. It was where Loghain had found Mother Ailis after the rebellion ended, when she showed him where she had buried his father's body and held him in the rain while he wept. He owed the village a debt he could never repay.

***
23 August, 9:26 Dragon Age. Denerim.

By the time Loghain was in his study flipping through correspondence, he knew that he was just dawdling and delaying his return home purposely. The party had put in that morning on a ship from Amaranthine. He had been sick, literally and in every other way, at the thought of boarding a ship, but for his men's sake he had done it. They took ship first at Gwaren and put in at Amaranthine to call on the odious, fawning Rendon Howe. One day of his company was more than enough for Loghain. The same ship was headed to Denerim the following day, so he had agreed to book further passage.

At the palace, Loghain accompanied his men to the bursar and saw that they were paid, including a bonus out of his own budget. Then when they dispersed for a well-earned leave, he had gone upstairs and reported in to Cailan. The king was in remarkable spirits but did not want to hear any details, waving Loghain off "until tomorrow or maybe the next day." Such had been the young king's burning impatience to know of his troop readiness. Loghain left him to stop in at his study and private rooms for a wash and change of clothes. It was mid-afternoon by the time he finished and loitered around his desk, dropping the pile of notes he had kept from the trip.

Finally he left and made his way towards the residence. He heard Ellie first before he caught sight of her. She was laughing and calling to someone. When Loghain opened the gate, she was just coming around the side of the house, and his stomach dropped when he saw her. Halting in her tracks, Ellie paused a moment, then called out his name and came running. When she was a few feet away, her steps slowed, a beaming smile on her face.

They had been married almost two years, had a child together, and yet as Loghain regarded the woman before him, he was struck by how young she was, by the sweet smile and her ready warmth. What was he doing here exactly? In the first days and weeks of his mission, he had missed his wife acutely, and cursed Cailan day and night for parting him from her and from his baby so soon after the birth. Yet over the ensuing several months, Loghain had come to feel more his old self again: The independent man, the soldier. It had been easier to fall back into than he had anticipated. Now there was this young, this very young, woman, gazing at him with her expectations and her apparent, inexplicable delight at seeing him.

"Loghain?" Ellie asked, worry creeping into her voice as he hesitated to greet her.

He forced a smile, dropped his pack and stepped forward, leaning down to give her a brief kiss and hug. "Hello, Ellie. You are looking well." That much was true. When he had left Denerim earlier that year, she had still looked pale from the ordeal of the birth. That was no longer the case, and her figure had returned to much its athletic proportions apart from a greater fullness in her breasts.

She smiled, relieved, and did not let him get away with such a wan embrace. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she kissed his cheek and reached for his hand. "We've missed you. Missed you terribly."

"Where is Gareth?"

"He's in the back with Erlina." At his questioning look, Ellie gestured vaguely and Loghain thought he caught a flash of unease, perhaps guilt. "She's a maid that Anora sent over when my mother returned home. I'll explain later. Come, he'll want to see you."

Loghain doubted very much that his six month-old son was even aware of his existence, but he let himself be led around to the back of the house anyway. A dark-haired elf was holding the baby, pointing out the swans to him. Gareth was kicking and gesturing, trying very hard to strike out on his own swan-chasing expedition.

"He's so big," Loghain remarked, saying the first thing that came to his mind.

Ellie laughed. "You have no idea. Try carrying him around all day." When they reached the maid, she took Gareth from her and said, "Erlina, this is the queen's father, my husband."

The elf gave him a placid expression and replied in the soft, deferential tone of a cultured servant. And in a thick Orlesian accent. "Of course. It is a pleasure to meet you, Teyrn Loghain."

He did not have much time to stare, since a moment later Ellie was putting Gareth into his arms. As the sight of his son's face drew all his attention, Loghain soon forgot about the unpleasant fact of an Orlesian woman living in his house. He held the baby uneasily at first, not having had practice in such a thing in so long that he felt ungainly at it.

"See, Gareth, your da-da has come home," Ellie was burbling, leaning in to tug at the boy's garment.

Loghain's head felt light, but when Gareth's dark blue eyes fixed on him, he smiled in spite of himself. Turning, he walked a few steps away, put the elf behind him and stared down at the bundle lying on his arm. Ellie followed, watching them.

"So, here you are," Loghain finally said, his voice soft. He reached up a hand to touch the baby's silken dark hair, and Gareth caught the finger in his own hand and held on to it. Loghain laughed quietly, then fell silent again. It was all too difficult to fathom. Somehow, by some turn of fate, he had become not only husband but father again. He had come home from many missions, but it had been a long time since he had come home to anything like this. It took him a moment to realize that his eyes were swimming.

Gareth interrupted to deliver an abrupt shout. Turning to Ellie, Loghain blinked back the unformed tears and asked with amusement, "What was that?"

"Barking an order, I think," she replied with a smile. "Like father, like son. Only the junior general really, really likes the sound of his own voice."

"Does he." Loghain returned his gaze to the squirming little boy and hesitated a moment before leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. Gareth blinked, and afterward stared up at his father as though mesmerized. His look of fascination soon broke into a grimace and a fussy cry, at which point Ellie took over once more. Even junior generals could be laid low by hunger.

Loghain had not eaten all day, either, and he took his lunch with Ellie and Gareth on the terrace. The Orlesian elf had absented herself, wisely.

"You're feeding him yourself?" Loghain asked, surprised, as he glanced at his son nursing.

"Yes, and I'm aware that I'm a wretched person for doing so."

"I never said..."

"I know." Ellie smiled across to him. "I do have a wetnurse in sometimes, especially when I need to sleep. To hear the other noblewomen tell it, though, the fact that I didn't let my breasts dry up is a scandal. As is the fact that I've returned to sparring on the days when I have the energy. Even my mother grumbled about it. The way I see it, the smallfolk nurse their own babies and work and they don't drop dead because of it."

There were in fact women who died in their children's infancy, Loghain knew, from milk fever or simply overwork. He wasn't about to bring that up, however, and both Ellie and the child looked the picture of health. "Do as you think best," he replied, trying not to let his eyes wander to the soft curve of Ellie's breast while his son was making use of it for his own purposes.

Loghain had his own chance at them later that night, after Ellie had put Gareth to sleep. They both stood looking down at him a while. Ellie then turned, putting her hands at Loghain's waist and gazing up at him. Though the blood was pounding in him, the sense of unreality he had felt earlier returned. He had no business touching this beautiful young woman. Yet her scent, the feel of her hands moving on his back, was suddenly familiar again, as was her kiss. Their tongues met and melted together and after a time Loghain moved on to her ear, but then he drew her against his chest in a tight embrace, practically lifting her off her feet.

"How I have missed you," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. More than that, his mind reeled at the memory that in this very house, he had come so ominously close to losing her. Loghain held on to her like she might slip away again, and when he could stand it no longer, scooped her into his arms and took her to the bed. A pest on his reluctance! Young she might be, and better off with any other man in the country, but she was his and by all signs she had felt the lack of intimacy in their separation, too.

As he was about to enter her, both of them too eager to undress except for exposing the necessary parts, Loghain stopped himself. "Are you alright?" He gestured at Ellie's thighs. They had not been together since the birth, and the memory of blood spreading on the sheets haunted him.

"I'm fine." Ellie tugged on his tunic impatiently, positioning herself underneath him. However, after another moment's hesitation, Loghain rolled, bringing her astride. Despite her assurance, he would let her be in control for now, just in case. She quickly adjusted to the change, and he groaned as she took him in, soon falling into their practiced rhythm. His head fell back and both hands slid up beneath her shift to hold her hips firmly. It took all his control to wait for her, but he did. When they finished, they slept until Gareth called in the early hours for his breakfast. Loghain woke, as well, watching silently. Ellie did not return the baby to his own bed, but laid him next to her, and all three of them fell asleep again with Loghain's arm draped over his wife's waist.

The next afternoon, he went to see Anora in her study. They spoke at length about his trip and the goings-on in the various parts of the country. It had been some time since anyone had as close an overview of Ferelden's political situation as he now had. Nevertheless, Anora seemed already to know most of what he told her. That was his daughter, through and through, and it brought a wry smile to his lips. She liked to think that she didn't need anyone, but he knew otherwise. He made only brief mention of the grotesque notices he had seen posted which condemned putting a commoner on the throne.

At last he came to a more pointed matter, keeping his voice mild. "Just what do you think you are doing, Anora, with this maid of yours?"

"Now, Father, I knew you would be upset about that, but you must keep an open mind. Erlina comes highly recommended..."

"She's Orlesian!"

"An Orlesian who has run afoul of some very powerful people in Val Royeux, and thus who can be useful to us. Don't you always say that the best strategy is to get the enemy to hang himself?"

Loghain chuckled drily at her attempt to use his own words to win the argument. "Get her out of my house."

"Father, I think you should reconsider. Elissa needs help now."

"So you send over an Orlesian bard who, as I hear it, is not even good with children? Let us not play games, Anora. Queen you may be, and my daughter, but you are not welcome to spy on me. Nor on Ellie." After a pause he shook his head and added with exasperation, "By the Maker, you and Cailan are going to be the end of me."

Anora pursed her lips, but finally nodded. She did not bother to deny his accusation.

Later on in his study, Loghain got a visit from Iain Tallard, the treasury minister. After some pleasantries, the nervous older man moved on to what was a apparently a more delicate subject. "You see, your grace, there has been some talk... I am not one to repeat things, you know, but I felt you should know..."

"Go on, Iain. I have not forgotten how you spoke up for me at the last council meeting, nor your concern for my wife. We'll keep this between us." Loghain sat at his desk, leaning back with his fingers laced across his chest, while Tallard fidgeted on a settee.

"Thank you, your grace. It was nothing, but thank you. You see, in your absence I have been privy to some conversations that concerned you." The minister hemmed and hawed for some moments more before he came to the point. The matter, as it turned out, was that several of the other lords of the council were agitating for Loghain to be forced to return to Gwaren. "They are trying to convince the king that Gwaren suffers for lack of its teyrn, you see. That you have served a long, honorable career and ought to be encouraged to retire. If you will not go willingly, they plan to seek unstable elements in Gwaren to lodge complaints with the king."

Loghain's face was darkening the longer Tallard spoke. "Names, Iain. I want their names."

Tallard reluctantly named the men, then after a hesitation leaned in to speak more earnestly. "Loghain, these rabble-rousers have ill intent, without a doubt, but do you not think it an idea anyway? You have served honorably and long, and if you will forgive me, would not your young wife and child be happier in Gwaren, away from the court? Queen Anora is present now and seems fit to make a capable ruler, even should King Cailan present certain... deficiencies. Speaking in confidence now, I remind you."

Silence reigned while Loghain regarded his counterpart. He had always respected Tallard and gotten along with him. The man was good at what he did and kept only to his figures rather than playing politics. People changed, however, especially when there was instability in the air. Was the minister now acting as the honey to achieve the same end that these other snakes were trying to bring about with intrigue? After a few moments deliberation, Loghain rejected that suspicion as unlikely. The scribbler was too guileless and he seemed to have developed a soft spot for Ellie. Many people did if they but talked to her, both smallfolk and at court alike. Nor was Tallard even wrong that she would be better off away from Denerim, and likely happier in Gwaren as well. He decided to answer the minister straightforwardly. "I will remain, Iain, for the very reasons you point out. Queen Anora is here and our king presents certain deficiencies. She is my daughter, I remind you, not just our queen."

The minister nodded understanding. "Of course. Of course. You are a man of duty, Teyrn Loghain, I have always said it. Now, having gotten that unpleasantness out of the way, you wanted a briefing on the state of the treasury and particularly on the royal navy..."

That evening, the Orlesian bard was already gone. Ellie seemed relieved. Anora had apparently told some sob story about the girl needing a placement, but since Anya had proven both able and willing to serve as Gareth's nurse, Ellie was pleased that the order of their little household could once again go back to normal. Or what passed for normal, with a rambunctious infant at the center of it all.

The wetnurse was present that evening, and Ellie and Loghain used the freedom to continue getting re-acquainted with one another. They retired to his chambers, locking the door and tossing clothing hither and yon on their way to the bed. Before they reached it, however, Loghain changed his mind, drawing her instead towards a chair and turning up the lamp nearby.

Ellie followed along, straddling him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. After they had kissed a time, she dislodged herself and moved down between his knees. Before she even touched him, let alone drew him in, Loghain's eyes fell closed. She was good at this. Too good. He indulged until it was almost too late before pulling on her shoulders and drawing her up to his lap once more. There was no more shyness for either of them when he was once again inside her. He avoided her breasts, knowing they were put to other uses these days, though he at least gave his eyes free rein. In their grappling, the fact that Ellie had resumed her training nevertheless became apparent. Her muscles had quickly remembered their firmness, and for now, at least, she seemed to have her vigor back as well. After seeing her wan and listless after the birth, it was an incredible relief, not to mention how it aroused him.

Later, as she slumped slack against his shoulder, breath still ragged, Loghain stroked her back and gently kissed at her ear and neck. When Ellie eased back, they regarded each other across small space. There was a sheen of moisture over both their bodies that cooled as a breeze fluttered the curtains from the open window. A bead of sweat clung to Ellie's lip and Loghain leaned forward to kiss at it. She took the opening and returned his kiss, murmuring hungrily into it. When they broke once more, her eyes fell to his side and she traced a fingertip along a jagged scar there. Ellie largely ignored his scars, which was just as well with Loghain, but he did not protest.

"You have scars now, too," he pointed out quietly, rubbing a finger over the pink tracks that made rivulets along her belly. He had also seen these on her thighs and knew they were from the baby stretching her skin. At Ellie's hurt look, he shook his head. "No, I didn't mean it like that. They are no worse than these on me, and no less honorable. More honorable, even. Most of these I got for being stupid or slow."

She smiled, and the slight tension went out of her again. Loghain brushed a thumb across her cheek, regarding her tenderly. So much had changed with the baby and his departure, but she was still the Ellie he had become so enamored of in the year prior to that. The changes and his absence also brought other things into clearer focus. His father had always taught him not to be fooled by tricks of the forest, not to shoot before he had a target, but always to really see what lay before him. Loghain had to admit that, hard as it was to believe, the woman in his arms was not just the woman he had been forced to marry, but was a true match for him. Others might not see it, but he was a fool if he didn't. She was a warrior, she was just as determined as he when her mind was set to something, and there was strength and courage in her. She was a true mate for him. Nothing had ever seemed less likely for him to find.


End chapter 15.

Modifié par Addai67, 27 novembre 2010 - 05:38 .

[Addai]

LOL! Cailan should take up painting by numbers, I think.

[LadyDamodred]

But if he did, I'd bet he'd be painting naked Ellie rolling around in his bed.

[Addai]

LadyDamodred wrote...

But if he did, I'd bet he'd be painting naked Ellie rolling around in his bed.

classical nude or cubist?  :innocent:

[Esbatty]

I think he'd go Degas with the nudity. Meaning Ellie would be wearing a hat of some sort.



Man I can't believe I had to wait 24 hours to comment on the story, 'net went out at work and then when I got home I slept and then went immediately to xmas shopping. Anywho, uhh...



Yes Cailan is that regal spectre still haunting Ellie, she defintely needs to get back to Gwaren for a while just to get away from Cailan. Maybe some awkward bonding time with Ser Cautherine? Maybe Fergus can come visit for a season to spar with Ellie?



I love how Loghain melted with Gareth that was pure heartwarming gold. And Gareth's little cry/scream... d'awww. "Damn Orlesians" indeed. lol

[Addai]

Esbatty wrote...

I think he'd go Degas with the nudity. Meaning Ellie would be wearing a hat of some sort.

Something like this?  Yes, that looks about right.  And right where Cailan wants her.  LOL

I love how Loghain melted with Gareth that was pure heartwarming gold. And Gareth's little cry/scream... d'awww. "Damn Orlesians" indeed. lol

You know it!

Thanks as always for the feedback, everyone.

Modifié par Addai67, 28 novembre 2010 - 08:31 .

[Esbatty]

tgail73 wrote...

LadyDamodred wrote...

But if he did, I'd bet he'd be painting naked Ellie rolling around in his bed.

I'm pretty sure that Anora would get tired of seeing those paintings hung up everywhere. Every corner she turns, there's naked Ellie greeting her.
The thought does makes me laugh though, since I'm not much of an Anora fan. 

Anora: Erlina, have someone take down the the newest "wall decoration".
Erlina: He does have a good eye for color and symmetry.
Anora: Yes, yes, our King does have a bit of talent. Now put that one in the closet with - the others.
Erlina: Which closet?
Anora: The one full of paintings of my step-mother in the nude.
Erlina: Yes, my Queen, but which closet there are currently three of them with the same purpose.
Anora: Ugh. *pinches the bridge of her nose*

[Addai]

ROFL Alright, so maybe a hobby wasn't such a good idea.